Page 72 of One Little Mistake

“All the best to you both!” she yells just before the door slams shut behind her—loud enough to finally wake Tim.

“I’m sorry about that scene,” Max mutters, jaw tight. “Didn’t think she’d show up in the middle of the night.”

“You really need to work on your taste in women,” I snap, not bothering to hide how I feel about either Cynthia or Natalie.

“Should I hire you as my consultant?” he throws back, attempting to lighten the tension.

“Afraid that’d mean at least a few years of monk life for you,” I smirk, then turn toward the nursery without another word, his heavy stare still lingering on my back.

But my heart is fluttering like a bird in a cage. My hands won’t stop shaking. And that kiss—that kiss—between Max and Natalie is still playing on a loop in my head.

God, how disgusting.

***

I finally decided to accept Max’s offer and stay in his apartment for the next two weeks. He was right—living alone in my condition isn’t the smartest idea. My mom couldn’t come, and grandma already had her hands full. But the next morning, I got a call from the landlord saying the guy who was renting the apartment was moving out early and I could move in two days.

I should’ve felt a surge of happiness at that news, but instead, I looked around the place with a strange ache in my chest. I was going to miss all of this.

“Something wrong?” Max appeared in the room, his eyes scanning me closely. I must have looked thrown off—his face was laced with concern.

“No, everything’s great,” I replied, forcing a smile. “I can move into the apartment this week. Can you believe it? I’ll need to call that leasing company soon, too—the one that handles the commercial units on the first floor. I really need to get back to work before I lose my regular clients.”

“Wow. That’s actually great news,” he said, rubbing his beard awkwardly.

“Yeah, it feels like life is getting back on track. Well, I should go start packing up the nursery. I’ll need help to break down the crib and moving some furniture…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you move everything,” Max said firmly. And two days later, he was already hauling my things down to the sixth floor in the elevator.

The move took all day. I kept walking through the apartment to double-check I hadn’t forgotten anything. Still, I kept finding little things—like a candleholder, a cup, or a forgotten toy. Max and Logan dismantled the wardrobe from the nursery and carried it out piece by piece. Honestly, I would’ve hired movers, but clearly the guys wanted to prove they were real men—capable of more than just making money and sipping expensive whiskey at night.

Vivienne helped me unpack boxes and organize everything. We ordered food and ended up having dinner all together. The atmosphere was so warm and easygoing—even with the guys bickering every five minutes—I didn’t want the night to end.

It’s already late. The kids are asleep. We are stretched out on the couch, chatting about random things. The lights are dim, voices low, the room filled with that kind of soft, cozy calm you don’t want to break. I close my eyes for what feels like a minute, and the next thing I know, Logan and Vivienne are gone, and I’m half-lying on the couch, pressed up against a very warm, very male body.

His scent makes my head spin; his steel-hard muscles leave me in awe. I try not to breathe. Goosebumps race across my skin when I feel his breath against my temple. The place where his palm rests on my waist burns—so intimate, so possessive.

What is he doing here? Did he stay to make sure I’m okay? Or did he fall asleep next to me, just like I did? I’m afraid to move, afraid to find out if he’s awake. So I lie here with my eyes closed, soaking in every second of this moment. I feel small… but safe. And I don’t understand what’s happening to me.

Where is this trembling coming from? The tightness in my chest, the wild heartbeat? Why do I want to press even closer, to bury my face in his broad chest? His breathing is steady, and I decide Max must be asleep. Carefully, I move my hand and place my palm against his chest. One of my legs has gone a little numb from the awkward position, but I don’t dare move again. If he wakes up and leaves, I’ll be alone in this apartment that doesn’t feel like mine.

“You’re not asleep?” his voice murmurs unexpectedly into my ear, and I jolt, lifting my head. In the dim light, I meet his eyes—cold, sharp, and completely focused on me.

His gaze traps at me. I can’t speak. I just stare at him, wanting to reach out, to touch his face, to trail my fingers along his rough stubble, the curve of his lips. Is this even real? Just days ago, I was broken over someone else, couldn’t imagine living without him. And now? Not a single thought about my ex, the father of my child. Just this grumpy giant, whose touch feels dangerously good.

We look at each other, and it’s like the whole world is buzzing. Something short-circuits in me. I must be losing my mind. How else do I explain the fact that, in the next moment, I press my lips to his?

For a second, Max doesn’t react at all, except for the way his hand tightens on my waist. Hard. Almost painfully. I panic,certain I’ve completely screwed up. He probably thinks I’m some desperate idiot throwing herself at him. I start to pull away, about to stammer out an apology—

But then he parts his lips and crashes into me with a force that knocks the breath out of my lungs.

Now it’s my turn to freeze.

From the sudden flash behind my eyes, from the dizzying kiss, from my own boldness and the heat flooding my body under his touch.

My fingers dig into his shoulders. It’s madness between us—pure, electric madness—as if the tension of the past days had finally snapped, releasing all the chaos in one blinding rush.

We crash onto the couch. Max is on top of me. There’s only the thin fabric of our clothes between us—and the best part? I don’t want to stop. Not this time. I want, just once, to stop thinking, stop weighing what’s right or wrong.

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