Chapter 2 The Mix up

The sharp ring of my alarm clock pulls me from my deep sleep. My eyes flutter open, greeted by a pounding headache that makes me wince. I groan, fumbling to turn off the alarm. Another day stretches ahead-empty and uncertain. No job, no plans, just the weight of responsibility pressing down on me.

The rich aroma of coffee floats into my room, cutting through the fog in my mind. Harper must be up already. My sixteen-year-old sister has a talent for turning ordinary mornings into coffee-scented bliss. "One day, I'll have my café," she always says with a spark in her eyes. She dreams big, despite everything we've been through.

I force myself out of bed and shuffle to the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

"Good morning, Sis Vanessa!" two small voices chime in unison.

"Good morning, boys," I reply, smiling as I lean down to kiss Colby and Collins on their cheeks. The twins grin and eagerly hold up their latest masterpiece.

"Look what I painted!" Colby says, holding out a childlike drawing of a family- stick figures holding hands under a bright sun.

Something tightens in my chest. My smile falters as memories flood back. Mom used to love drawings like this. She'd pin them on the fridge and call them her treasures. Tears prick my eyes as I think about her laugh, her voice, even her flaws. Losing her still feels like losing a part of myself.

I swipe at the tears before they can fall, but the ache remains. I've been their stand-in mom for a year now, ever since she left us-taken too soon by her struggles and pain.

"Nessa, are you okay?" Colby's small voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I manage a shaky smile. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

The boys look at me with wide, worried eyes, but I ruffle their hair and kiss their foreheads. "You're my favourite twins. I'm okay, I promise."

Their smiles return, and relief washes over me, even if only for a moment.

"Here," Harper says, handing me a steaming cup of coffee. Her voice is soft, but her sharp eyes don't miss a thing. "You've been crying again, haven't you?"

I shake my head, forcing a sip. "It's just a headache," I lie.

Harper doesn't press me, but the concern lingers on her face.

Back in my room, I sit on the edge of my bed and pick up my phone. Twenty missed calls flash across the screen, all from Dave. My stomach twists. After everything he's done, why does his name still make my heart ache?

A message waits beneath the calls:

"Hi Nessa, I'm sorry about yesterday. Please let me explain. Meet me at the garden park at 10."

I stare at the screen, my emotions a tangled mess. Part of me wants to delete it, to ignore him the way he ignored my pain. But another part, a weaker, desperate part, craves answers. Closure. Maybe even a reason to hope.

Before I can stop myself, I'm in the shower. I let the water wash over me, washing away the doubt, the anger, and the sadness-at least for now.

I chose a red dress, one I know Dave always loved. I let my hair fall in waves down my back and spritz on Mom's favourite perfume. The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is polished and poised, but inside, I'm anything but.

"Harper, can you watch the boys? I need to go out for a bit," I say, grabbing my bag.

Harper's eyebrows lift, but she nods. "Be careful, okay?"

"I will" We share a hug, and I step out of the house.

*********

At the park, I sit on a bench, our old spot. The place where we used to laugh and share dreams feels empty now. Minutes drag into hours. I try calling him, but he doesn't pick up.

The sky grows darker, and thunder rumbles in the distance. Soon, rain begins to pour, soaking through my dress and ruining my makeup. Tears mix with the raindrops as I dash for cover, ending up in a small restaurant nearby.

I collapse into a seat by the window, watching the rain streak through the glass. I feel foolish for coming, for hoping, for believing his words might mean something.

The rain stopped, and the sun brightened the sky again. I clean my face and pick up my bag, ready to leave. As I'm about to leave, a deep, warm voice startles me. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting."

I turn to see a man standing behind me. He's tall, with dark hair, golden-brown eyes, and a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. His suit is perfectly tailored, his presence magnetic.

"Excuse me?" I ask, confused.

"You look stunning," he says, his eyes flicking to my dress. "You mentioned you'd wear red, and you did."

My heart stumbles. What is he talking about?

"I think you have the wrong person," I begin, standing to leave.

But he steps closer, his voice steady and sincere. "Please, don't go. I know I'm late. Work ran over, but I couldn't miss this."

I freeze, realisation dawning. He thinks I'm someone else- his blind date.

For a moment, I don't correct him. His words, his gaze, the way he looks at me like I'm someone worth waiting for, it feels good. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel seen.

And maybe, just maybe, this mistake is exactly what I need.

"Wine or cocktail? What would you like, my lady?" he asks, his eyes locked on me as if he can't bring himself to look away. His intense gaze sends a small shiver down my spine.

"I think wine would be fine," I say, my voice steady, though my heart flutters under his attention.

He waves a hand to signal a nearby waiter, his movements smooth and confident. The waiter arrives promptly, holding out a menu. "Give it to the lady," he says, smiling warmly.

I take the menu and stare at him for a moment, completely stunned. Who is this man? He seems too perfect-charming, considerate, and generous in a way I've never experienced before. I let out a soft laugh and nod. "Alright," I say, choosing grilled fish, French fries, and garlic cream.

His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. "Wow, Jane, your beauty exceeded my expectations," he teases lightly.

Jane? My heart skips a beat. I freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do. How do I tell this man I'm not Jane, but Vanessa? The coincidence of both of us wearing red dresses is a cruel twist of fate. I take a sip of water, hiding my growing panic.

"So, how's the company going?" he asks, sipping his wine as if everything about this evening is perfectly normal.

"Uhh..." My mind blanks completely. What is he talking about? "It's... good," I stammer, just as the waiter arrives with our food. The sweet aroma instantly pulls me from my spiralling thoughts.

He picks up a fry and smiles at me. "I mean, being an event planner can be very demanding sometimes. How's it going?"

"Oh, right! It's... going well," I reply quickly, trying to play along. My mind races. Jane must be an event planner.

We eat in silence for a few moments, but the air between us feels heavy, like there's more he wants to say. Finally, he clears his throat. "Jane, I need to tell you something."

I look up, curiosity flaring. "Yes?"

He exhales slowly, his expression softening. "I wasn't completely honest on the app," he admits. "I've been married before. My wife passed away five years ago."

His words hit me like a tidal wave, and suddenly, everything clicked. He's been talking to Jane from a dating app, a blind date arranged without photos. And because I'm wearing a red dress, the same colour Jane said she'd wear-he's mistaken me for her.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about your wife," I say, my voice filled with genuine sympathy.

"It's alright," he says, his smile faint but kind. "I know you probably didn't expect to meet a widowed man in his forties."

I force a smile, trying to reassure him. "Age is just a number," I say lightly, hoping to ease the tension.

His face relaxes, and we steer the conversation toward lighter topics. He tells me about his twelve-year-old daughter, who's away at boarding school, and his demanding job as the CEO of a tech company. My jaw nearly drops. A billionaire! That explains his expensive cologne and effortless confidence.

"What about your family?" he asks, leaning in slightly.

I hesitate, panic flaring in my chest. What would Jane have told him? I don't want to contradict her story. "They're... doing fine," I say vaguely, avoiding details.

As the evening progresses, I realise I need to end this charade before it goes too far. I place my napkin on the table and smile apologetically. "I hate to cut this short, but I should get going."

"Of course," he says, his tone polite but warm. "Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed your company."

"You're welcome," I reply, standing up.

Just as I'm about to leave, he stops me. "Wait." His voice is soft but insistent. "I need to tell you something else. "I deleted the app on my way here because I didn't think tonight would go well. But now... I'd like to see you again. May I have your number?"

My heart races. For reasons I can't fully explain, I scribble my number on a napkin and hand it to him. "Alright," I say, watching him save it under Lady in Red.

"What name should I save for you?" I ask, tilting my head.

"Richard," he says, a playful glint in his eyes. "Or Richie, if you prefer."

I chuckle softly. "Richie, it is."

"Did you drive here?" he asks, his tone suddenly filled with concern.

My palms grow clammy. I can't let him see my old, beaten-up Toyota. "My car broke down, so I took a cab," I lie effortlessly, hoping he doesn't see through me.

He frowns slightly. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Let me give you a ride home."

Before I can refuse, he leads me outside to a gleaming Rolls-Royce Phantom parked in the lot. His driver opens the door for us, and I slide into the plush leather seat, feeling like a complete fraud.

The ride is smooth, the quiet hum of the engine adding to the surreal feeling of the night. We chat lightly, and I do my best to keep up the illusion. When we pass the estate where my friend Cassie lives with her wealthy boyfriend, I see my opportunity. "This is fine," I say quickly.

He smiles warmly. "I hope to see you again soon." Then, to my surprise, he leans over and plants a soft kiss on my cheek.