I thought my mother’s 70th wedding would be simple and beautiful—until she stood up, took the microphone, and announced a surprise rule for whoever caught her bouquet. I stepped back to avoid it. Somehow, it landed in my hands.
From the kitchen, I had watched her meticulously adjust place cards, fix napkin folds, and grumble about color themes like the entire universe depended on them.
She radiated joy. And I couldn’t quite grasp how this was all happening.
“Are you serious, Mom? You’re getting married at 79?”
My tone didn’t faze her. She just gave me that mischievous smile of hers.
“Don’t make that face, sweetie. It’s not the end of the world—it’s the start of something new!”
She had that same spark in her eyes she had in her 20s, the same wild, joyful energy that made disagreeing with her pointless.
“But why, Mom? Your life is perfectly fine!”
“Who said I wanted to live it alone?”
My mother had always lived life on her own terms.
“I know you stopped believing in love after your marriage collapsed—but I haven’t. Harold makes me laugh. I feel alive again.”
I watched her, equal parts exasperated and in awe. Brave, stubborn—when she made a decision, nothing would move her from it.
“So the wedding’s actually planned?”
“The guests are invited, the dress is picked, and the menu’s been finalized.”
“This is insane.”
“This is life, sweetheart,” she said with a sly grin. “You should try living it again—stop hiding behind all that cynicism.”
My jaw clenched. She always managed to mention my divorce at the most inconvenient times.
I remembered the day my husband left—how I came home to find his suitcases by the door. He simply announced he’d fallen in love with someone younger. Someone “fun.”
Since then, love had felt like a scam—something sold to naïve women who didn’t realize their prince would one day grow bored and find someone shinier.
I’d rebuilt my life, piece by piece, without any room for love. I told myself I didn’t need it.
“I’ve planned something fun for my favorite girls at the wedding,” my mom said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Girls?”
“You, dear—and my beautiful granddaughters.”
She looked at me with a sparkle in her eye I didn’t trust.
“Mom.”
“Trust me,” she said, waving a hand. “You’re going to love it.”
I seriously doubted that.
On the wedding day, driving to the grand estate, life reminded me I wasn’t in charge.
My tire blew out in the middle of nowhere. No gas station, no cars. Poor cell service. Fantastic.
As I stepped out, cursing under my breath, a shiny pickup truck pulled up beside me.
“Need help, ma’am?”
I rolled my eyes before turning.
A tall, broad-shouldered man with dark hair stood by the truck, his smile too cheerful for my mood.
“I’ve got a flat,” I said bluntly.
“No problem. Five minutes and you’re good to go.”
“You a mechanic?”
“Nope. But I doubt you’ll ask for a resume while I fix your tire.”
I glared. “Please, mister…”
“Nick.”
“…I’m really not in the mood for jokes, Nick.”
“Sounds like you need one,” he said, squatting by my car.
I sighed and turned away—just as the car door slammed.
“Nick, seriously?” came a sharp, female voice, laced with irritation.
I turned to see a tall blonde woman glaring from the passenger seat.
“Just a minute, Julie,” Nick called back.
Julie turned her glare on me, her look going from annoyed to territorial. With a sigh, she sank back into the truck.
Typical. Of course he had a story. I didn’t care. I just wanted to get to the wedding and be done with the day.
The wedding was extravagant. My mom was glowing. Harold beamed. Everyone was laughing and dancing.
Then Mom grabbed the microphone.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s bouquet time!”
Cheers erupted. My nieces eagerly took their places.
“Whoever catches it,” she added, “gets my sapphire ring!”
A buzz swept through the crowd.
“But there’s one condition,” she said, pointing. “The winner must go on a date—with someone I choose!”
“Oh, no,” I muttered, stepping back.
She turned and winked at me.
Then she threw the bouquet—aiming it directly at me. It hit my hands before I could dodge. Silence. Then wild cheers.
I stood frozen, bouquet in hand. My mother grinned.
“Congratulations!”
“You’re joking,” I whispered.
“A deal is a deal,” she said sweetly.
“Who am I supposed to date?”
She smiled wider. “Nick, sweetheart—come on up!”
My heart dropped. Nick—yes, the same Nick—walked forward, clearly amused. He raised an eyebrow.
“Looks like fate wants dinner,” he said.
Behind him, Julie glared daggers.
I stormed back to my mom. “No. Absolutely not.”
She squeezed my arm and whispered, “Please, sweetie. Just one date. As a wedding gift.”
Before I could argue, she waved Nick over and melted into the crowd.
Nick leaned in, grinning. “So—when’s our big date?”
I sighed. “Let’s get it over with. One date. For my mom. That’s it.”
“Perfect. You name the time and place.”
“Saturday. Seven p.m. Vincenzo’s downtown.”
“Classy. I’m flattered.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said. “I’m going to pretend this never happened.”
As I turned, I saw Nick heading back toward Julie. She looked furious. He said something quietly to her, then—shockingly—took her hand and led her onto the dance floor.
That was enough for me.
I skipped the cake, grabbed my purse, and left without a word.
Why was my mother doing this to me?
Saturday night. At a quiet Italian café, I tapped my fingers on the table. I’d arrived early just to get it over with.
Nick showed up on time.
Wearing a crisp shirt and dark slacks, he smiled the second he saw me.
“Wow,” he said, sliding into the seat. “You came. I was half-expecting a breakup note and an empty chair.”
“I almost left one.”
“So, tell me—how was your day?”
I stared at him. “Before or after I regretted agreeing to this?”
Nick laughed.
“See? That’s why I like you. You’re brutally honest. It’s refreshing.”
I sighed and sipped my coffee. “I’m here for one reason—my mother. One date. No expectations.”
“No expectations,” he echoed.
To my surprise, the conversation went better than expected. He made a few jokes about the wedding, and I even laughed—reluctantly. He was charming. Annoyingly so.
Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and silenced it. A minute later, it rang again.
He sighed, glanced at the caller ID, and said, “Give me one sec.”
He stepped away. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop—but I heard.
“Hey Julie, I get it. Calm down.”
A pause. Another sigh.
“Yeah, I’ll be there soon. Just sit tight.”
He hung up and ran a hand through his hair before returning to the table, visibly flustered.
“I’m really sorry, I have to go.”
“Something urgent?”
“Yeah… just something I need to handle.”
“Let me guess—Julie?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course.”
He stood and placed money on the table. “I’m sorry. I understand if—”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s done. No need to reschedule.”
“You’re just going to write me off?”
I gave a dry smile. “Nick, if you’re going to bail on a date for another woman, at least be subtle.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again. Just shook his head.
“I’ll explain later.”
Then he walked out.
I stared at my untouched coffee, my reflection flickering in the cup.
Julie. Of course.
I knew my mom’s matchmaking plan would flop—but I hadn’t expected her to set me up with a player.
Whatever. No more Nick.
Or so I thought.
The next morning, flowers arrived.
A massive bouquet of red roses sat on my desk. The card read:
“Hope you’re not allergic. —Nick”
I dumped them in the trash.
“Oh, please.”
The next day, more flowers.
“A secret admirer?” teased a coworker.
“Persistent mistake,” I muttered, dropping them in the breakroom.
A week later, I’d ignored every bouquet. Then my mom called.
“Dinner at my place tonight, sweetie.”
“Mom, I—”
“No excuses. You owe me. You didn’t even stay for cake!”
I sighed. “Fine. I’ll be there.”
Should’ve known something was up.
The scent of grilled food greeted me on her back patio. For a moment, I relaxed.
Then I saw him.
Nick. At the grill.
Julie. Behind him.
My blood boiled. My mom took my arm.
“Oh, sweetheart! You made it!”
“Mother. Why is he here?”
She played innocent. “I forgot to mention? I invited Nick.”
“Why?”
“I think you two got off on the wrong foot. Just wanted to give you another chance.”
“I got along with him just fine,” I said dryly.
“Then you won’t mind staying for dinner,” she said sweetly, nudging me to the table.
Nick turned. “Look who finally stopped avoiding me.”
I didn’t answer. Julie smirked.
“Can we eat now?” she snapped.
My mother clapped. “First, Nick has something to say.”
Nick dropped the spatula and sighed. “I need to introduce someone.”
“I know Julie,” I said coldly. “I saw her hanging on your arm at the wedding.”
Nick interrupted, “It’s not what you think.”
He gestured to Julie. “She’s my daughter.”
“…What?”
Julie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know I look too old, but I’ve lived with him for 18 years.”
My jaw dropped.
Nick rubbed his neck. “My wife died when she was six. It’s just been the two of us since.”
Julie groaned. “He’s annoying.”
“Runs in the family,” Nick shot back.
“So you two weren’t…” I waved vaguely.
“Dating?” Nick chuckled. “God, no. That’d be gross.”
Julie gagged. “Totally gross.”
She sat across from me. “Look, you’re not as bad as I thought. My dad deserves someone. So if you can stand him… date again.”
Nick gave me a smug look.
“See? Even my daughter likes me.”
Despite myself, I smiled. “Maybe. Let’s eat first—I’m starving.”
“Best thing anyone’s said all night.”
The tension lifted. We laughed, talked, and—for the first time—I felt like I might be ready.
Ready to open my heart again.