Page 61 of My Favorite Mistake

He knocked again and waited.

Still nothing.

He glanced at her car in the driveway and then attempted to peek in the front windows. Then he knocked again.

“Liza,” he called through the door. “It’s Connor. I can see your car out here, so I know you’re home.”

He perceived the sound of something inside, but it was too quiet and muffled for him to decipher what it was.

“Liza?” He knocked again and then pressed his ear to the door.

The sound of the lock turning caused him to take a step backward away from the door, and a moment later it creaked open. Liza poked her head around the side of it, andholy shit.

Her hair was piled sloppily on top of her head, stray strands sticking out and falling around her pale face. Her features looked a bit sharp, like she was severely dehydrated or had dropped five pounds over the weekend. Dark circles tinted the base of her reddened eyes, which were glazed and hooded. Her nose was pink and puffy, and her cheeks were flushed.

Connor contorted his face. “God damn. You look like hell.”

Her lips parted as her jaw slackened, and her brows gathered. “What’re you doing here?” she asked, congested as all hell and with a raspy, cracking voice.

“Jimmy and Brennan said you weren’t feeling well, but I didn’t realize that meant you were suddenly stricken with the plague or something.”

Her jaw continued to hang, and she squinted at him. “Connor?”

“Yeah.”

Her gaze drifted like she was having trouble focusing her vision. “How’d you find my apartment?”

Connor raised one eyebrow. “First, this is a house,” he said slowly, because she was obviously high from whatever she was sick with. “Second, you told me a few weeks ago that you lived on this street.”

Her eyes welled up, and she closed her mouth. “Why are you here?”

“The guys said you were sick, and I—”

“You said it wasover.” A sob lurched out of her, and she turned away, shuffling back inside, and the door swung inward. She padded away from him wearing a gray, oversized, long sleeve t-shirt, black leggings, and fluffy, lavender socks. “You told me not to come see you, so why are you here?”

He furrowed his brow at the out-of-context statement. “Liza, I think you might be a little confused.”

The front door was half open, giving Connor a full view inside the small living room. It had sage green walls, a large, cushy, cream-colored couch, chocolate brown ottoman, and an elaborate oriental rug. A wide mirror with an ornate, gilded frame hung above the back of the couch. Dark wood side tables with matching lamps flanked the sides, and two matching overstuffed chairs sat perpendicular to the center. The atmosphere had a subtle scent of cinnamon and vanilla, and the woman’s touch on the whole place was nearly intoxicating. The house was classy, but cozy; exactly how he’d always imaginedtheirhome might have been once she’d settled them in.

Liza flopped on the couch and curled on her side with her back to him, tugging a slate blue throw blanket over her shoulders and pulling it close. “I don’t understand why you’re here. You said it was over. You have a girlfriend. You don’t love me. You never loved me.”

She covered her head with the blanket and began to quietly cry, andwhat in the hell...?

This was definitely not the time to try to grovel as Brennan had suggested. But it was clear that when she was feeling better, theymightneed to have a talk about stuff.

“Hey, Liza, I can see you’re upset right now, and you’re obviously not feeling well. So, I’m just going to drop off this stuff and go so you can rest.” Connor carried the bag and soup to the small kitchen and then tugged at his t-shirt as he immediately broke into a sweat. “Holy crap. Why do you have the heater on in late June?”

Liza simply continued to cry, her face buried under the blanket and in the couch cushion. She sucked in a breath as she yawned, and then snorted quietly as she sniffled. And although he knew he needed to go because she really needed to rest, she wascrying. Again. And it was his fault, even though in that moment it seemed more like she was just disoriented from sickness, but he was still a dick. He was already over here and had all the necessary supplies to take care of her, and that might help him feel less like a dick.

“I got this really good soup from Evangeline’s up the street,” he called from the kitchen as he pulled the items out of the bag and set them on the counter. “You want it now or later?”

“Mm-hmm,” Liza murmured, and he leaned around the counter to glance at her. She was breathing long and deep, and tiny snores intermittently drifted from her nose.

A bead of sweat rolled down his back, and Connor tugged at his shirt again. The thermostat on the wall next to the kitchen was set to eighty-five degrees. That couldn’t be a good sign. He picked up a digital thermometer he’d bought along with all the medicine, tore open the packaging, and pressed the power button as he made his way to the couch.

He sat on the ottoman and held the thermometer over her face. “Sayah.”

“Hm.”

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