Page 48 of One Little Mistake
The snowstorm is just picking up, but the ground outside is already blanketed in white.
“If it keeps snowing like this, you’re gonna be stuck here for a few more days,” Max says, still facing the window.
He turns his head slightly toward me, and under his intense gaze, I suddenly feel very self-conscious.
That’s when it hits me—I’m standing here in nothing but a thin pajama set. Definitely not the best choice for strolling around in front of a man I barely know.
“I guess I should’ve gone apartment hunting today after all,” I mumble, biting my lip. “Now you’re stuck putting up with us even longer. Maybe we’ll just end up staying here forever,” I add, trying to joke, but it comes out all wrong.
A nervous laugh escapes me, and Max’s thoughtful silence only makes the awkwardness even worse.
“Come on,” he says simply, ignoring my lame attempt at humor.
He walks past me, lingers for a moment by Tim’s crib, and then heads for the door. I follow him without thinking.
It feels strangely domestic, like we’re a real couple, and the thought throws me off balance. I stumble slightly, my breath catching.
I open my mouth, about to suggest I could just crash on the couch—even if it’s way too small and stiff to sleep on properly—but before I can get the words out, the shrill buzz of the doorbell cuts through the quiet of the apartment.
“Are we expecting someone?” Max asks, giving me a questioning look.
“Definitely not me,” I say, wrinkling my nose at the loud noise, immediately straining my ears to hear if Tim’s woken up.
“At eleven at night?” Max glances at the clock, frowning. “I’ll get it,” he says, and a sinking feeling twists in my gut.
I take a step after him, fighting the overwhelming urge to grab his arm, to beg him not to open it. To just pretend we’re not home.
But it’s too late. I hear the soft click of the lock turning and the door creaking open.
CHAPTER 18
Max
I open the door and stare at the woman standing in front of me, blinking a few times in disbelief, half-hoping she’ll just vanish into thin air.
“Are you going to let me in?” Cynthia asks haughtily and, taking full advantage of my shock, steps inside without an invitation.
She’s wrapped in a mink coat, her high-heeled boots gleaming like she just stepped out of a showroom. Her hair is slightly damp from the melting snow, and if you ask me, there’s way too much makeup on her face.
“What the hell are you doing here? How did you even find out where I live?” I hiss at her, glancing down the hallway to make sure Erin can’t see us.
“I was driving home from work when the snowstorm hit,” Cynthia says, cocking her head and giving me that sly fox-like look of hers. “Couldn’t see a thing on the road. Your mother called, and I might’ve mentioned my situation… She suggested I wait out the storm at your place. She didn’t warn you?”
“Cynthia,” I exhale sharply, clenching my fists to keep the anger bubbling inside from exploding. Of course, my mother had to meddle—despite me telling her to stay out of my business.
“I’ll call you a cab,” I snap. “You’ll head home, and until then, pretend you’re not here. Better yet—pretend you’re a damn statue and don’t move.”
Color floods Cynthia’s cheeks—pure rage. But she holds herself back, trying to stay composed, though back when we were together, she would’ve already unleashed hell by now. She used to do that a lot—blow up, storm off to the bathroom, and sob loudly until I caved and gave her whatever she wanted.
“Wait,” she says, touching my hand to stop me from making the call to the cab service. “Let’s talk. I’ve missed you so much. This snowstorm—it’s like fate giving us a second chance.”
She looks up at me with those wide, trusting eyes, and for a split second, I hesitate.
No matter how much I hate to admit it, Cynthia still holds a little sway over me. Ghosts of the past don’t let go easily. They pull at you, drag you back, make you hesitate when you know better.
“That’s the biggest load of crap I’ve ever heard,” I say in a rough voice, looking away from her and bringing the phone to my ear.
While I’m unsuccessfully trying to find a cab, Cynthia kicks off her shiny boots, shrugs out of her mink coat, and heads toward the closet. She freezes.
