Page 81 of One Little Mistake

I’ve started getting used to this new rhythm of life. I wake up, change a diaper, feed Tim, eat breakfast, and head outside for a walk with the stroller. Half an hour of fresh air, two hours of work, then lunch. Diapers again, baby food, another walk, and a quick stop back at the shop to hand off orders to the courier. In the evening, once Tim’s asleep, I quietly tidy up the apartment, picking up scattered things, washing the dishes, and planning the next day. I call my mom and grandma, catch up with friends who live in other cities. And often, I share tea and cake with Max—or I watch as he installs another shelf or fixes something for me. I admire his toned body, always freshen up a bit before he arrives, and sometimes I can’t help but watch him for ages as he carries Tim around the apartment while I cook or take calls.

A soft grunt comes from the stroller, and I quickly grab the handle, gently rocking it to lull my son back to sleep.

“Just a little longer, baby. Mommy’s almost done. Shh-shh, my sweetheart, we’ll eat soon,” I whisper and flinch when the bell above the front door rings.

A tall man steps inside. I only glance up, vaguely annoyed with myself for forgetting to lock the door from the inside.

“Sorry, we’re closed,” I say without lifting my head.

“That’s too bad. I was hoping to buy flowers for the most charming girl in the world,” comes a familiar voice, and my eyes widen in surprise.

“Max?”

“Why? Don’t I look like myself?” he asks playfully, smiling at me.

“It… it suits you.”

I’m so flustered I start to stammer. I hungrily take in the features of his face he’d been hiding behind that beard all this time.

Max looks young. Much younger than I thought.

Sharp cheekbones, a square jaw. A beautiful face. Strikingly so. A light dusting of dark stubble, and with it, those ice-colored eyes look downright mesmerizing. I can’t take my eyes off him. He was handsome before, sure—but now…

“You look younger,” I say with a smile, feeling my heart race wildly. I just can’t get used to him like this. It’s like there’s a stranger standing in front of me.

“So that means young girls definitely won’t be hitting on me anymore,” he grins. “They usually go for older guys.”

“Your sense of humor’s still intact,” I reply, trying to keep things light, though I’m suddenly flustered and unsure what to do with myself. “Sooo… did you come for flowers or just to stop by?”

“What do you have?” he asks, glancing around the almost-empty shop.

“Roses,” I nod toward a bucket of white ones. “A client was supposed to pick them up, but canceled right before lunch.”

“Perfect. I’ll take them all. How much?”

For some reason, I feel disappointed. Max pulls out his wallet, and all I can think about is who he’s buying those roses for. When he places several large bills on the counter and silently watches as I wrap up fifty-seven roses in clear cellophane, my eyes almost well up with tears. I barely manage to hold them back. I’d let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something growing between us—that he was helping me and Tim not out of pity but because he wanted to. And now, it’s all crumbling.

My emotions swirl in chaos. I avoid his gaze at all costs, terrified I’ll betray what I’m feeling. My hands tremble. I just want to go home and hide.

“Here,” I say, handing him the bouquet. Goosebumps race down my arms when our fingers brush.

“Thanks. The flowers are stunning—just like their owner,” he says with a wink, then turns and walks out. I watch him go, stunned, feeling like a fool. I don’t know what to think.

But I don’t get a chance to cry, because the bell above the door rings again.

“Did you forget something?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture. My voice comes out hoarse and subdued.

“No. Here, this is for you,” he says, holding the bouquet out to me again, and I stare at him in confusion. “Let’s pretend we didn’t see each other a minute ago, and that I just came in to invite you to dinner and give you flowers, like I’m supposed to.”

“You bought flowers from me to give them… back to me?” I frown, but already feel the tension inside me start to melt away. A breathy chuckle escapes my lips. God, what a clown.

“It happened spontaneously. I needed flowers, and as a client, I bought them from you. So… how about we go downtown tonight? When do you finish? I know a nice restaurant. I wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“I… Oh, yeah. I’m in. I’m almost done, but I need to stop by the apartment to change and feed Tim first.”

“No problem. I’ll wait here and we’ll head home together.”

Max’s presence makes me nervous. He keeps pacing around, peeking into the stroller, then staring at me for long stretches. I’m tense. His words won’t leave my head. What does he want to talk about? Did something happen? What are the flowers for? I sneak a glance at him again, unable to pull my eyes away from his face.

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