When Dreams Come True
“Young man, you hit my car!” A slender woman wrapped in a white fur coat stood on the pavement, frost in her voice.
“Maybe park properly next time,” muttered James. “People buy their licenses these days, then cause accidents. Honestly, women shouldn’t even be allowed behind the wheel.”
“Look around—it’s all snowbanks! Where exactly was I supposed to park? On that massive pile?” She gestured sharply at a towering drift. “I’m calling the police!”
James’ defiance melted instantly. He’d already been fined for speeding this month. Now this.
“My wheel slipped into the snow too. It wasn’t intentional, you have to understand.”
“And what’s your proposal?” she asked coldly.
“Let’s settle it here.”
“No. It’s the principle. I won’t tolerate misogyny.”
“Misogyny?”
“Disdain for women!”
“Fine, I was wrong,” James ground out. “I’ll pay for the… scratch. Plus extra for the hassle. How much?”
After prolonged haggling, she relented—though James suspected she’d dragged it out to squeeze more money from him. He handed over a hefty sum just to avoid trouble.
James sighed heavily. His account was in the red again. And it was Emily’s birthday—he still hadn’t bought her a gift.
He checked his banking app: only two hundred pounds left. Payday was a week away. Desperate, he called his best mate.
“Mate, I’m skint myself,” Tom said. “Why’d you give her so much? She’s clearly loaded. You should’ve just called the cops or filed an insurance claim. Quick and clean.”
“Because they’d log the scratch in the system. Try selling a car with that on record. Know anyone who could lend me cash? Just for a week. It’s Emily’s birthday—I can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Yeah, turning up with just a card won’t cut it for someone like Emily,” Tom chuckled. “But sorry, brother. No one’s got spare cash right now.”
James shoved his phone into the holder, cracked the window, and brooded. An hour had passed since the woman vanished around the corner, yet he still sat in his car on that cursed street. He’d tried to be careful, but his tyre hit black ice, swerving him into her parked Audi.
Then it struck him—he still had an old credit card tucked away somewhere. How had he forgotten? Heart lifting, he drove straight to the jeweller’s for the earrings he’d eyed for Emily.
That evening, James hesitated outside her flat, gripping a bouquet of spray roses. The velvet box in his pocket felt heavier than lead. A year ago, he’d never imagined she’d return his feelings. Emily was out of his league—her father co-founded a major retail chain, her mother owned three high-end salons. Her parents had bought her this flat, where James now stood, too nervous to ring the bell.
“Happy birthday, love!” He thrust the gifts at her.
“Hello! Thank you, darling.” Emily kissed his cheek. “Oh my God—are these the ones?”
“Yeah…” James flushed.
“You’re mad! They’re so expensive.” She lifted the earrings from the box, whispering, “But they’re stunning… Thank you.”
Emily, despite her wealth, was frugal. She shopped at Tesco, cooked at home, cleaned her own flat—only hiring help when she’d broken her leg. Still, James felt worlds apart. His family stretched meals with cheap cuts, celebrated birthdays with liver cake instead of proper ones.
“Hope you don’t mind… I’ve got guests,” Emily smiled.
“I thought the place would be packed,” James laughed.
“You know I hate big parties. Come on, dinner’s ready.” She led him to the kitchen. “Mum, Dad, this is James.”
James froze but kept his composure, greeting them stiffly.
“Why didn’t you warn me?” he hissed in Emily’s ear.
“Relax! They were supposed to be on holiday—showed up two hours ago as a surprise. It’ll be fine.”
“Right,” James muttered.
Emily’s parents scrutinised him like lab specimens.
“Tell us about yourself. We’re practically strangers here,” her father said, smile taut.
“Yes, do enlighten us,” her mother added.
“Well… I’m a bank manager. Studied finance, currently doing my degree part-time—”
“Any real prospects in banking?” Her mother turned to her husband, ignoring James.
“Limited, I’d say,” her father replied, equally dismissive.
“Actually, I’ll be heading a department soon,” James cut in. All three blinked. “In three years, I’ll—”
“Hardly groundbreaking,” her mother sneered.
“Did you buy three salons straight out of uni?” James countered.
Their polite masks slipped.
“I earned them,” she snapped. “Started with a tiny shop.”
“Then why scoff at starting as a bank manager?”
Emily re-entered, arms crossed. Her new earrings glinted. “Five minutes gone, and you’re already debating?”
Dinner passed in silence until her mother spoke:
“James, what’s your stance on misogyny?” Grins vanished.
“Strongly against it,” he said evenly.
“Surprised you know the word,” she jibed.
“Funny—I heard it this morning. From a certain lady.”
Emily glanced between them, puzzled. James was tense; her mother’s eyes gleamed with malice.
Then it clicked—her mother had ranted earlier about an “aggressive misogynist” in a car park.
“Enough!” Emily hissed. “Mum, you mentioned that word this morning too. What’s going on?”
“What’s there to tell? Your boyfriend ruined my day!” Her mother pouted. “Had I known it was him, I’d have—”
“James, why didn’t you say you’d met Mum?” Emily frowned.
“Didn’t want to upset you. I was at fault—scratched her car, acted like a prat. And it’s your birthday—hardly the time for drama.”
“Wait, you scratched her car?” her father interjected.
“Hit black ice, skidded into—”
“Let’s see it. Did you report it?”
“It’s just a tiny mark,” her mother cut in. “We settled it. Right, James?” Her glare promised retribution.
“Paid in full. But we can check if you insist.”
Her mother fidgeted. As James grabbed his coat, she blurted:
“Stop! There… there isn’t a scratch. Well, an old one, but no new damage.”
“What?” James gaped.
“You never touched my car.”
“But you—I transferred you five hundred quid! You scammed me!”
“You deserved it, talking down to women like that! I’ll return the money, but Emily—” She whirled to her daughter. “A man who disrespects strangers will disrespect you!”
“Emily has nothing to do with this! You parked like—”
“Stop. All of you. Get out.”
“Emily!” her mother protested.
“Out. Now.” She stamped her foot.
James tried apologising, but Emily pointed to the door.
Alone, she ate cake straight from the tub, watching stormy skies—until her phone buzzed: *Look outside.*
Three figures waved wildly below: her parents and James. Another text: *Come with us. We made up.*
Emily ditched the tub, threw on her coat, and raced down.
“I repaid James, honestly!” her mother admitted sheepishly.
“And I apologised to your mum,” James grinned, offering his hand. “Now we’re apologising to you.”
“Where are we going?” Emily feigned indifference.
“The sledding hill!” her mother cheered.
“The hill?”
“Exactly.”
After kicking them out, James had insisted on a proper talk at a café. He’d apologised, explaining he wasn’t sexist—just stressed about Emily’s gift.
“I’m stunned how well he knows you,” her mother said. “This was his idea!”
Emily’s eyes welled. She’d dreamed of celebrating on the hill, sledding on linoleum scraps under the stars—but her parents always booked posh venues. She’d mentioned it once, never thinking James remembered.
Her father hauled a bulky bag from the car—a rolled-up strip of linoleum inside.
