Page 93 of One Little Mistake

“Smells amazing. Wouldn’t say no to lunch,” a voice suddenly says behind me, making me jump.

I jump at the sound of his voice, my eyes widening in alarm.

How long has he been standing there?

What did he hear?

My whole body stiffens. My face flushes with heat. I’m too afraid to turn around and meet his gaze. I don’t even notice that I’ve started aggressively stirring the meat in the pan—anything to keep my hands busy. Anything to hide how flustered I am. I need him to leave soon. Because I don’t like how he makes me feel. And I definitely don’t want him knowing I like him.

“It’s almost ready,” Grandma says cheerfully behind me. “Come on, Max, take a seat. Erin will set the table. She’s such a wonderful hostess! I’ll go check on the baby and see if he’s awake.”

Thanks for that, Grandma. Really.

Now it’s just the two of us.

I move automatically, pulling plates from the cabinet and setting them on the table without a word. I still can’t look at him. My hands are shaking. I try to hide it as I scoop food onto the plates.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice calm. “You seem tense.”

“I’m fine.” I force a smile. “So, uh… when are you heading back?”

“What, trying to get rid of me already?”

“No, I just—I mean, it’s going to get dark soon. I’ll worry if you drive in this weather,” I lie through my teeth and finally, finally meet his eyes.

He’s clearly amused. His eyes sparkle. A smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. He’s watching me—closely, intently.

He sits back in his chair, legs casually crossed, arms folded over his chest.

Yep. He definitely heard everything.

“There’s still a few days’ worth of firewood to chop,” he says. “Once I’m done with that, I’ll head out.”

“Max, what is all this?” I hiss, leaning closer, confused and a little angry. “What are you doing?”

“You mean you still don’t get it?”

I want to ask what exactly he means, but just then, Grandma walks back in, and I clamp my mouth shut.

Lunch is awkward, to say the least. Grandma and Max do most of the talking, while I sit there feeling like a guest in my own home. Apparently, the shrubs behind the house need clearing—and of course Max volunteers.

I picture our backyard and do some quick math: best-case scenario, he’ll be stuck here for another week.

And then—boom.

Out of nowhere, a storm hits. Just moments ago it was bright and sunny, and now we’re facing thunder, lightning, and sheets of rain slamming against the windows. So much for him leaving tonight. Driving in weather like this would be insane.

It’s like they’re all in on it—Grandma, Max, even the weather.

Not that I’m upset about it. Not really.

I just don’t know how to act around him. What to say.

I’ve never had this problem before, but something about Max makes me feel like a teenager again. Awkward. Tongue-tied. Ridiculously self-conscious.

And I hate that. I hate that I care. I hate that I’m nervous.

I hate that I kind of don’t want him to leave.

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