Page 64 of One Little Mistake

“If everything looks good, you can call Den. I’ll be out in two weeks. All the furniture stays,” the tenant’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

I glance at Max questioningly.

“Two weeks?” I ask, disappointed. “I thought it would be available in the next few days.”

“Wish I could,” the guy shrugs, “but I need a little more time.”

“Thanks. We’ll talk it over and let the landlord know,” Max replies, his fingers tightening around the baby carrier.

I press my lips together in disappointment and silently follow Max out of the apartment.

“Did you like the place?” he asks once the door closes behind us.

“Yeah. I’ll put down the deposit today and sign the lease. Now I just need to figure out where to stay for the next two weeks—preferably close by.”

We stop, facing each other in the hallway. Max looks at me like he’s staring straight through me, absentmindedly twisting his keys in his hand.

“You can stay here… if it comes to that,” he sighs, as if the words physically hurt to say.

“Oh no, thanks, but I’ve imposed on you enough already,” I reply quickly. “I’ll look for a short-term rental today. And I really hope my car’s still where I left it. With my luck, it’s probably been stolen while I was in the hospital,” I add with an eye roll.

“If you mean the gray Hyundai,” Max smirks, “it’s safe and sound. Taking up my spot in the underground garage.”

“Oh—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“I got used to it,” he waves off. “No big deal. But speaking of cars… damn. I completely forgot I abandoned mine in a snowdrift in the middle of the road. Guess I should go dig it out,” he mutters, clearly annoyed, throwing on a coat before heading out and leaving me alone in the apartment.

I want to accept his offer. This place feels like home. The familiar walls, the cozy routine, no packing, no rushing, no stress. But no matter how tempting it sounds, there’s one problem: a moody, broad-shouldered man who clearly isn’t thrilled about sharing his space with me and my baby.

Max is gone for four hours. Four. I actually start to worry. It’s dark outside, and he’s not answering his phone. I try to tell myself I shouldn’t care. He’s just the guy who accidentally ended up involved in my mess. But I do care. My mind starts spinning with worst-case scenarios: What if something happened?

I wash the dishes. Cook dinner with whatever’s left in the fridge. I do anything I can to keep busy. Then I find myself hovering over Tim, watching him sleep, listening to his soft little breaths. I could stand there forever, just looking at him.

Max still isn’t back by seven, and my heart won’t settle. Maybe it’s because he’s been kind to me. Because he helped.

By eight, I start to feel weak. I realize I haven’t taken my meds. I sink into the armchair by the window, switch off the light, and let my eyes follow the snowy glow of the city. Every now and then, a car passes below, and I track each one, hoping.

When I hear the key turn in the lock, I flinch—and then, forgetting all about the dizziness and the pain, I practically run to the hallway. I must look insane: hair a mess, eyes wide with relief. But I don’t care. He’s here. He’s safe.

Max sets two large grocery bags on the floor and gives me a puzzled look.

“You okay?” he asks, frowning.

“Yeah, of course,” I say quickly, catching my reflection in the mirror and smoothing my unruly hair. “You were just… gone for a while.”

“Took forever to find where I actually left the car. Then I had to dig it out. And I stopped by the store on the way back…” He shrugs off his coat and shoes, runs a hand through his messy hair, picks up the bags, and heads for the kitchen. I follow, quiet as a mouse.

“Smells good,” he notes, nodding toward the stove.

“Beef stew,” I mumble, flustered.

“Perfect. I’m starving.” He pulls out baby food from one of the bags. “I got the same brand of formula for Tim as last time. My phone died, so I couldn’t call to ask what else you needed.”

“Thank you.” I blink in surprise, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. God, why couldn’t my man be like this?

While I stare into space, getting lost in a daydream of some imaginary happy family, Max puts the groceries away with quiet efficiency. I can’t help but notice how tidy everything is. I’ve been gone for weeks, and the place still looks spotless—like no one even lived here.

“You’ve got a doctor’s appointment in two days,” he says, sitting down at the table. “They should have the roads cleared by tomorrow, so we’ll be fine getting there. Mmm—this is good,” he adds after a bite, actually smiling.

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