Page 9 of One Little Mistake

Inside the closet, I find a whole row of crisp white shirts, slacks, and ties. I’ve never once seen Max dress that formally.

I open the second door and smirk—now this is more like him. T-shirts, jeans, baseball caps, and an endless number of track suits—folded so neatly and precisely, there’s no doubt in my mind: a woman’s been here.

That thought makes me uneasy.

In the last few weeks before Max left for his trip, he started pulling away. Disappearing. Not answering my calls as often.

Could there really be someone else?

No. Most likely, after moving in, he hired someone to unpack all the boxes and organize the place.

There can’t be another woman in his life. Not after our whirlwind romance, meeting his family, his friends…

“Cool. Make yourself at home for now. We’ll figure something out later,” comes the reply—and the smile slips right off my face.

“We’ll figure something out later…”

That phrase sticks with me. Won’t let me go.

Especially after how he didn’t say a single thing about the pregnancy. No happiness. No reaction. Just a dry: “You sure? Like, really sure?”

It’s not like I was trying to trap him with a baby or anything, but since it happened, I’m not the only one responsible. And I do love him—no point in denying that—and honestly, I was even a little happy about how things turned out. If this is how it happened, then maybe it’s fate. And the pregnancy would just speed up our status change from “dating” to “married.”

Max and I met on social media seven months ago.

Although, to be honest, I hadn’t even planned on replying to him.

Lately, messages from random guys had been seriously annoying me, and I was actually trying to find the “messages from friends only” setting when a notification popped up—Max Taylor sent you a message.

I just snorted, closed the window, and didn’t respond.

But a week later, when a customer walked out of my flower shop with a giant bouquet of roses, I suddenly felt this strange emptiness.

Loneliness.

Coldness.

I watched the tall, well-dressed man walk away and found myself dreaming about someone just like that. Like something out of a fairy tale. A little romance, a little magic, and some crazy, all-consuming love.

Screw it, I thought, and in a burst of emotion, opened up my page again.

I scrolled through all my male friends, wondering who I could text and maybe ask out—but somehow, they all turned out to be either married or “taken”.

Even Robert from college—the nerd with the glasses that looked like my grandma’s—he was “in love with Anastasia Duck.”

That’s when I went into my messages.

I opened the stranger’s profile and just stared.

Handsome. Tall. Muscular. Blond hair and green eyes. A bit of a cocky smirk, but his face seemed open, friendly. Stylish. Well-traveled. And clearly not the kind of guy who denied himself much.

At some point, I even wondered if someone had just stolen his pictures. Guys like him don’t usually look for girls online. They go to nightclubs, size up the local talent, and pick whoever catches their eye.

But something still made me open the chat window.

Fueled by emotion, I messaged Max—telling myself this was the last time I was ever going to take the first step with a guy online.

And it worked.

---