Page 18 of Checking Mr. Wrong (Love in Maple Falls #3)

MABEL

The bell above the bookshop door jingles behind us as we step out onto the sidewalk, the late October air crisp and full of promise. Fiona’s laugh mixes with mine, and for a second, I don’t even care that I’m cold. I feel warm in the way that matters.

It hits me then, how much I love this. How easy it is to walk down the street to Falling for Books, to grab coffee at Neesha’s, to know I’ll probably run into someone I know and that we’ll end up talking about nothing and everything all at once.

For the first time in a long time, it feels like I made the right choice. Like I didn’t just escape something—I walked straight into something better. Into people who see me, support me, and don’t expect me to be anything other than exactly who I am.

And of course, there’s Asher. And that kiss. Oh…that kiss.

“You’re smiling a lot today,” Fiona says, narrowing her eyes as she levels her gaze on me. “I might not know you from childhood, but I know New York Mabel and she’s not a smizer.”

“Smizer?” I manage through a giggle.

“You know, smiling with your eyes,” Fiona explains. “Like Tyra Banks says, the model.”

I know why I’m smiling, and the thought of what got me here makes me do it even harder. I swear, I think my lips are about to rip apart.

“See!” Fiona shout-whispers theatrically. “Why are you doing that?”

I hate keeping secrets. “I kissed Asher.”

Fiona’s eyes almost bug out of her head. “You did what now?"

“I know,” I say, looking at the sidewalk. “I shouldn’t have. He’s a subject for a feature…”

“Oh, shush that.” Fiona laughs, waving off my attempt to deflect. “No one cares. What we care about is the kiss. Does Neesha know? How did it happen, and how was it?”

Do I tell her it’s been building for days? That it happened on a couch after lasagna, of all things? The memory makes my stomach do a little flip, and I realize I may never look at lasagna the same way again. Like ever.

“Yes, Neesha knows, I texted her.” Because, I had to. Let’s face it, I couldn’t go to sleep without telling someone. “It was…” I pause, my cheeks heating as I think about it. “Really nice.”

“Nice?” Fiona raises a perfectly skeptical eyebrow. “That’s it? You’re going to leave me with nice ? If it was just nice, you wouldn’t be standing here glowing like you’ve just been kissed by Brad Pitt.”

I bite my lip to stop the smile, but it’s no use. “Fine. It was more than nice. It was…” My voice drops, and I glance around like someone might overhear, even though the street is empty except for Fiona and me. “It was mind-blowing. ”

Her jaw drops, but I’m too caught up in the memory to tease her about it.

“The way he looked at me,” I say, my voice softening, “it was like I was the only thing in the world he wanted. And when he touched me, his hands were so warm, like he wasn’t just holding me, but keeping me safe.

Protecting me.” I swallow hard, my fingers brushing my arm like I can still feel him there.

“And his kiss? Fiona, it was slow and deep and…it was everything. ”

Fiona clutches her chest dramatically, like I’ve just recited the greatest love sonnet of all time.

“Okay, if I wasn’t already rooting for you two, I’d probably be jealous.

But for real, this guy sounds perfect. Please tell me he also volunteers at an animal shelter and saves birds in his spare time. ”

“Not quite,” I say with a laugh, shaking off the dreamy haze. It’s a place I want to stay, but something she’s just said gets me thinking. “Hey, Fiona, we may be onto something.”

Fiona looks at me quizzically. “Huh?”

I hold up a finger to pause her. “Hold on.” I point to the book propped in the front window display, its bright cover practically glowing under the soft lights. “That’s the book my friend Willa wrote, Benny the Blue Rock Thrush . It’s a children’s book.”

“ Benny the Blue Rock Thrush ?” Fiona’s eyebrows scrunch.

“When you made that comment about ‘saving birds in his spare time,’ you gave me an idea.” I wink at her.

“I’m glad I did some good for one of us.” She chuckles. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out how to make a difference in this cute town, but it feels like I’m fumbling in the dark.”

“Your heart’s in the right place,” I say. “And we’ll figure it out in our own way. I have a feeling Benny’s the key.”

Fiona looks at me like I asked her to rob a bank. “Come again?”

“Willa mentioned that this particular bird’s habitat was thought to be in Europe and Asia, but it ended up in Oregon and Washington.

Long story very short, because of her photos the government got involved, I think she said it was the U.S.

Fish and Wildlife Services. A loophole was found, and this bird was put on a protection list.”

“Wait a second.” Fiona snaps her eyes in my direction. “Do you think that the land around here could also be protected because of this bird?”

“Unsure.” Slowly, I lift a shoulder and let it drop.

“But I’ll do some digging into how the U.S.

Fish and Wildlife service can help, see if they have guidelines for this kind of thing.

Maybe you can look into other grassroots conservation organizations that may collaborate with us to protect anything we find? ”

“Sounds like a plan,” she says, nodding. “Do you know if there are any current photos of the Blue Rock Thrush?”

“No idea,” I begin as the dinging of my cellphone alerts me to an incoming call. When I glance at the screen and see Murray’s name lighting up, I flash the screen Fiona’s way. “Give me a sec.”

“Hey, Murray,” I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear. “What’s up?”

“I’ve got a favor to ask,” he says, his voice warm and familiar. “Your mom’s been going on about this hand cream she saw in a boutique on Main Street. The one that smells like lavender and…what was it? Ah, yeah, ‘hope.’”

I laugh, turning my back to Fiona. “Lavender and hope? Sounds like her. Sure, I can grab it. I'm on my way home now. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it,” he says, but his tone shifts, softer now. “How’s it going with her? You two figuring things out yet?”

I hesitate, glancing down the quiet street. “Sort of, but also not really.”

“How’s that?” he prompts gently.

I sigh, kicking a small pile of bright orange leaves.

“You know how she is. The whole town gets this cheerful, can-do, sunshine version of gossipy Mary-Ellen McCluskey, the one who volunteers for everything and bakes pies for fundraisers. But with me, she’s in a whole different mindset.

” I shrug, even though he can’t see me. “She’s tougher.

Firmer. It’s like she’s got two modes—everyone else’s hero and my personal drill sergeant. ”

Murray hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, that sounds like her. But you know why, don’t you?”

I furrow my brow. “Because she’s my mom?”

“Well, yeah, but more than that,” he says, his tone easy yet deliberate.

“With the rest of the world, she’s trying to prove she can hold it all together while doing cartwheels and balancing a tray of champagne flutes on her head.

But with you, she doesn’t have to pretend.

She trusts you enough to be herself, even if that self isn’t always sugar and sunshine. ”

I’m quiet, his words landing with more weight than I expected. That’s like Murray, drop a truth bomb on me to sit with. Thanks.

“She’s proud of you, you know,” he adds after a beat. “Even if she doesn’t say it. She’s proud in that big, messy way of hers that doesn’t always come out right. But it’s there.”

I swallow hard, staring at the cars driving past. “She has a funny way of showing it.”

Murray chuckles softly. “She’s still figuring out how to let you be the incredible woman you are without feeling like she’s losing the little girl who needed her for everything. Give her time. You’ll see.”

My throat tightens, but I manage a small smile. “Thanks, Murray.”

“Anytime, kiddo,” he says, his voice light again. “Don’t forget that lavender and hope, though. Your mom’s been talking about it like it’s liquid gold.”

I laugh softly. “I’ll grab it. See you tonight.”

As the call ends, I stand there for a beat, Murray’s words swirling in my mind. Maybe he’s right. Maybe my mom’s two sides aren’t about shutting me out—but letting me in.

Lavender and hope. I slip my phone into my pocket as I make my way back to Fiona. Maybe I could use a little of both, too.

“All good at home?” she asks, arching an eyebrow.

“Jury’s still out,” I reply, the weight of the conversation with Murray still lingering.

Before she can press further, the door to the bookshop flies open and a frazzled mother barrels out, four screaming children trailing behind her like chaotic little ducklings. She wedges herself right between us without so much as a glance .

My gaze follows the blur of fairy costumes and candy wrappers, and that’s when I spot it—one of Willa’s books clutched tight in the smallest boy’s sticky hands.

Despite the noise, despite the interruption, it makes me smile.

It’s the proof I think I needed that good things can take root, even in chaos.

That the stuff we put out into the world might actually matter.

I glance up at the window display again, at Willa’s name on the cover, and for a second, I let myself imagine what it would feel like to put my own name on something that sticks. Something real.

Fiona nudges my shoulder, her grin crooked. “You're doing that smile-with-your-eyes thing again.”

I roll mine, but I don’t deny it.

I am smiling. Not just because of Willa’s book, or the kids. It’s because of Asher. Because of a kiss that still lingers in the corners of my mouth. Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like something is starting.

I don’t know what it is, yet, but maybe lavender and hope aren’t only ingredients you find in jars on your mom’s windowsill. Maybe they’re what you carry with you when you’re standing at the edge of something new, not sure if you’re ready—but starting to believe you might be.

I take a deep breath.

And I step forward.