Page 13 of Checking Mr. Wrong (Love in Maple Falls #3)

“Asher,” I reply, folding my hands over the menu in front of me. My tone is neutral, professional. No way I’m letting him know how distracting his stupidly-perfect face is.

We exchange a few pleasantries before turning our attention to the menus. A server appears, and I order the chicken marsala while he opts for spaghetti carbonara. As the server retreats, Asher leans back in his chair, studying me with a tilt of his head.

“So,” he begins, his smile edging toward mischievous as he rearranges his silverware into a perfect line on the top of his napkin, meticulous in his movements. “How do we begin?”

I straighten. “I’ll ask you some questions, on the record, and you’ll answer them.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “That easy, huh?”

“That easy,” I reply, keeping my expression neutral. But the way he’s looking at me…there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes, like he’s enjoying this far more than he should.

Asher laughs, a low, genuine sound that catches me off guard. “Well, if I’m going to answer questions for you, I think we should make a deal.”

I arch an eyebrow. This is not my first rodeo, but it is the first time I’ve had anyone I’m interviewing want to make a bargain before we get started. These types of requests usually come after they’ve spilled all their secrets. “What kind of deal?”

“Quid pro quo, Clarice,” he says, his tone teasing as his hands flick back across the silverware, making sure everything is still in place.

I snort, despite myself. “This isn’t The Silence of the Lambs .”

He leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. “Maybe not, but it kind of feels like I’m sitting across from someone who has the power to kill my career if they wanted to.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me, a real one this time. “Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes. “For every three questions you answer for me, I’ll answer one for you. ”

His smile is dazzling, and suddenly, I’m convinced the temperature in the room just climbed a few degrees. The sweater I threw on over my long-sleeve tee suddenly feels like a sauna.

“Deal,” he says, and my lips twitch despite myself. Sunshine types like him are dangerous for grumps like me—and not just because they’re annoyingly charming.

“First question,” I begin. I’m not here for pleasure, so let’s get this over with. “What’s it been like essentially skipping the whole AHL experience? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of another player who’s been signed late in the season, played a few times, and then been called up to the NHL.”

“It’s overwhelming in its own way, but also I know it wouldn’t have happened unless the people in charge had faith in my skills.” He winks. “Next question?”

Oh, he is good. I can tell he’s been coached by a public relations team. I sit back and fold my arms across my chest. “With the upheaval, and literally moving coast to coast, how are you settling into Maple Falls?”

“I wouldn’t call my move across the country to this beautiful town ‘upheaval.’ The people here are very interesting,” he murmurs as the server drops off a basket of fresh baked bread in front of us. “Some I’m definitely finding more intriguing than others.”

There’s something in the way he’s answering that makes me question his sincerity. “Feels like you’ve been rehearsing for this.”

He shrugs. “I’ve had the PR team prep me for interviews this season. I’m just doing what I’m told.”

“I thought so,” I say with satisfaction, but I can’t tell if he’s messing with me or not.

Maybe he’s being coy because he thinks it’s flirty?

I stare across the table, watching as he unravels his napkin, once more, folding it back up and then rearranging his silverware yet again.

I think this is the third time he’s done it since we sat down.

I tap the table and point to his hands. “What are you doing? ”

“Ah ha! That’s your third question.”

“Stop deflecting.” I point to his hands again. “What was that?”

“What do you mean?” Asher freezes, his face flushing.

“Since we’ve been here, I’ve watched you organize your silverware multiple times.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “You know, I’ve seen this behavior before.”

“Behavior?” Asher’s hand flies to his mouth in faux surprise. He thinks he’s being cute, however I can tell when someone is trying to get me off a subject.

“Yes, your behavior is familiar to me. There was this baseball player, Nomar Garciaparra. Hear of him?”

“Played for the Red Sox and the Dodgers. Married to Mia Hamm. Did you know that Nomar is Ramon spelled backward?” Asher tips his glass of water in my direction. “In honor of his father.”

“Thank you, Encyclopedia Asher, but what you left out is that”—I keep my gaze level with his—“he famously has OCD. He had routines for every pitch, for getting out of the batter’s box, as well as the hand tapping he’d do before he swung the bat.

” I narrow my eyes. “I can name a few other high-performance athletes who had the same thing, but I think you know where I’m going with it. ”

Asher sets the glass down carefully, aligning it perfectly with the edge of his coaster.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, his gaze briefly darting away before returning to mine.

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—fear, maybe, or the beginning of trust. I really hope it’s the latter.

“I know where you’re going,” he says quietly, the weight in his voice matching the tension in his shoulders. “It’s not something I talk about.”

“Why not?” I soften my tone, leaning forward now. “If it’s part of who you are, then?—”

“Because people hear ‘OCD’ and think it’s cute,” he interrupts, his words sharp but not unkind.

“They think it’s about keeping things tidy or lining up pencils.

They don’t get that it’s loud. Constant.

Like having a second brain that won’t shut up, telling you something bad will happen if you don’t fix everything just right .

Some days you may get tripped up over routines, the next it’s how organized you need the kitchen to be.

It’s not one-size-fits-all, it’s internal and external, and it can be all encompassing if I don’t keep it in check. ”

I sit back, his words settling over me like a weighted blanket. I think it’s the first time I’ve seen his smiley self disappear, and I’m feeling a bit of a chill in the shadows.

“For me, it’s more than organizing silverware.

” He gestures vaguely, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his napkin.

“It’s double-checking the locks three times before I leave the house.

It’s running over my stats in my head until they feel perfect, even though I know they won’t change.

It’s…” He exhales, a soft, bitter laugh escaping.

“It’s knowing my routines help me feel in control, but also knowing they’re controlling me. ”

The vulnerability in his voice is raw, like an unguarded net in a high-stakes game.

“That’s why I don’t talk about it,” he continues, his gaze flicking up to meet mine again. “People don’t see the downside, only the quirks. They think it’s funny or fascinating, not exhausting.”

I reach across the table, my hand hovering near his glass but not touching it, respecting his space. “You know, Nomar Garciaparra’s routines didn’t define his talent. They were a part of him, sure, but what made him great wasn’t the rituals. It was what he did in between them.”

Asher’s lips twitch into a faint smile, the first I’ve seen since this conversation started. “I don’t think anyone’s ever put it that way before.”

“Well,” I say, sitting back with a grin, “I’m full of surprises.”

His smile grows, softer this time, as if a weight’s been lifted. “Maybe you are.” He points to my mouth. “There’s another one. ”

My hand flies to my lips, covering them. Knowing my luck, I’m back to half a tooth again. “What, is it my tooth again?”

“No,” he says, cracking up. “You were smiling, and…well, you’re pretty when you smile like that and it’s distracting.”

His laughter fades, sapphire-blue eyes meeting mine, and the air between us suddenly shifts.

For a split second, everything surrounding our little huddle of two falls away.

I don’t hear the other patrons, it’s like there’s suddenly no one else here in this restaurant, and my chest tightens like it’s bracing for impact.

While across from me, Asher holds his gaze steady.

It’s warm and unguarded, and completely unexpected.

Then, just as quickly the moment is shattered.

“Tremblay.” Coach Hauser‘s voice cuts through my thoughts as he approaches our table. He claps Asher on the back as he turns to me with a polite nod. “Hello, Mabel. It was a pleasure sitting down with you yesterday to finish that interview about the team.”

“Thank you again for your time,” I reply, offering a gracious smile before gesturing toward Asher. “This one’s in the hot seat now...or he will be once you allow me to come shadow him at practice.”

Coach Hauser’s brows knit together for a beat, a flicker of confusion crossing his face. “Allow you? I had the director of public relations practically order me to have you at any and all team functions you want to be a part of, so practices are always fine.”

This is news to me. My head whips toward Asher, whose cheeks are suddenly sporting a blush that rivals a freshly made marinara sauce. He clears his throat, trying to focus on his drink as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

“Well, Coach Hauser,” I say slowly, savoring the way Asher shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “that’s good to know.”

“Hey, Tremblay, glad I ran into you,” Coach Hauser continues, oblivious to the silent war brewing across the table as he claps Asher on the shoulder again.

“I was talking to a few guys after practice today, and there’s a Drench for Defense charity fundraiser organized for this weekend’s farmers’ market.

Clara is trying to get as many of the guys on board as possible.

You don’t have to do it, but head’s up she’ll be asking. ”

Asher’s easy smile returns, the picture of confidence once more. “I’ll be glad to do it. Anything for the team and this town,” he says with a nod.

Coach Hauser gives a satisfied grunt before excusing himself, leaving us alone in the dim light of the restaurant. As soon as he’s out of earshot, I arch a brow and fold my arms across my chest. “You told me I couldn’t come to practice.”

Asher takes a leisurely sip of his water before answering, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Dinner is better than practice.”

“You tricked me.”

“I didn’t trick you,” he counters smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “I just thought this would be a better way for us to do an interview.”

“My interview, my rules.” I narrow my eyes.

His grin widens, unrepentant. “Come on, we’re having dinner. Relax. Isn’t this nicer than standing around a rink with your notepad freezing to your fingers or talking into a little recording device?”

Before I can retort, our meals arrive, the server placing plates of artfully arranged food in front of us.

The aroma is intoxicating, and despite my frustration, I can’t help but be a little impressed.

I can’t remember the last time I’d been surprised.

And this one has food, too, so I can’t be too mad at it.

“What’s so wrong with two adults having dinner together while they discuss something?” Asher asks, his tone deceptively casual as he stabs at his spaghetti carbonara.

I poke at my chicken, not quite ready to concede the point. “Because it blurs the lines. This isn’t just dinner; it’s?—”

“Nice?” he interrupts, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a challenge in his eyes, but it’s soft around the edges, like he’s daring me to admit I’m having a good time. “Quiet? Fun? ”

“Fine.” I shake my head but can’t suppress the small smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll give you nice.”

He grins, triumphant, and the tension between us eases. The conversation shifts to lighter topics—his favorite local spots, a funny story about his rookie year—and before I realize it, I’m laughing, the kind of laugh that feels warm and genuine.

As I take a bite of my meal, I glance across the table and catch him watching me, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it.

There’s something about the way he looks at me, like I’m not the cranky reporter he’s spent the past hour talking with because he had to, but someone he’s genuinely curious about.

And right then, I know I’m in trouble. Because I might just be curious about him too.