A Date by Mistake

Emily stepped out of the office building and took a deep breath of crisp autumn air, tinged with the scent of fallen leaves. It was a sunny, dry afternoon—one of those rare late-September days when summer lingered just a while longer. The nights were growing colder, but there was still time to wear light dresses and cardigans during the day.

As she walked, she debated her next move—should she pick up Oliver from nursery first and then dash to the supermarket, or grab the groceries before collecting him? The Tesco Express near the nursery sold cheap little toys, and Oliver would inevitably whine for something. Money was tight before payday, and whatever she bought him would be forgotten within minutes.

Glancing at her watch, Emily realised she might just have enough time to do the shopping, drop the bags at home, and then head to the nursery. She quickened her pace, lost in thought, mentally listing what she needed. Salt—mustn’t forget the salt. It always ran out without warning. Just two days ago, she’d gone shopping specifically for it and returned with everything but. Now she repeated it like a mantra: *Don’t forget the salt.* “Right… carrots, milk, butter…” So absorbed was she that she barely noticed a familiar voice calling her name.

“Em! Emily Whitaker!”

She took a few more steps before stopping and turning to see a woman smiling at her.

“No clue who I am? Who swore we’d be friends forever?”

The mention of the childish oath jolted Emily’s memory—her old schoolmate, Charlotte Foster. The skinny, dark-haired girl she once knew had transformed into a stylish, striking woman.

Charlotte had joined her class in Year 3, sitting beside her, and they’d been inseparable until graduation. In Year 9, they’d made that silly vow—*friends for life*. But life had pulled them apart. Nothing lasted forever, not even friendship—let alone love.

“You look stressed. Got the weight of the world on your shoulders?” Charlotte eyed Emily’s tired expression, her plain office attire.

Emily stiffened, suddenly self-conscious.

“Looks like life’s treating you well,” she deflected, steering the conversation away from herself.

“Can’t complain. Second marriage. No kids yet. You?”

The sadness in Charlotte’s voice stopped Emily from pressing further.

“I’m not married, but I’m not alone. I’ve got a son,” Emily said, unable to hide her pride.

“Secondary school? Or at uni already?”

“Nursery,” Emily smiled.

“You’re joking! You were such a beauty—I thought you’d be the first to settle down. Most of us have grown-up kids, some already done with uni. But you? Still dropping off at nursery!” Charlotte laughed. “Then again, you were always buried in books—too sensible for boys.”

Emily flushed, offended despite herself. Charlotte caught the flicker in her expression.

“Oh come on, don’t sulk. You know me—always putting my foot in my mouth.”

“Sorry, I need to pick up Oliver.” Emily moved to step past her, but Charlotte grabbed her arm.

“Wait—give me your number! Let’s catch up properly.”

Emily rattled off her digits just to escape, then hurried towards the nursery.

Charlotte, however, wasn’t one to let things slide. She called the very next day, proposing a Saturday meet-up at a café—neutral ground.

“Fine, but I’ll need to check if Mum can watch Oliver,” Emily sighed. *There goes my day off. Might as well get it over with. We’ve nothing in common now anyway.*

Saturday arrived, and they met at a trendy café—somewhere Emily had never been. Since Oliver’s birth, she hadn’t set foot anywhere fancier than Costa. She fidgeted awkwardly, out of place. Sensing it, Charlotte ordered wine—something smooth and expensive.

They reminisced about school, classmates. Charlotte seemed to know everything about everyone—who was married, divorced, with kids, without. Emily sipped her wine, nodding along until Charlotte turned the conversation to *her*.

“Listen, my colleague’s got a son—our age. Works in IT, a bit shy, decent salary. No vices. His mum’s desperate for grandkids. Fancy a blind date?”

Emily set her glass down sharply. “No thanks.”

“At least hear me out!”

“If he’s such a catch, why’s he still single? What’s wrong with him?”

“Got his heart broken. Afraid of making another mistake. Sound familiar?” Charlotte smirked.

“Not my problem. I don’t do arranged meetings. Things should happen naturally.”

“Oliver needs a father fig—”

“I have a son. I don’t need *another*.”

Charlotte backed off, topping up their glasses. “Suit yourself.”

But later, she circled back.

“Look at yourself. Worn out, no spark left. A man could change that. One date—no pressure.”

Against her better judgement, Emily caved. *Why not?*

Next Sunday, after dropping Oliver at her mum’s, she dressed simply—no effort to impress. As she left, she realised she didn’t even know the man’s *name*. She rang Charlotte.

“Matthew? Luke? One of those biblical ones,” Charlotte mused.

“*Twelve* disciples, Charlotte.”

The café was half-empty. Two lone men sat near the bar—both in jeans and leather jackets. One caught her eye and smiled. Heart racing, she approached.

He had a glass of wine. She wished for liquid courage. He signalled the waiter without a word.

The wine was good. Too good. She drained her glass. The café filled; her head grew light. He ordered more. Still, he barely spoke, just watched her with amusement.

“You don’t like me?” she blurted. “I don’t usually drink. Hate blind dates. Meetings should be… spontaneous. Like lightning!”

“Agreed,” he said.

“You’re handsome—no trouble finding women. I imagined you… different.”

“How?”

“More wine,” she deflected.

She babbled—about herself, her life—while he listened. The room swayed.

“I should be honest. I’m not… alone. I have a son. Oliver. Five. If that’s a problem, I’ll go.”

She stood, stumbled. He steadied her.

“Let’s get some air.”

Outside, clarity returned. She rambled about her parents, Charlotte, their childhood promise, even music school. At her doorstep, she refused to invite him up—*too soon*.

Upstairs, she peered out the window. No sign of him below.

She washed her face and collapsed into bed, head buzzing. The phone jolted her awake.

“Where *were* you?” Charlotte snapped.

“Home. You woke me.”

“You chickened out?”

“I *went*! He was lovely—attentive, handsome…”

“Who exactly did you meet?”

Emily froze. She’d never asked his *name*.

Just then, Charlotte hissed, “Matthew waited *an hour*. He’s fuming.”

Emily’s stomach lurched. She’d picked the *wrong* man.

“Oh god, Charlotte—I think I’ve made a *huge* mistake.”

Charlotte groaned. “You gave him your number?”