The night was supposed to be perfect. Candlelight, wine, soft music—the kind of setting that promised something deeper, something real. My third date with Susan felt like the moment when casual attraction turned into something more.
I had picked a cozy Italian restaurant, one of those hidden gems with dim lighting, the smell of fresh basil in the air, and waiters who made you feel like family. I wanted this night to be special.
Susan walked in wearing a navy dress that hugged her figure just right. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders, her smile lighting up the room. My heart skipped a beat. This might actually be something.
The waiter had just placed a basket of warm, freshly baked bread between us when the restaurant door swung open with a loud thud. At first, I ignored it. But then, a familiar voice cut through the soft hum of conversation.
“Oh, hey, Rob! Fancy seeing you here!”
I froze mid-reach for a breadstick. My stomach twisted.
Standing by the entrance, wearing a bright floral dress that seemed to clash with everything around her, was Linda from accounting. But the real problem wasn’t her outfit—it was the three kids clinging to her, their faces smeared with something sticky, their energy radiating in chaotic waves.
“Linda?” I managed, blinking in disbelief.
She grinned, already leading her kids toward our table. “You didn’t tell me you were coming here tonight!”
Susan’s eyes darted between Linda and me, her smile faltering. “Friend of yours?” she asked.
“Colleague,” I corrected quickly, forcing a smile as Linda plopped down into the booth beside me, her kids settling in like they owned the place.
Linda grabbed a breadstick and took a bite. “It’s packed in here. Figured we’d join you. You don’t mind, do you?”
Oh, I minded. I really, really minded.
Linda was a force of nature. A single mom with three kids from two failed relationships, she was equal parts intimidating and magnetic. At work, she was sharp, confident, and always in control. I admired her from a distance, but never in a million years did I think I’d be sharing a dinner table with her—and certainly not on a date.
“Linda, what are you doing here?” I hissed under my breath, my eyes flicking to Susan, whose confusion had hardened into clear irritation.
Linda smiled sweetly. “Oh, don’t be silly, Rob.” She reached for my hand, and I instinctively pulled back. “You promised to watch the kids tonight, and here you are, out on a date?”
Susan stiffened. “Excuse me?”
Linda let out a dramatic sigh. “I mean, we’re a family, after all.” She gestured to her kids, who were now demolishing the breadbasket. “The kids were so excited to see you tonight!”
My heart stopped. “Linda, I never promised—”
She cut me off with a knowing smile. “Really, Rob? You’re going to pretend this isn’t a thing in front of her?”
Susan shot up from her seat, her eyes blazing. “Pretend WHAT isn’t a thing?”
Linda shrugged, tilting her head. “I didn’t mean to ruin your date, Susan. But you should know the kind of man you’re seeing. He’s been leading me—and the kids—on for months.”
A collective gasp rippled through the restaurant. Heads turned. My throat tightened.
“Susan, this isn’t true,” I pleaded, but she was already grabbing her purse.
“You two clearly have unfinished business,” she snapped, her voice like ice. “Enjoy your family dinner.”
With that, she stormed out.
I shot to my feet, ready to run after her, but something small and warm wrapped around my leg.
Linda’s toddler.
The restaurant went dead silent.
I turned to Linda, my voice barely containing my fury. “What the hell was that?”
She didn’t even flinch. Instead, she leaned back, her expression infuriatingly calm. “You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” My voice rose. “For what? Ruining my date?”
Linda calmly pulled out her phone and scrolled through her photos. “No. For saving you.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She flipped the phone around. “Recognize this?”
I squinted at the screen. It was a grainy photo, but the face was unmistakable. “That’s… Susan. Why do you have a picture of Susan?”
Linda zoomed in. “This isn’t just a picture. It’s a mugshot.”
My blood ran cold. “A… mugshot?”
Linda nodded. “My brother’s a cop. Last night, I was at the station dropping off some paperwork for him, and I saw her face on the bulletin board. She’s wanted for fraud.”
I felt like the ground had vanished beneath me. “Fraud?”
Linda’s voice softened. “Yeah. She scams men. Gets into relationships, gains their trust, and then robs them blind. I didn’t realize it was the same Susan until I saw the picture you posted on Instagram before your date tonight. I called my brother, and… well, here we are. She’s probably being arrested as we speak.”
My mind reeled. “Why didn’t you just TELL me?”
Linda sighed. “I tried calling, but you didn’t answer. When I saw you here, I panicked. I couldn’t let her slip away.”
I collapsed back into my seat, rubbing my temples. The realization hit me like a truck. Susan—witty, charming, beautiful Susan—had been playing me. And Linda, as crazy as her method was, had just saved me.
A long silence stretched between us. Then, Linda’s oldest son kicked his legs under the table. “Sooo… are we getting pizza or what?”
Something cracked inside me, and to my own surprise, I laughed. A real, deep, relieved laugh.
Linda smirked. “See? I told you you should be thanking me.”
I shook my head, exasperated. “You’re unbelievable.”
She shrugged. “And yet, here you are. Not scammed out of your life savings.”
I looked at her—really looked at her. At the kids who clearly adored her, at the woman who had just bulldozed into my date and, in her own insane way, protected me.
I took a deep breath. “Linda?”
“Yeah?”
I picked up a menu. “Can I buy you dinner? All of you.”
She blinked. “After all that?”
“Yeah. I think you’ve earned it.”
Her oldest grinned. “I vote pizza!”
Linda studied me for a long moment. Then, she smiled—a real, genuine smile. “Alright, Rob. But you’re buying dessert too.”
“Deal.”
Two years later, Linda and I are still together. I’ve adopted her kids, and every day, they remind me what it means to love and be loved.
And as for Linda? She still insists I should thank her for that night.
And every single day, I do.
