Unexpected Love, Sweet Marriage

This had already cost me an hour, and waiting for someone to bring my car over meant my blind date was almost certainly going to be a bust.

Since it would go sideways, determined to pin it on the handsome cop, I wasted no time chasing after him.

As he got into his car, I flung open the passenger door and slid in beside him.

"You've wasted so much of my time, so as compensation, you're taking me to the Queenston Restaurant on Bellen Road right now, and then you'll drive me to get my car."

The cop was initially taken aback, but my bluntness soon had him laughing. "Ms. Ashcroft, if you don't mind me asking, where exactly are you from? A village of upstarts?"

His laughter caught me off guard, and I didn't quite catch his words, so I cleared my throat and asked, "What did you just say?"

The cop buckled his seatbelt, his expression returning to its neutral state as he started the car. "I strongly suggest you pick up 'The Story of My Life,' 'Who Moved My Cheese,' and 'The Red and the Black' when you get back. They might do you some good."

I was speechless.

I suspected he was hinting at something, but I hadn't read those books, so I couldn't offer any evidence.

Eventually, for reasons I couldn't fathom, he drove me to the Queenston Restaurant.

To make sure he didn't slip away, I grabbed a set of keys from the center console before getting out of the car. I flashed him a smile and said, "Don't even think about sneaking off before you take me to get my car. Also, I've noted your badge number, 360922, and if you leave, I'll file a complaint."

The badge number was easy to remember; the last four digits were my birthday.

Was this fate or what?

With this little joy in mind, I turned and darted into the restaurant like a little rabbit.

It was already past one in the afternoon, and only a few tables were occupied.

Following my mom's description, I searched around and finally zeroed in on a guy in a T-shirt sitting by the window.

He was tall and burly—he matched the description perfectly.

Though, I had to admit, his appearance left something to be desired.

My resolve to move on grew stronger.

Still, I had to go through the formalities. Otherwise, it'd be hard to explain.

So I put on my sunglasses, walked up to him with as much grace as I could muster, and tilted my chin with an air of superiority. "Mr. Quentin, sorry I'm late.

"To save us all time, let me be clear: you're not my type, so there's no chance here."

The guy looked up at me, utterly dumbfounded.

Just as I wondered if I hadn't been clear enough, a woman suddenly stormed over, shoved me aside, and began laying into him with a barrage of questions.

I was taken aback. I didn't expect him to be a scumbag who was trying to juggle two relationships.

Just as I was about to make a dramatic scene by throwing juice at him, I caught the woman shouting his name, "Barry Allen."

I thought, "Barry Allen?

Why is his last name Allen and not Quentin?"

The next moment, the classic scene of drama unfolded perfectly.

The cold, damp feeling on my face and chest interrupted my racing thoughts.

As the woman raised her hand to slap me, a strong arm suddenly wrapped around my shoulder from behind.

I was pulled back and found myself nestled against a solid chest.

Looking up, I saw the cop's striking face once again invade my senses.

I couldn't help but think, "This must be fate!"

Just then, the "jerk" finally stood up and grabbed the woman, saying something surprisingly sensible, "Honey, calm down. This woman probably mistook me for someone else. I'm definitely not Mr. Quentin, okay?"

My mind cleared instantly. I took another good look at the guy, and my embarrassment forced me to smile slightly awkwardly.

I said, piecing it together, "Wait a minute. Aren't you the guy Amanda set me up with for this blind date?"