Page 92 of One Little Mistake

“Grandma, don’t say that,” I laugh softly.

While the two of us talk, Max gets out of the car and starts pulling bags out of the trunk.

“Good afternoon,” he says politely, with a small nod. Grandma smiles back at him, and my mood takes a sudden dive—because she knows who he is. But what has he told her? “How’s your health?” he adds.

“Good enough to dance at your wedding,” she replies with a sly grin.

My cheeks burn. I feel awkward, but Max seems completely unfazed. He calmly pulls the stroller out of the car and carries it toward the house. Grandma and I follow him through the yard, away from the prying eyes of the neighbors.

“Put everything in that room,” I say, pointing him toward the living room. My own room is too tiny—there’s no way Tim and I would fit in there comfortably. “Thanks again.”

We pause in the doorway, eyes locked. His pupils are dilated. I glance at his lips and instinctively lick my own—dry, craving his touch.

“So… are you staying long?” Grandma suddenly appears next to us. We quickly step away from each other like guilty teenagers, heading to opposite corners of the room.

“I’m planning to stay about a month,” I reply, avoiding Max’s gaze as I begin folding Tim’s clothes into the wardrobe. The tension between us is thick enough to cling to the walls.

“Oh, what a joy! You’re always gone so fast, always rushing back to work. But here, the air’s clean, and we’ve got real farm-fresh food—not that processed stuff from your city stores!” shechirps. “Oh! We need to bring the crib down from the attic. I knew we’d need it one day! Your mom kept saying, ‘Just toss it already’. Max, would you give us a hand with that?”

“Of course.”

“Grandma, Max was actually about to leave. He’s in a hurry.”

“What do you mean?” she asks, looking at us in confusion.

“Not until I’ve put the crib together,” Max says with a smirk. “Where can I find it?” he asks Grandma, and the two of them head toward the attic stairs while I drop down on the couch and exhale. I glance around the room, still in disbelief that I’m finally home. It really is peaceful here.

I assume Max will take off as soon as he finishes assembling the crib—my old crib, by the way. But he doesn’t seem in a rush. Right after, he heads out into the yard, grabs an axe and starts chopping firewood.

I hide behind the curtain, secretly watching him. As always, Max does things his own way, completely ignoring my not-so-subtle hints or protests.

“Did something happen between you two? Did you fight?” Grandma asks.

“No. Why do you think that?”

“Well, you’re acting strange. Not how a husband and wife would act.”

“Grandma,” I turn to face her and take a deep breath, “he’s not my Max. We broke up. This is my neighbor. He knows I live alone with a baby and has been helping me out.”

I decide it’s time to say it out loud. Well, most of it. One lie down. Just Mom left to tell.

“You broke up?” she gasps, sitting down heavily on the chair. “Just like that? Are all the women in this family cursed or what?”

“Please don’t worry. Everything’s fine,” I say, kneeling beside her. Grandma has always been so protective of me, and I know the idea that I’m now a single mother probably hit her harderthan it hit me. “Sometimes people come together. Sometimes they fall apart. It’s not the end of the world.”

She stays quiet for a moment. Then hits me with a curveball.

“But this Max—he likes you. I can tell. No man spends that much time helping a woman with a baby unless he cares. I saw how he looks at you.”

“Grandma, don’t start,” I laugh nervously. Great. I was worried about how she’d react to my failed relationship, and now she’s already picking out my next husband.

“No, you don’t start,” she retorts, wagging her finger. “Don’t let a good man slip away. He even came by after you gave birth. He was worried. Men like that are rare, sweetheart. You’ll regret it if you let him go.”

“Believe me, I know,” I sigh and move to the stove, giving the meat in the skillet a stir. But my heart pounds like crazy—because she’s right. Max didn’t have to help us. He didn’t have to drive us here or stick around… or chop wood in the yard.

“And do you like him?” Grandma asks, diving straight in.

“I think… yeah,” I whisper, breathless at the realization. Because falling for someone again—after everything—is terrifying.

---