“Too Bad He’s Not Mine”
“Girls, come round mine this Saturday for a proper chinwag and a cuppa—or something stronger,” Dana chirped to her colleagues, Claire and Emily. Both grinned and nodded.
“I’ll bring a nice bottle of wine,” promised Claire, the office’s self-appointed wine connoisseur.
“I’ll whip up something tasty,” added Emily, famed for her culinary skills among their little trio.
“Dana, why your place? Why not a café?” Claire wondered aloud.
“Oh, we’re always in cafés! At home, we can let loose—no one judging if we have a little dance. Cafés are so stuffy,” Dana argued.
“You’ve got a point,” Emily agreed. “Home it is. Less fuss, more fun.” They all laughed.
The three women, all hovering around their mid-forties, had worked together for years and bonded over shared laughs, office gossip, and one unspoken commonality: none were married. Dana had divorced a decade ago. Claire, ever the free spirit, had never tied the knot but had a grown-up daughter living her own life. Emily—the quietest of the trio—had been left by her husband when their son was three. Since then, she’d dated here and there, though nothing serious.
Dana had nearly remarried once, until her fiancé vanished to Germany with another woman, signing some five-year contract without so much as a goodbye.
“Well, good riddance to bad rubbish,” she’d declared at the time, though privately she’d been gutted.
Claire was the glamorous one, flitting between men like a socialite but never settling. She lived alone near the office, the only one of them who drove. Emily? Well, she wasn’t a head-turner, but there was something about her—though Dana and Claire privately thought of her as a bit of a wallflower.
On Friday, as they clocked out, Dana reminded them: “Saturday’s still on, yeah?”
“Obviously,” Claire laughed. Emily, oddly, stayed quiet.
Saturday arrived. Dana tidied her flat, popped to the Tesco next door for her favourite chocolate digestives and a few other bits, then set the table. Claire and Emily arrived together—Emily had hitched a ride—and they settled in, laughing over wine (though Emily barely touched hers).
“What’s with you, then?” Claire narrowed her eyes. “Not drinking?”
Emily bit her lip. “Sorry, girls. I can’t. I’ve got a date tonight. With Greg.”
“Greg?!” they echoed in unison.
“Yes, Greg. What’s the issue?”
“You never mentioned him!” Dana said.
“I didn’t know it’d go anywhere! He rang last night and asked me out.”
“So why come here at all?” Claire frowned.
“I told him about our plans, and… well, I gave him your address, Dana. He’s picking me up here.” Emily shot her an apologetic look.
Dana snorted. “Might as well meet this mystery man, then!” She munched a biscuit, watching as Emily fiddled with a curling iron. Claire stayed uncharacteristically silent.
“Dana, have you got hairspray? I forgot mine.”
“Bathroom cabinet.”
Neither Dana nor Claire expected this “Greg” fellow to stick around. Emily always fell hard and fast, only to be disappointed. And the men she dated? Rarely worth a second glance.
“Girls, how’s my hair? I’m nervous.”
“Fine,” they chorused. Claire added, “Why the fuss? It’s not like he’s Prince Charming.”
Emily just smiled and slipped off to touch up her makeup.
“I don’t get it,” Claire muttered. “How’d she land someone? She’s forty-six and acts like a nun. Bet this Greg’s a right bore.”
The doorbell rang. Dana leapt up, giggling. “Let’s see this miracle man!”
“Hello,” came a smooth voice. The women froze.
A tall, silver-fox of a man stood there, holding three bouquets. “You must be ready?” he asked Emily before turning to Dana and Claire. “These are for you.” He handed them each flowers.
Dana’s jaw nearly hit the floor. Claire, for once, was speechless. Greg—because who else could it be?—was unfairly handsome: dark hair, a smattering of grey, and a smile that could melt glaciers.
Claire elbowed Dana aside. “Come in! Join us!”
“Another time, perhaps,” he declined politely, still smiling.
Dana recovered just enough to offer, “Fancy a juice?”
“Lovely.” He sipped, then set the glass down. With an arm around Emily, he said, “Pleasure meeting you both. Ready, love?” And off they went.
The second the door shut, Dana and Claire gaped at each other.
“No way,” Claire blurted. “A man like that? With Emily? He’ll have his fun and vanish. Mark my words.”
“He’s… dreamy,” Dana admitted, still dazed. “Where on earth did she find him?”
“Who cares? He’ll be gone by next week.”
Over the next few months, Emily floated into work each day, glowing. “Greg drove me!” she’d sing, detailing their dates—posh dinners, gallery trips, meeting his friends (all respectably married, she noted).
Dana and Claire waited for the inevitable breakup. It never came.
Then, one evening, Dana spotted Greg outside her bus stop. “Evening,” he said warmly. “You look nice.”
“Thanks,” she stammered, heart racing. “You too.”
“Actually, I wanted your opinion. Fancy popping into that jeweller’s?”
Inside, Greg zeroed in on the rings. “Can’t decide. What do you think of this emerald one?”
“Gorgeous,” Dana breathed, suddenly lightheaded. Was this… for her?
“Brilliant. Let’s go.”
Dana floated home, plotting how she’d flaunt the ring to Claire and Emily. “They’ll be green,” she giggled to herself.
On Friday, Emily announced: “Greg’s invited us all to dinner. Says he’s got a surprise.”
Dana spent the day in a giddy haze. This was it!
At the café, Greg arrived, sharp in a suit, clutching flowers. Dana held her breath.
“Evening, ladies,” he said. Then, turning to Emily: “Darling, I’d like your best friends here when I ask… Emily, will you marry me?”
Emily shrieked, flung her arms around him, and squealed, “Yes!”
Greg slid the emerald ring onto her finger. “Dana helped pick it, actually.” He smiled at her. “Thanks for that.”
“Any time,” Dana forced out, dying inside.
As the happy couple kissed, she sighed.
“Too bad he’s not mine.”
