Page 29 of One Little Mistake

Erin

I barely manage a single breath—just one—before I’m pinned against the cold wall.

Max’s lips crash onto mine, and I can’t believe this is actually happening. The taste, the scent, the groan—intoxicating.

I like touching him. I like how his stubble scratches against my skin. I like knowing he wants me.

Why else would he be here?

His hand grips my waist, pulling me closer, anchoring me to him. I’m trembling all over. I clutch at his shoulders and accidentally pop the top button off his shirt.

I rise on my toes to meet his height, kissing him back, but I can’t fully let go.

“N-no, wait…” I whimper, when his fingers tug my dress upward with clear intent.

“What?” he pants, bracing his forehead against the tile near my head.

His whole body’s strung tight. Ready. Wound up.

“Not now,” I whisper, unable to fight him… but not ready either.

Pause. A long one. His breath fans over my skin, sending a wave of goosebumps down my spine.

“Yeah,” he exhales. “Sorry.” He takes another breath. “This isn’t exactly the right place. Let’s get out of here. Grab Tim, go back to mine, just the two of us. Keep this night going?” he murmurs at my ear, sending the ground out from under me.

If his hands weren’t holding me up, I’d probably collapse onto the tiles.

“No, you… you don’t understand,” I murmur, biting my lip.

I have to tell him the truth now or he’ll think I’m just pushing him away.

“I can’t. Not yet,” I whine softly, pressing my nose into his neck, so he knows it’s not about him, so he won’t think I’m trying to get rid of him.

“Damn. I didn’t think…”

Max kisses my temple, pulling me close again, his hand stroking my back gently, soothing.

We stand there in silence. Breathing each other in. Leaving light kisses like promises. Until someone tries the bathroom door, a jiggle of the handle, then silence. We spring apart like we’ve been burned, quickly straightening our clothes.

We exchange burning glances, wait a beat in silence, then step out into the hallway when it’s finally empty as if nothing happened.

“Stop flirting with that clown,” Max hisses under his breath through clenched teeth, and I can’t help but smirk.

Jealousy? Seriously?

Soft music plays in the background. The couch where the girls are lounging has been moved toward the window, giving a perfect panoramic view of the city lights.

The guys are still at the table, loudly debating something. Max and I go in opposite directions. I drop into an armchair angled toward the living room—and toward Taylor.

“You look a little flustered,” Vivienne teases, giving me a knowing wink.

I smile in return.

“So… has the ice finally cracked?” she leans in with a grin.

“He’s a pretty decent kisser,” I say with a playful shrug. “Tall, hot, and scratchy,” I add mysteriously, and we both burst out laughing.

“He seriously needs to shave that ridiculous beard—if that’s what you were talking about,” Vivienne rolls her eyes, and we melt into the girls’ chatter.

But I can’t stop my eyes from drifting back to Max. And every time I catch his gaze, that invisible cord between us pulls tight again. Heavy. Intense. Wanting.

He’s lounging back in his chair, glass raised lazily to his lips that were on mine just moments ago.

I look away. Can’t take it. Have I ever felt this before? I’ve been charmed before. Sure. Nervous, even. But this ache, this flutter in my chest—this is new. Maybe I felt something similar when I met Tim’s father.

Once.

But not like this.

I stare at the city lights outside the window, my insides a hurricane of emotion.

I don’t know what this is. Gratitude? Something more? And how is it even possible to fall so fast, so hard to forget someone else so completely?

A slow song begins to play. Someone turns up the volume. It pulls me out of my haze. Logan walks up to Vivienne and takes her hand. Others follow.

I watch them, swaying together, warm and smiling. And then I see Max. He’s coming toward me—slow, sure steps—and my pulse spikes.

I don’t know where to look. What to do. One moment I’m melting in his arms like I’ve been his for years, and the next—I can’t even meet his eyes.

Max stops right in front of me, looks down, and extends his hand. I place my palm in his, warm and steady. He leads me to the center of the room and interlaces our fingers.

I rest my other hand on his shoulder and look straight into his eyes. And just like that I’m drowning. He leads me in the dance if you can even call it that.

We simply sway, slowly, gently, closer and closer with each breath. Everything about it feels right. Familiar. Like we’ve done this a thousand times before. Like we’ve known each other for decades, maybe even longer.

“You look incredible tonight,” Max murmurs in a husky voice. “Did I already say that?”

“Maybe,” I nod, a little flustered.

Another pause.

“How’s the new place?”

“Better than I expected.”

I can sense he’s just as thrown off by this pull between us as I am. He doesn’t know what to say, what to do, despite how confident and intimidating he usually seems. And I get it. I’m a complicated woman with someone else’s child.

That’s a lot.

The song fades. I exhale in quiet disappointment; I could’ve danced with Max for hours. Just us. No interruptions. No space between us.

But he doesn’t let go of my hand.

Even as the others move away and the room quiets, we stay right where we are, locked in a silent gaze. There’s something unspoken crackling between us.

And all I can think about is how much I wish we were alone. So I could truly feel what it’s like to be touched by a man again. To be seen. Desired. Held.

But it’s not meant to be.

At least not tonight.

“It’s getting late. I should head home, get some rest,” I say. But I don’t move.

“I’ll grab Tim. Walk you out,” Max replies after a beat, and turns toward the nursery.

I find Vivienne to say goodbye.

“You two are perfect together,” she whispers. “You didn’t cross paths by accident. Trust me—things like this don’t just happen. Don’t waste your chance. Don’t let a good man slip away.”

“I don’t know…” I admit. “Tim’s father… he…”

I want to say something might’ve happened to him, but Vivienne cuts me off sharply.

“Oh, forget that idiot. Has he ever checked in on you? On the baby? Asked if you needed anything? He lied to you. I know it hurts. It’s brutal—admitting the person you loved could do that to you. But you need to face the truth and kill that naivety before it kills you.”

She says it like someone who’s lived through it. She’s not looking at me and I follow her gaze, expecting to find Logan but no, he’s on the phone. Vivienne is watching his twin brother.

“Is there something I don’t know?”

I get this strange feeling that something happened between those three in the past.

“Just listen to your heart,” Vivienne softens.

“If right now it wants to be with Max, then be with him. Live in the moment. Don’t overthink it.

A month ago, you were on the brink of life and death, and today, thank God, you’re standing here in front of me.

You’ve been given a chance to change everything, so take it. ”

“I’ll try.”

“Ready?” Vivienne and I fall silent as Max appears beside us, holding my son. She gives me that look that says, “Told you. He’s already getting used to your kid.”

“Yeah, let’s go. Thank you, Vivienne. Everything was delicious. And congrats again.”

We say our goodbyes and step out. The moment the door closes behind us, it’s suddenly so quiet, it rings in my ears.

“Maybe you two should stay at my place?” Max suggests out of nowhere, glancing toward his apartment.

“No, we’re going home,” I hurry to decline, my fingertips brushing my lips that are still tingling from his kiss. “But… if you want, you can come in for tea. Or coffee,” I add quickly, remembering how he practically runs on the stuff.

“Wouldn’t say no,” he grins slyly, and we take turns stepping into the elevator.

While I fuss in the kitchen making coffee, Max sits back on a chair, relaxed, watching me. Sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone, eyes locked on me. I have no clue how to act around him. Sure, we’ve kissed twice now, but we haven’t talked about it at all.

I slide a cup toward him and sit down across the table.

“Have you started the renovation yet?” I reach for a safe topic because the tension between us is getting on my nerves.

“No. Every time I think about it, I just want to give up on life,” he chuckles, shooting me a sly look. “What’s your plan for next week?”

“Well, I rented a space for the flower shop. I’ll be moving in, getting it all set up. A few more days and I’ll be back on my feet completely.”

“If you need help, call me. I’m free most of the time, so you can count on me.”

“Thanks,” I exhale and take a sip of tea.

We keep talking about nothing in particular for a while, and I’m just starting to feel disappointed, thinking maybe Max regrets the kiss, when he stands up to rinse his cup. As he walks past me, he suddenly stops and runs his hand through my hair.

“This hairstyle suits you,” he murmurs hoarsely, then leans down and kisses the top of my head. Soft. Easy. My breath catches at the tenderness of it. I don’t want him to pull away.

“Your faucet’s leaking. I’ll drop by tomorrow around noon and fix it, okay?”

“Yeah…” I whisper, caught off guard, and then Max suddenly seems in a rush to leave—without saying anything about what just happened between us, without acknowledging the desire we couldn’t contain.

“Sweet dreams,” he smiles, hands in his pockets, and walks out of my apartment, leaving behind his cologne… and total chaos in my heart.

I toss and turn all night, unable to sleep, just counting down the hours until tomorrow.

***

Max shows up around one in the afternoon.

He’s got tools in hand, wearing a T-shirt that hugs his body just right, showing off those maddeningly defined muscles. I catch myself staring and completely miss the fact that he’s asking me something.

“Can I come in?” he repeats louder.

“Oh—yeah, sorry,” I mumble, blushing like always around this man, and step aside to let him in.

He takes his time fixing the faucet, asking about random things as he works.

Offers to tag along to my doctor’s appointment next week.

Says he could drive me and Tim to my grandma’s because it’s not the smartest idea to drive that far alone with a baby.

I tell him I’ll think about it—I don’t feel like explaining to my grandma who this man is or why Tim’s father is no longer in the picture.

She was so excited to help plan our wedding.

Max finishes up and stays for lunch. He watches Tim with obvious interest—says he looks like he’s grown in just a few days. And then… he leaves. Just like that.

No dinner invite. No hug. No kiss.

Just a simple “See you later,” and he’s gone. I stare at the door, feeling both disappointed and relieved at the same time.

Maybe what happened in the bathroom was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, and I really shouldn’t make any more mistakes.

Maybe I should just focus on my son, my work, and stop getting flustered by the first guy who’s shown me a little kindness.

Yes. Exactly.

I repeat this to myself all day.

And by evening, I’m unscrewing the lightbulb in my bathroom on purpose and texting Max to say I need help.

A little female trickery never hurt anyone.

Somehow, over the next week, we both keep coming up with the dumbest excuses to see each other.

Borrowing sugar.

Ironing pants to get that perfect crease.

Sharing homemade pie that’s suspiciously too much for one person.

I lie and say I can’t find my hairdryer and then pretend to search every corner of Max’s apartment.

It’s ridiculous. But it’s also the first time in a long while I’ve felt alive.

Like I’ve stepped into the past—back in high school, when I used to come up with the exact same kinds of excuses just to see the boy next door. The one who never even noticed me.

Sometimes, when we’re close, I “accidentally” brush against Max—just to feel the heat of his skin. And sometimes he’s the one who steps in too close, close enough that I think he’s going to kiss me again… but he doesn’t. Not even a touch. Like he’s afraid of something.

After another week, I start to feel like Max has unofficially moved in.

He stays late almost every night, takes walks with us in the park, and drives me to the clinic.

Somehow, effortlessly, he’s become part of my daily life.

The crying baby doesn’t scare him. The fact that he spends most of his time with us doesn’t bother him.

He even takes Tim out in the stroller so I can work on floral orders.

So I make a decision: I won’t rush him. I’ll let him get attached, let him miss us when we’re not around. Let him figure out on his own whether we mean something to him or not. Because if you move too fast—without understanding your own feelings—you’re bound to mess things up. To fall.

I’ll give him a month.

If he keeps pretending that nothing’s happening between us—that there’s no electricity in our glances, no flutter in our chests—then I’ll make the first move. His leave won’t last forever, and I do want more than just friendship.

Being near him has already started to erase the past. The memories of my ex, the sting of betrayal—they’ve begun to fade. His face, once so vivid in my mind, now feels distant. Dim. Just a smudge on the map of my life.