Page 12 of Checking Mr. Wrong (Love in Maple Falls #3)

MABEL

The coffee shop in the back of Falling for Books—the quaintest (and only) bookstore in Maple Falls—feels like nostalgia wrapped in a warm embrace.

The soft hum of conversation mingles with the gentle clinking of mugs, and I can almost feel my shoulders relax.

Neesha is behind the counter, her hair tied up in a small but neat bun, and she’s frowning at a tray of cupcakes like they just insulted her.

“Please tell me you’re not here to write a scathing review on my new recipe,” she says without looking up, her hands on her hips.

“Scathing?” I smirk as I pull out a stool at the counter. “Never. Not when your cupcakes are always the best.”

She finally glances at me, her eyes twinkling as she walks around to wrap me in her arms. “Welcome home, Mabel.”

“You’re the best part so far.” I give her a squeeze. “What’s with the cupcake drama?”

Neesha pushes the tray toward me with a dramatic sigh. “It’s a new flavor. Maple pecan with a hint of caramel. I thought it could be our signature fall treat, but now I’m questioning everything. ”

“You want me to taste-test?” I’m already reaching for one, the glossy frosting shimmering like edible art.

“Obviously.” She hands me a napkin, her expression turning serious. “And be honest. I can take it.”

The cupcake is almost too pretty to eat, but I take a bite anyway, and the flavors hit me like a hug from a cozy sweater. It’s sweet but not cloying, with a warm, nutty undertone and just enough maple to make me think of crisp leaves and flannel shirts.

“Oh, wow,” I say after swallowing. “This might be the best thing you’ve ever made.”

Neesha beams, leaning on the counter. “Really? You’re not just saying that to spare my feelings?”

“If I hated it, I’d have said something like, ‘It’s got potential.’”

“Fair point. I dated that guy, too.” She grabs a cupcake for herself and takes a bite, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “So, are you stopping in to say hi or are you out and about?”

“I’m off to an interview with one of the hockey players tonight. He’s so busy practicing that he could only squeeze in a dinner,” I say as Neesha rolls her eyes. “Girl, I can feel that eye roll from here.”

“You know how I get,” she says, flicking a hunk of icing at me. “Be careful. Next thing you know he’ll charm you into a date.”

I watch as Neesha’s face clouds over and my hackles rise up, ready to protect her.

You know the saying, once burned twice shy?

Well, I spent a lot of time on the other end of the phone last year after Neesha broke up with a certain hockey player, who happens to still be on the Ice Breakers, named Nate Simpson.

All around turd, that one. Let’s just say Nate won’t be getting an interview or any kind of media time if I have anything to say about it.

As I watch, her bright smile suddenly reappears, like a ray of sunshine chasing the storm away. “Anyway, tell me about New York. How’s the big city treating you?”

I lean back, turning the cupcake wrapper in my fingers. “It’s busy. There’s always something happening. The energy is addictive, I love going to Broadway shows, and dining out is next level. But it’s also exhausting, you know? Everything moves so fast.”

“Is it everything you hoped for when you left Maple Falls?”

The question lands heavier than I expect. I think about my tiny apartment with its constant hum of traffic outside the window, the late nights working to meet deadlines, and the hustle that never seems to end.

“Yes and no,” I say finally. “There are days when it feels like I’m living the dream. But there are also times when I’m wondering if the dream is still mine.”

Neesha’s eyes soften. “You don’t sound very happy.”

“You know what they say. Happiness is overrated.” I shrug, avoiding her gaze. “Success is what matters, right?”

She doesn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, she reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. “You know it’s okay to want both, don’t you?”

“Sure,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction.

I glance around the shop, taking in the mismatched chairs, the worn bookshelves stuffed with novels, and the chalkboard menu listing drinks with punny names.

It’s as if there’s a part of Neesha’s soul poured into this space.

My apartment, in contrast, feels more like a holding cell than a home.

“Do you ever miss this place?” Neesha asks. “Maple Falls, I mean.”

I shake my head, but the answer doesn’t come as quickly as it used to. “Not really. I mean, I guess I do sometimes, but the city has everything you could ever want.”

“Except?” she presses, her tone gentle but insistent as she puts her cupcake down.

I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the napkin. “I don’t know. I do know you’re asking me a lot of questions about city life. Is someone thinking of—GASP!—leaving?”

Neesha laughs so hard she actually spits out a tiny piece of cupcake that lands on my cheek.

“Oh man,” she manages as she hands me a napkin. “How gross, I’m so sorry!”

I can’t stop laughing. “That’s one way to redirect my question.”

“Well, come on. Maple Falls…‘you’ll never want to leave.’”

The last part is the one that does it. I don’t know if it’s the voice she uses or the air quotes, but we’re both doubled over and cackling, the way that only two old friends like us can do.

It comes from years of friendship, growing up together, and a trusted bond that’s glued so tight, it would take an atomic explosion to break us up.

As the laughter dies down, Neesha leans against the counter, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “You know, I’ve been thinking about Seattle.”

“Seattle?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “What’s in Seattle?”

“A fresh start,” she says, her voice soft but certain. “I’ve been looking into opening a shop there. Something bigger, something new. Maple Falls is great, but it’s limiting.”

“Limiting?” I repeat, my tone incredulous. “Neesha, you’re the queen of this town. People practically worship your cupcakes. Why would you want to leave that?”

“Because sometimes you have to take risks,” she says with a shrug. “I mean, look at you. You left. You chased your dream. Why can’t I do the same?”

I digest the thought before sitting up straighter. “Okay, but hear me out. Instead of a whole new shop, what about a food truck? You can still do your thing, but it’s mobile. You can go where the people are, test the waters, and see if Seattle’s really the place for you.”

Neesha tilts her head, considering. “A food truck?”

“Yeah,” I say, warming to the idea. “Think about it. Lower overhead, more flexibility, and you get to keep that personal touch you’re so good at. Plus, you’re not tied down to one spot if it doesn’t work out.”

She bites her lip, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll look into it.”

“You should,” I say, grinning. “And when you’re wildly successful, you can name a cupcake after me. Something edgy but sweet.”

“Edgy but sweet?” Neesha snorts. “Like your entire personality?”

“Exactly.” I glance at my watch and hop off the stool. “I gotta go. I need to be at The Glass Olive in a few minutes.”

“Here, for later,” Neesha says as she shoves a cupcake in a brown bag for me.

“Perfect midnight snack. I’ll give you a call later,” I say as I lean across the counter and hug her once more. “And that maple-pecan-what’s-it you made me eat? So good.”

“Mabel’s Falling for Maple Pecan Cupcakes?” she calls out as I open the door.

I pump a fist in the air, okaying my namesake. “There it is!”

The Glass Olive is bustling with its usual dinner crowd, a symphony of clinking silverware and murmured conversations filling the air.

The scent of garlic, basil, and fresh-baked bread is a constant temptation, mingling with the faint floral aroma of the olive trees that stand sentinel in large pots around the room.

Fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a warm glow, softening the edges of the rustic brick walls.

I sit at a table for two tucked into a corner, the leather-backed chair creaking slightly as I shift, trying to look anywhere but the entrance.

Waiting. One of my least favorite activities.

I glance at the menu for the third time, not because I’m unsure of what to order but because it gives me something to do with my hands.

The noise of the restaurant ebbs and flows, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional scrape of a chair against the tiled floor.

My phone buzzes with a notification, but I ignore it.

Tonight is about work, not distractions.

The door swings open, and a gust of cool night air briefly sweeps in. My eyes flicker up, and there he is. One part giant, one part superhero.

Asher’s broad shoulders fill the doorway as if he’s been cut out of a movie poster for “Charming Athlete Who Accidentally Takes Your Breath Away.” He reminds me of the actor, Scott Speedman, as he breezes in.

His sandy-blond hair is a little tousled but in that intentional way, and he’s got this jawline that could probably cut glass.

He’s wearing a navy blazer over a white shirt, the kind of casual-but-sharp look that makes me wonder if he’s trying too hard or if he always wakes up this effortlessly perfect.

I’m scowling before I realize it. He’s too good-looking. The kind of good-looking that has women leaning across bar counters to give him their numbers. The kind of good-looking that…oh, great, now he’s spotted me.

Asher’s lips curve into an easy smile, and he starts making his way over.

This man moves with the grace of a dancer and the kind of confidence that only comes from years of skating circles around people.

My stomach twists, and I immediately scold it.

Calm down, Mabel. You’re here to work, not to swoon.

“Mabel,” he greets, his voice warm and rich as he slides into the chair across from me. He looks comfortable, like this is just another casual night for him.