Dating in your thirties is hard, but this time Irene was sure she had met “the one.” Wanting to impress Michael, she decided to surprise him with his favorite dish, so she asked her friend to cook it for her. But this small lie would turn out to be a big mistake.
Irene lay sprawled across her bed, her fingers dancing over her phone screen, her heart fluttering with every message.
She hadn't felt this way in years—certainly not since high school, when the thrill of a crush had been the most exciting thing in her life.
Now, at thirty-two, she found herself giggling at her phone like a teenager. Michael, the charming man she'd recently started chatting with, had that effect on her.
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When his latest message popped up, her face lit up with a grin so big she could feel her cheeks hurting.
"I’ve listened to it a million times. I love Christmas songs," he had replied. Irene’s fingers were quick to type back, and she couldn't help but add a playful challenge.
"We have so much in common! Tell me, what's your favorite dish?" she texted, already feeling her heartbeat speed up as she waited for his reply.
Moments later, his response came:
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"Count to three, and let’s type it at the same time 😊." Irene felt her excitement building. She counted down out loud, "One, two, three!" and hit send, typing her answer with a flourish: "Cherry pie!"
Her phone dinged with his response almost instantly. "Cherry pie, or anything without peanuts."
Irene sat up, her mouth dropping open in delight.
"No way! Michael, isn’t this fate? 🥰 How about a cherry pie dinner tomorrow at seven?" She couldn't believe she’d typed it so confidently, hardly pausing to think.
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"Agreed! I can’t wait to try the pie you make!" he replied.
Her smile faltered, her excitement turning into a sudden wave of panic. She hadn’t even considered that he would expect her to bake the pie herself. Baking? Her culinary skills were nearly non-existent.
She usually relied on microwavable meals and take-out, not desserts from scratch. What had she done?
Trying to calm her racing thoughts, Irene realized she couldn't let him down. She didn't want to ruin the magic of their conversation.
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She needed a way out, and there was only one person she could think of who could save her: Vanessa, her best friend and a master in the kitchen.
Without wasting a second, she hit the call button.
“Hey, Vanessa!” she blurted out as soon as her friend picked up.
“I need a huge favor. You have to save me!”
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Vanessa’s laughter crackled over the phone. “What’s going on, Irene?”
“It’s Michael! You remember the guy I told you about?”
“Michael? The one whose photo you showed me last week?” Vanessa’s voice shifted, sounding oddly tense.
Irene remembered the way Vanessa had gone pale when she saw his picture, but it had slipped her mind in the whirlwind of excitement.
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“Yes! You looked so shocked when you saw his photo. You never told me why!”
Vanessa paused briefly before replying, “Yeah, yeah, I remember. So, what’s up?”
Irene’s nerves returned as she explained, “I panicked and promised him a homemade cherry pie! But you know I can’t bake! You’re a great cook—can you help me out?”
There was a brief silence before Vanessa sighed dramatically.
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“Bake a pie for you? Irene, I can’t be your chef forever, you know.”
“Just this once! Please, Vanessa!” Irene begged, her voice pleading.
“First impressions matter! Once he falls for me, I swear, I’ll handle the rest myself.”
Vanessa let out another sigh, but Irene could sense her friend’s resolve weakening. Finally, Vanessa relented.
“Alright, alright, don’t worry. I’ll bring a pie to your place at five tomorrow.”
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Relief washed over Irene, and she could barely contain her excitement.
“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver!”
"Yeah, yeah," Vanessa replied with a hint of something unspoken in her voice, but Irene was too wrapped up in her plans to notice.
Around five o'clock, the doorbell rang, jolting her from her final round of straightening the cushions on the couch.
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Heart pounding, she hurried to open the door, finding Vanessa on the other side, a glass pie dish in her hands.
The cherry pie inside was beautiful, its golden crust gleaming and tiny rivulets of red filling peeking through perfectly cut slits on top.
“Oh my gosh, thank you!” Irene gasped, taking the dish carefully from her friend. “You saved my life!”
But as she reached for the pie, Irene finally noticed that Vanessa looked… off. There was a strange tightness in her smile, a stiffness in her posture that she hadn’t noticed when she’d first opened the door.
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“You’re the best, Vanessa!” Irene continued, trying to fill the awkward pause. “It looks amazing, really! Vanessa forced a smile, but her tone was curt, clipped.
“Enjoy it,” she said, already turning to leave without much of a goodbye.
Irene quickly brushed it aside, too focused on the evening ahead. Tonight was about Michael and making things perfect.
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As evening settled in, Irene heard another knock at her door.
When she opened it, he stood there, a bouquet of flowers in hand, his smile warm and genuine.
“Michael! You’re finally here! I’ve been so excited!” Irene’s face lit up, and she wrapped him in a quick hug.
Michael laughed, returning the embrace.
“I’ve been looking forward to this all day, Irene.”
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She led him inside, took his coat, and guided him to the kitchen. There, she gestured proudly to the cherry pie resting on the table.
“Wow!” Michael’s eyes widened as he leaned over the pie, taking in its delicious aroma. “It looks delicious and smells fantastic!”
Irene felt a surge of relief and pride.
“Thank you! I really put in the effort!” she replied, carefully sidestepping the whole truth.
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They sat down, slicing into the pie and savoring each bite. Irene couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph as she watched Michael enjoy the dessert.
Each bite seemed perfect—until suddenly, he began to cough.
“Michael! What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Panic surged through her voice as she reached for him, trying to understand what was happening.
“Medicine… in my coat… quick!” he gasped, barely able to get the words out.
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Heart racing, Irene rushed to grab his coat, fumbling through the pockets until she found a small bottle.
She quickly read the label. It was a medication for allergy.
With shaky hands, she handed him the pills, watching anxiously as he took them, his breathing gradually calming, though his face remained red and swollen.
“Hold on, Michael,” she whispered, a wave of guilt and worry crashing over her. “The ambulance is coming.”
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As the sirens wailed in the distance, Irene’s mind spun. She remembered him mentioning his peanut allergy but was certain there couldn’t have been any peanuts in the pie.
Could there?
As Michael climbed into the ambulance, Irene reached out, trying to hold his hand, but he pulled it away, his face unreadable.
The rejection stung, adding to the guilt and worry already weighing her down.
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“Michael, I’m so sorry,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. “I never meant for this to happen!”
He didn’t respond, just looked away as the ambulance doors closed, leaving Irene standing alone, her heart pounding with worry—and anger. She knew exactly who she needed to confront.
Without a second thought, she drove to Vanessa’s house, the betrayal burning inside her.
“Vanessa! Open up!” she shouted, her voice sharp with anger.
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The door creaked open, revealing Vanessa, who stood there with a smug expression. Irene felt her stomach twist; this wasn’t the friend she thought she knew.
“What did you put in that pie?!” Irene demanded, her voice trembling. “Michael just left in an ambulance!”
Vanessa’s smile didn’t falter.
“Serves you right for stealing someone else’s man.”
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Irene’s eyes widened in shock.
“What? What are you talking about?”
Vanessa crossed her arms, her gaze icy. “Michael is my ex! Can you imagine how I felt when my own friend asked me to bake a pie to impress him?”
“So that’s why you looked so shocked when you saw his photo!”
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“But why would you do this? Do you really hate him that much?”
Vanessa scoffed, shaking her head.
“Hate him? I still love him! But you, my so-called friend, thought you could just take him from me? Good luck explaining why you made him a pie that nearly killed him. He’ll see how crazy other women are and come back to me.”
With that, Vanessa slammed the door, leaving Irene standing there, tears pooling in her eyes. She felt lost and betrayed.
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Trying to steady herself, she headed to the hospital, determined to make things right with Michael.
At the hospital, she felt her heart race as she approached the front desk.
She’d already argued with two nurses who tried to keep her from seeing Michael, but she wasn’t leaving until she spoke to him.
Finally, after much pleading, one nurse relented, sighing as she led her down the hallway.
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When she entered his room, her breath caught. Michael lay on the bed, his neck swollen and his face a mixture of sadness and irritation. He looked up, his gaze sharp.
“Michael, I have to tell you the truth!” Irene blurted, unable to hold back any longer.
Michael glanced at the nurse, then gave a slight nod, signaling her to leave them alone.
She hesitated but eventually stepped out, giving them privacy.
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Irene took a deep breath. “I didn’t bake that pie. It was your ex-girlfriend, Vanessa. She wanted to make you hate me.”
Michael’s eyebrow shot up, his face hard to read.
“That’s quite a story,” he said, his tone skeptical. “Took you a while to come up with it?”
“It’s the truth!” Irene’s voice wavered, her eyes filling with tears. “I swear, Michael.”
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He crossed his arms. “Then how did Vanessa’s pie end up at your place?”
Irene swallowed hard, feeling embarrassed.
“I asked her to make it… because I can’t bake. I wanted to impress you, and I thought—” She hesitated, feeling silly. “I thought maybe it’d help us connect. I didn’t know she was your ex! She never told me.”
Michael studied her face, his expression softening as he took in her genuine distress. Finally, a slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
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“This is honestly the most unbelievable story I’ve ever heard,” he said, chuckling softly. “But you know what? It’s so crazy, it might just be true.”
Irene’s shoulders relaxed as relief washed over her.
“I know… I can’t believe it myself.”
Michael nodded. “Alright, I believe you.”
As the nurse returned, gently urging her to leave, Irene looked back at him, her voice hopeful.
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“So… will I see you again?”
Michael chuckled, shaking his head. “Just tell me the truth next time, okay? I’d prefer to avoid allergic reactions in the future.”
“Thank you!” Irene whispered, a grateful smile spreading across her face.
In that moment, Irene knew she’d learned something important. Honesty really was the best policy.
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