George Shuttleworth was finally ready to move on. After months of navigating heartbreak and solitude following his emotional breakup with Eileen Grimshaw, he decided it was time to put himself out there again. Encouraged by friends and a bit of liquid courage, George agreed to a dinner date with a charming newcomer to Weatherfield, a florist named Patricia. Word of George’s budding romantic venture spread quickly through the cobbles, and no one was more invested—or more intrusive—than his sister, Glenda. Glenda had always been protective of her brother, sometimes excessively so, and while her intentions might have been rooted in love, her actions often ended in unintended disaster. This time would be no different.

The evening began with promise. George met Patricia at the Bistro, dressed smartly in his best blazer, his hair slicked back with nervous precision. Patricia, elegant and soft-spoken, was intrigued by George’s humor and old-school manners. For a short while, it seemed like George was finally catching a break. They laughed, swapped stories, and even shared their mutual admiration for crossword puzzles and old radio comedies. But just as the starters arrived, chaos rolled in—Glenda.

Glenda stormed into the Bistro like a tornado in heels. She hadn’t been invited, of course, but she’d heard about the date from Mary and decided to “casually drop by” to “see how things were going.” George froze, fork halfway to his mouth. Patricia looked puzzled, but maintained her grace. Glenda, on the other hand, was in full meddling mode. She pulled up a chair without asking, helping herself to the bread basket and launching into a barrage of questions aimed at Patricia. Where did she come from? Was she truly single? What were her intentions with her dear brother?

George tried to intervene gently at first, chuckling nervously and suggesting Glenda give them some space. But Glenda was oblivious, or perhaps simply didn’t care. Her tone became increasingly pointed, especially when Patricia mentioned that she wasn’t a big fan of funerals—a sensitive topic, given George’s work as an undertaker. “Oh, so you have a problem with what my brother does for a living, do you?” Glenda snapped, narrowing her eyes.

Patricia was taken aback. “No, not at all,” she said, calmly. “I just meant it’s emotionally heavy work. I admire anyone who can handle that every day.”

But it was too late. The mood had shifted. George, clearly mortified, tried to defuse the tension, but Glenda kept at it. Soon, she began bringing up Eileen—comparing Patricia’s calm demeanor to Eileen’s fiery spirit, almost as if daring Patricia to react. George’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. He had hoped for a fresh start, not a comparison-fueled drama about his ex.

It didn’t help when Glenda accidentally spilled wine all over Patricia’s dress during a particularly animated gesture about George’s ex-girlfriend from years ago. Patricia gasped, clutching her stained blouse, and stood up. “I think I’ve had enough for one evening,” she said with poise, before quietly excusing herself and walking out of the Bistro.

George didn’t know whether to chase after Patricia or strangle his sister. He chose neither. He just sat there, stunned, staring at the mess Glenda had created—not just on the table, but in what could have been a meaningful connection. Glenda, finally realizing the gravity of what she had done, looked genuinely remorseful. “I was only trying to protect you,” she muttered.

“From what?” George asked, voice low. “From being happy?”

The walk back home was a silent one. George declined Glenda’s offer of a lift and instead strolled down the cobbled street alone, replaying every moment of the night in his mind. He couldn’t help but think of how different things might have gone if Glenda had simply stayed out of it. Maybe he would’ve walked Patricia home, shared a kiss on her doorstep, and woken up the next morning with a renewed sense of hope. But instead, he was once again left with nothing but awkward memories and lingering frustration.

Over the next few days, the fallout was the talk of the town. Dev joked that George’s next date should be held in secret, possibly under an alias. Rita offered some gentle words of support, reminding George that love often finds you when you least expect it—but sometimes, not in front of your sister. Even Eileen, having heard whispers of the disaster, called George to say she hoped he was okay. That call, oddly enough, brought George a sliver of comfort. Not because he missed her romantically, but because her concern reminded him that not every connection ends in disaster—even if it ends.

Meanwhile, Glenda attempted to make amends. She left him an apology note, baked his favorite lemon drizzle cake, and even offered to set him up with someone else—an idea George shut down immediately. “No more matchmaking,” he warned. “If I’m ever going to find someone, it’ll be on my own terms. And without a third wheel at the dinner table.”

George wasn’t sure if Patricia would give him another chance, but he decided to reach out anyway. He left a message apologizing for the way things unfolded and expressing his genuine interest in getting to know her—this time, without family interference. Patricia responded a day later with a short but kind text: “I’d be open to coffee. Just the two of us.”

Hope stirred once again in George’s chest. Maybe this time, things could go right. And maybe, just maybe, he’d find the courage to set firm boundaries with Glenda too. After all, he deserved a chance at happiness—and he was ready to fight for it, even if that meant battling well-meaning chaos in high heels.