His Favorite Mistake

The traffic was ridiculous, the weather had a personal vendetta against my hair, and apparently, finding an apartment with decent natural lighting was harder than finding a man who understood the difference between beige and cream.

As an aspiring interior designer, I considered that last part a personal attack.

Still, London was home now.

My very own little corner of one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Well, almost my own.

I had a roommate.

A very loud, very opinionated, fashion-obsessed roommate who was currently sitting on the kitchen counter of our new apartment, eating crisps while watching me struggle with a cardboard box.

"Bella."

She looked up. "Lacey."

"Are you going to help me?"

"Emotionally? Absolutely."

I stared at her.

She smiled sweetly and reached into the packet for another crisp.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Unfortunately, she was right.

Bella had been my best friend since university, and somewhere along the way, we had decided that living together was an excellent idea.

At the time, it had sounded wonderful.

Two best friends. One apartment. Late-night conversations. Movie nights. Shared clothes. A beautiful little life in London.

What nobody had mentioned was that one of us would end up doing most of the unpacking while the other treated moving day like a spectator sport.

I was beginning to suspect that I had been deceived.

"You're a terrible friend," I informed her, turning back to the box.

"And yet, you love me."

"Unfortunately."

"Deeply."

"Don't push it."

She laughed.

I smiled despite myself and pulled another box towards me.

The apartment was beautiful.

That was the first thing I had noticed when we viewed it. Tall windows allowed natural light to spill into the living room, the floors were a warm shade of oak, and the walls were a soft cream that made the entire space feel brighter.

It wasn't enormous, and it certainly wasn't a luxury penthouse overlooking the Thames, but it had potential.

So much potential.

I could already picture the finished space. Soft furnishings, carefully chosen artwork, warm lighting, a few plants near the windows, and a gorgeous sofa that would make the living room feel like something straight out of an interior design magazine.

Speaking of sofas.

I glanced towards the living room, where our new sofa sat at an angle that suggested it had been placed there by someone who had never seen a right angle in their life.

I frowned.

That would have to change.

Everything else could wait.

The sofa could not.

"Bella?"

"Hmm?"

"Why is the sofa still in the hallway?"

She looked towards the door.

Then back at me.

"Because it hasn't learnt how to walk yet?"

I closed my eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder why I keep you around."

"Because I'm pretty."

"Debatable."

"And because you love me."

"Unfortunately," I repeated.

She blew me a kiss.

I ignored it.

The sofa was the next problem on my list, and I intended to solve it before the day ended.

How difficult could it possibly be?

It was a sofa.

A piece of furniture.

An inanimate object.

It couldn't be that complicated.

Those, were the last sensible thoughts I had before the next twenty minutes of my life became an absolute disaster.

"Right," I muttered, gripping one end of the sofa. "Let's do this."

Bella glanced over from the kitchen.

"Need help?"

I looked at her hopefully.

She slid off the counter.

Then her phone buzzed.

"Oh! Wait. I need to answer this."

I stared at her as she wandered towards the bedroom.

"Bella!"

"LOVE YOU!"

"I'M GOING TO THROW YOUR PHONE OUT THE WINDOW!"

"LOVE YOU MORE!"

I took a deep breath.

Fine.

I could do this myself.

I was twenty years old, perfectly capable, and about to begin building a career in interior design.

I could move one sofa.

Probably.

I pushed.

The sofa moved approximately three centimetres before becoming firmly lodged in the doorway.

I stopped.

Stared at it.

Pushed again.

Nothing.

I leaned against it, hands on my hips, and narrowed my eyes.

"Oh, don't you dare."

The sofa remained silent.

"Don't look at me like that."

It continued to exist.

I pointed a finger at it.

"We are going to have a problem if you don't cooperate."

"Are you threatening the furniture?"

I froze.

Slowly, I turned my head.

A man stood a few steps away in the hallway, watching me with an expression that suggested he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this particular moment.

He was tall.

Annoyingly tall, actually.

His dark hair was neatly styled, his black shirt fitted perfectly across his shoulders, and his trousers looked more expensive than my entire collection of university clothes.

His face was all sharp angles and unfairly attractive features, but it was his expression that caught my attention.

He looked unimpressed.

Not mildly inconvenienced.

Not curious.

Utterly, devastatingly unimpressed.

I had known him for approximately three seconds, and already I didn't like him.

"Are you lost?" I asked.

One of his eyebrows lifted.

"No."

"Then can I help you with something?"

His gaze moved from me to the sofa blocking half the doorway.

"That depends. Are you planning to leave that there?"

I glanced over my shoulder.

Then back at him.

"No. I'm planning to build a small extension around it."

His expression didn't change.

Not even a little.

Oh, he was one of those men.

The kind who probably thought smiling was an unnecessary use of facial muscles.

"Have you tried turning it?" he asked.

I stared at him.

"No, actually. I've spent the last twenty minutes pushing it against the door for entertainment."

"Clearly."

I blinked.

Did he really just say that?

"Oh, brilliant," I said, spreading my arms. "A man who knows how doors work. How fortunate for me."

He looked at the sofa again.

"You're turning it the wrong way."

"And you're talking too much."

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he glanced towards the lift, as though seriously considering whether he should simply walk away and pretend he had never seen me.

Honestly, I wouldn't have blamed him.

I would have done the same.

But I wasn't going to admit that.

"Do you need help?" he asked eventually.

"No."

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

The sofa remained stuck.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

"Because it appears you're losing an argument with a piece of furniture."

I gasped.

Actually gasped.

The audacity.

"I am not losing an argument."

"Of course not."

"We're having a temporary disagreement."

"With a sofa."

"Yes."

"An inanimate object."

"Thank you for that incredibly valuable observation."

He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but instead, he exhaled slowly through his nose.

Then he rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt.

Oh.

That was unfortunate.

Not because I cared, obviously.

I simply had eyes.

And those eyes had noticed that his forearms were—

No.

Absolutely not.

I was not going to be distracted by a stranger's forearms while fighting for my life against a sofa.

"Move," he said.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"Move aside. I'll help you."

"I thought you were in a hurry to get somewhere."

"I was."

"And now you're not?"

"Now I'm reconsidering my faith in humanity."

I stared at him.

He stared back.

I should have told him to mind his own business.

I should have insisted that I could manage perfectly well on my own.

Instead, I stepped aside.

"Fine," I said. "But for the record, I had everything under control."

"Of course you did."

He took hold of one end of the sofa.

"On three."

"Wait."

He looked at me.

"What?"

"I need you to understand something."

His expression suggested he already regretted offering his assistance.

"This sofa is new. Please don't scratch it, damage it, or do anything that might compromise its structural integrity."

He stared at me for a long moment.

Then he said, very slowly, "It's a sofa."

I smiled sweetly.

"And you're a guest in my doorway. Let's try to be respectful."

For the first time, something shifted in his expression.

It wasn't quite a smile.

But it was close enough to make me wonder what he looked like when he actually laughed.

I immediately decided I didn't care.

"One," he said.

I gripped the other end.

"Two."

I adjusted my hands.

"Three."

We lifted.

He turned the sofa towards the doorway while I followed his instructions, trying very hard not to bump into him.

It took less than thirty seconds.

Thirty.

Seconds.

The sofa slid through the doorway as though it had been waiting for him to arrive all along.

I stood there, breathing slightly harder than I would have liked, staring at the furniture that had just destroyed twenty minutes of my life.

Then I looked at him.

He brushed his hands together.

"There."

I hated how easy he had made that look.

I hated how attractive he was.

And I especially hated that he was now looking at me as though he knew exactly what I was thinking.

"Thank you," I said reluctantly.

"You're welcome."

He turned to leave.

Then paused.

His gaze moved towards the apartment behind me.

"Try not to block the hallway again."

I stared at his back.

"I'm sorry?"

He looked over his shoulder.

"The hallway. Some of us actually use it."

I smiled.

Not because I was happy.

Because I was about to say something I would probably regret.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure to consult you before moving any more furniture. Wouldn't want to inconvenience the king of the hallway."

He looked at me for a moment.

Then, finally, the corner of his mouth lifted.

Barely.

A tiny, infuriating hint of amusement.

"Good idea."

And with that, he walked away.

Just like that.

No name.

No proper introduction.

No apology for being insufferable.

I watched him disappear down the hallway before slowly turning towards my apartment.

Bella appeared in the doorway of the bedroom, holding her phone.

"Who was that?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

She glanced towards the hallway.

Then back at me.

"Your new boyfriend?"

I turned to her so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash.

"WHAT?"

She burst out laughing.

"Relax! I'm joking!"

"He's the most irritating man I've ever met."

Bella's grin widened.

"He's handsome, though."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Then pointed at her.

"Don't."

She held up both hands.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it."

"That he's handsome?"

"Bella!"

She dissolved into laughter.

I turned away, determined to forget the entire encounter.

The man was rude, arrogant, and apparently incapable of having a normal conversation.

I had no intention of ever speaking to him again.

Absolutely none.

I had an apartment to decorate, a career to build, and a best friend to threaten with bodily removal if she didn't start unpacking her own boxes.

I did not have time for an insufferable neighbour.

Especially not one with unfairly attractive forearms.

I grabbed the nearest cardboard box and carried it into the living room.

Behind me, Bella was still laughing.

I ignored her.

And if the universe had any sense of decency whatsoever, that would have been the end of my encounter with the man next door.

Unfortunately, the universe had never been particularly fond of me.

And I was about to learn that the hard way.