**A Date by Mistake**
Emily stepped out of the office building, inhaling deeply the crisp autumn air scented with fallen leaves. The sun shone warmly—Indian summer, they called it. The nights were chilly, but the afternoons still allowed for light dresses and cardigans.
As she walked, she debated her next move—should she pick up Oliver from nursery first and then stop by the shop, or grab the groceries before collecting him? The local Tesco had little toys near the till, and Oliver would inevitably beg for something. Money was tight before payday, and whatever he wanted would hold his interest for all of five minutes.
Emily checked her watch. If she hurried, she’d have just enough time to shop, drop the bags at home, and then dash to the nursery. She quickened her pace, lost in thought, mentally listing what she needed. *Don’t forget salt!* It always ran out unexpectedly. Two days ago, she’d gone shopping specifically for salt, bought everything else, and forgot the salt. Now it played like a mantra in her head. *Carrots, milk, butter…* She was so absorbed she barely noticed her surroundings.
“Em! Emily Whitmore!” someone called.
Emily took a few more steps before stopping and turning to face the woman.
“Don’t recognise me? And here I thought we swore to be friends forever,” the woman teased with a smile.
At the mention of the vow, realisation struck—this was her old schoolmate, Charlotte Sinclair. Not the skinny, dark-haired teen she remembered, but a stylish, polished woman.
Charlotte had transferred to their school in Year 3, sitting next to Emily, and they’d been inseparable until graduation. In Year 9, they’d made that eternal friendship pact. Life had pulled them apart. Apparently, nothing in this world lasted forever—not friendship, certainly not love.
“You look worried, like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders,” Charlotte observed, taking in Emily’s tired eyes and simple office wear.
Emily shifted uncomfortably, sensing her own dullness beside Charlotte’s vibrancy.
“Seems like you’re doing well,” Emily deflected.
“Can’t complain. Second marriage. No kids yet. You?”
Hearing the melancholy in Charlotte’s voice, Emily steered away.
“Single, but not alone. I have a son,” she said, pride creeping in.
“He must be finishing school? Or at uni by now?”
Emily laughed. “No, he’s still in nursery.”
“Blimey! You were so gorgeous—thought you’d be the first to marry. Most of us have grown kids, some even done with uni. And here you are with a toddler! Though, you were always the studious one. Too busy for boys.”
Emily’s face fell. Charlotte caught herself.
“Oh, don’t sulk! You know me—foot-in-mouth disease.”
“Sorry, I need to fetch Oliver.” Emily moved to leave.
“Wait!” Charlotte rummaged in her bag. “Give me your number. Let’s catch up properly.”
Emily rattled it off, eager to escape, muttered a goodbye, and hurried toward the nursery.
Charlotte, however, wasted no time. She called the next day, proposing a Saturday meet-up at a neutral spot—somewhere nice.
“I’ll have to check if Mum can watch Oliver,” Emily said half-heartedly.
*Just my luck*, she thought after hanging up. *There goes my day off. Fine, I’ll go—maybe she’ll leave me alone after. We’ve nothing in common now.*
Saturday arrived, and they met at a chic café. Emily, who’d barely set foot anywhere since Oliver’s birth, felt out of place. Charlotte noticed, ordering wine to ease the tension. The wine was pleasant. They reminisced about school, classmates—Charlotte knew everything about everyone: marriages, careers, kids…
Emily sipped and listened. When the nostalgia dried up, Charlotte turned the spotlight.
“Listen, my colleague’s son—our age, single. Works in IT, barely leaves his computer. Decent bloke, no bad habits, earns well. His mum’s dying for grandkids. Fancy an introduction?”
Emily set her glass down sharply. “I’m not looking.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve met him!”
“If he’s so great, why’s he still single?”
“Bad breakup. Fear of another mistake. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” Charlotte eyed her knowingly.
“His problem. I’m not forcing anything. If it happens, it happens naturally.”
“Suit yourself. But a boy needs a father figure—”
“I have a son. I don’t need another.”
Charlotte backed off, but the seed was planted. Against her better judgment, Emily agreed.
The following Sunday, she dropped Oliver at her mum’s, dressed simply, and barely dabbed on mascara. She wasn’t out to impress.
Just as she left, she realised—she didn’t know his name. “Charlotte, what’s he called?”
“Er… Matthew? Or maybe John? Biblical name, I think.”
“Seriously?”
“Ring Milly if you’re that fussed.”
“Forget it. He’ll be the only bloke drinking alone.”
At the café, she hesitated, scanning the room. Few patrons at this hour—easier to spot him. Two men sat solo, both in jeans and leather jackets. The nearer one met her gaze and smiled.
Emily approached, greeting him before sitting. A wineglass sat before him. Nerves fluttered—she could use a drink. He signalled the waiter, ordering one for her.
She took a grateful sip. The wine was smooth, and soon, the glass was empty. Another round arrived. The man studied her, silent.
“Don’t you like me?” Emily blurted. “I don’t usually drink—just nerves. I hate arranged meetings. Connections should spark naturally, like… lightning.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” he said.
“You’re handsome. Shouldn’t struggle with women. I pictured you… different.”
“How so?”
“Another drink first,” she deflected.
The wine loosened her tongue. She prattled about herself—her job, Oliver, her parents. He listened, amused.
“Stop staring. You’re making me blush,” she said, though she wasn’t. The room swayed slightly.
“I should warn you—I’ve a son. Oliver, five. If that’s a deal-breaker, just say.” She stood unsteadily.
“I think you’ve had enough. Let’s get some air.”
Outside, the cool breeze cleared her head. She rambled about her childhood, Charlotte, their silly oath. At her door, she declined to invite him up—not her style on a first date.
Upstairs, she peered out the window. He wasn’t lingering below. She washed her face, collapsed into bed, and drifted into wine-fuelled dreams.
The phone jarred her awake.
“Where *were* you?” Charlotte snapped.
“Home. You woke me.”
“You chickened out?”
“Went, actually. Just got back.”
“And?”
“He was lovely. Handsome, attentive—”
“Who exactly did you meet?”
“What? Him!” Horror dawned—she’d never asked his name.
“Because Milly just rang. *Matthew* waited an hour. Never showed.”
Emily’s stomach dropped. Two lone men. She’d chosen… who?
“Oh God. I talked his ear off. What if he’s a conman? Should I change the locks?”
“You didn’t give him your keys?”
“No, but—I gave him my number.”
“Christ, Em. You’re clever but *so* daft. No wonder you got knocked up by that deadbeat.”
Emily sniffled into the phone, the last dregs of alcohol seeping out with her tears.
“Alright, don’t cry. Was he at least fit?”
“Very.”
“Did he ask you out again?”
“I don’t… think so? I was pretty sloshed.”
A sigh crackled down the line. “Well, there’s always Milly’s son.”
“No more setups.”
“Suit yourself.” Click.
Days passed with no call. Just as she resigned herself, the phone rang.
“Hello, Emily,” said a warm voice.
“Hello… Who’s this?”
“Paul. From the café.”
“Paul? Milly’s son?”
“What? No, my mum’s Tanya. Fancy meeting again?”
Emily agreed, mentioning Oliver.
“I’d love to meet him. You talked about him so much.”
“God, I’m mortified. I must’ve mixed you up with—never mind.”
“I figured. But I liked your honesty. You weren’t trying to impress me.”
They met by the park. To Emily’s delight, Paul and Oliver hit it off—carousel rides, arcade games, ice cream.
And just like that, a mistaken date turned to love. Maybe there *were* no accidents. People think they choose, but perhaps someone up above lines up hearts that beat as one—and letsMonths later, as Emily watched Paul and Oliver laughing together in their backyard, she finally understood that sometimes the wrong turn leads to exactly where you were meant to be.
