Page 21 of Checking Mr. Wrong (Love in Maple Falls #3)

Asher, on the other hand, is fully in his element. He snaps pictures of the vibrant foliage, pausing every few feet to marvel at something I would’ve walked right past. His enthusiasm, while relentless, is also contagious.

“Look at this one,” he says, crouching to capture a cluster of mushrooms on a mossy log. His voice is soft but excited, like he’s sharing a secret. “It’s like a fairy house.”

I step closer, drawn in despite myself. The mushrooms are delicate, their tiny caps glistening like they’ve been sprinkled with dew. “It kind of does,” I admit, crouching beside him. “I half expect to see a little door carved into the bark.”

He grins, his camera still in hand. “Right? Or a tiny chimney with smoke curling out of it.”

I laugh, surprising myself with how natural it feels. “Okay, that’s adorable.”

He shifts slightly, angling the camera for a better shot, and his shoulder brushes against mine. It’s a small thing, but the warmth of it lingers.

“You’ve got a good eye,” I say, nodding toward his camera.

He glances at me, his grin softening into something quieter, more sincere. “Thanks. It’s easy when you’ve got good company.”

My cheeks warm, and I quickly look away, focusing on the mushrooms again.

But the moment sticks, a tiny spark in the cool autumn air.

My natural instinct when faced with vulnerable feelings is to deflect with sarcasm—but before I can, a flash of movement catches my eye.

A bird with striking plumage flits to a nearby branch, its colors vivid against the muted backdrop of the forest. Something about it tugs at a memory, a feeling I can’t quite name.

But then, an image of a certain bird on a book cover comes to mind, and I’m reminded of a conversation with Fiona not long ago.

“That’s a Blue Rock Thrush,” I say, pulling out my phone. I snap a picture, then open my messages to Fiona, tapping a quick one out for her.

“Everything okay?” Asher asks, peering over my shoulder.

“Kind of. I didn’t know those birds nested in this part of the park.” I stop and laugh at the sound of my words, like I’m David Attenborough. “You know how there’s this big push to ‘Save Maple Falls’ because of the issue with the heir who’s back to claim the land around here?”

Asher nods. “I’ve heard some, mostly from locals and Clara. That’s where the money went from Drench for Defense, you know. ”

“Since I landed, all I’ve heard about it is either the Ice Breakers or what people are doing to save the town.

Even Fiona wants to help.” I look at the sky above me, kind of surprised at what I’m about to say.

“That’s the thing about this town that makes me crazy.

It pulls you in and makes you care when you weren’t planning to. ”

Asher chuckles. “Surely you’ve caught the bug from your mom?"

I try not to scoff. “No, that’s not it. It’s this place. It’s the people. They’re the heart and soul of the area, and even though I get down on it, it’s my own baggage. This place deserves all the help it can get, because there aren’t many spots like it left in the world these days.”

“What are you and Fiona thinking of doing?” He narrows his eyes as he watches me.

I pull out my phone and do a quick web search, finding a picture I want to show him. “See this bird? It’s a Blue Rock Thrush, the one I just saw. Willa, who you met, helped spot this bird here a couple years back and now she’s published a children’s book about it.”

Asher looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind, and trust me, I’m starting to wonder myself. “Okay. So it’s a case of ‘bird saves town’?”

“Willa told me that when she saw it, it was only the second time someone registered a sighting for it.” I cross my arms and stare at the trees around us. “I think there could be a way to use that bird to gain some kind of protective order.”

“I have no doubt that if anyone can figure it out, it’s gonna be you,” Asher says as he watches a trio of people sprint past us, taking pictures and laughing.

He nods in their direction. “However, birds and saving towns aside, right now I really need you to focus on crossing the finish line with me.”

“Fine,” I reply, pocketing my phone. “Let’s keep moving.”

The rest of the walk passes in a blur of quiet contemplation and Asher’s relentless commentary about the virtues of maple- themed snacks. By the time we reach the end, the final tasks of eating pie and jumping in a leaf pile are all that’s left in front of us.

The pie-eating contest looks completely ridiculous, with pairs sitting at small tables, pies in front of them, and no utensils in sight. The crowd cheers as competitors psych themselves up, and I can’t help but grin at the absurdity of it all.

“This is going to be messy,” I warn, pushing my sleeves up.

“Bring it on,” Asher replies, his voice low and playful as he mirrors my movement, rolling up his sleeves to reveal forearms that look unfairly good for this kind of contest.

We dive in, laughter spilling between bites as whipped cream smears across my nose and a chunk of apple pie clings to Asher’s chin. The tangy sweetness of the pie is forgotten in the chaos of sticky hands and muffled giggles.

Mid-bite, Asher pauses, leaning closer. His hand brushes against my cheek, and I freeze as he wipes a dollop of whipped cream away with his thumb.

“Got it,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost intimate.

I glance up, and our eyes lock with my stomach deciding now is the time to do twisty things.

The world slows, and around us, the din of the crowd fades into a gentle hum.

His thumb lingers for just a second longer than it should, the warmth of his touch sending a small thrill down my spine.

I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until someone clears their throat loudly beside us.

“You’ve got one more task to do,” the announcer calls out, pointing to the leaf pile near the finish line.

The spell is broken, laughter bubbling up again as we glance at the heap of leaves waiting for us. Our pie now finished, we both hop up and get in line.

Asher straightens, looking toward the pile, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second.

“Are you okay with this?” I ask quietly.

“When I was little, before my mom was injured, we had a routine. Every autumn at our farm, we’d spend at least one day in the yard raking up piles of leaves.

We’d have at least eight giant piles that were all over our front yard, and as soon as we’d raked the last one, we’d race around together and jump into every one of them. ”

“That sounds like the best memory,” I say, wanting so badly to reach over and take his hand, but resisting the urge.

I know his mom was injured in a fluke farm accident—it’s come up in my research—but for some reason that even I cannot explain, I’ve not looked into it.

Which isn’t like me, not at all. But I want Asher to have the dignity of telling me what happened to his family, not read about it online from a third-party source.

He exhales slowly, obviously in the midst of his own internal back and forth, then nods. “I’ve worked on this in therapy.” He then turns to me, grabbing my hand with a confidence that takes me off guard. “Do it with me.”

“Yeah?”

I don’t need him to give me the answer verbally. He’s tells me what I need to hear when he squeezes my hand tightly and nods.

We take off, running together at a breakneck speed, the crunch of leaves underfoot merging with the rush of adrenaline, and leap into the pile, hands still clasped. The world blurs in a swirl of red, gold, and brown as we sink into the leaves, laughter bubbling up uncontrollably.

When we emerge, leaves clinging to our hair and clothes, he’s still holding my hand. Gasping and laughing, we stumble to our feet and before I can even think about it, I’m matching his stride as we sprint toward the finish line.

“Come on, we’re almost there!” he shouts, his voice alive with excitement.

“I’m the one keeping up with you!” I yell back, my chest burning from the effort, but my grin refuses to quit.

We cross the finish line together, our hands raised, triumphant. I look around like an Olympian, waiting for her gold medal, while Asher accepts a goodie bag from one of the scavenger hunt coordinators.

“You two did a great job! Prizes for participating are inside,” she says as she passes the bag to Asher.

“Anything good?” I ask.

Asher peeks in the bag and starts laughing. “We get an apple custard slice and a maple doughnut.”

I bend over, hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath. “Doughnuts,” I say, panting. “We did all that…for doughnuts.”

“And eternal glory,” Asher counters, his hand already reaching up toward my hair. “Hold still.”

“Why?”

“You’ve got so many leaves in your hair,” he says, laughing.

“At least it’s not food,” I retort.

“Let me get them,” he says, his thumb brushing against my cheek again, softer this time.

“And you’ve got one—” I reach up to pluck a leaf from his hair, my fingers brushing against his temple. My voice catches in my throat as his eyes meet mine, the warmth there pulling me in like gravity. His hand lingers, the warmth of his fingertips searing through the crisp air.

He looks side to side, as if he’s half expecting someone he knows to tiptoe behind him and scare him. “Come with me.” He tugs my hand, leading me around the side of a nearby tent. My heart’s doing laps as he pulls me into the quiet, the smell of cider and cinnamon wrapping around us.

He stops, turning to face me. Beautiful, sparkling blue eyes search mine, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it as he plucks another leaf from my hair, and then he grins. His eyes find mine, holding me still like no one else has ever done.

“Mabel from Maple Falls,” he whispers, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face with such deliberate gentleness that it steals my breath. His gaze lingers on me, dipping to my lips.

I don’t trust myself to speak. Not at all. Words would ruin this, break the spell we’re wrapped in. Instead, I let my fingertips trace the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth—full, red, inviting—and before I can second-guess myself, I close the space between us.

My lips find his, tentative at first, brushing his gently as if testing the waters.

But the very second his hand moves to cup the side of my face, anchoring me there, my hesitation vanishes.

It’s all warmth and pressure, and the electric spark that feels so inevitable leaves me wondering why we ever resisted this at all.

I melt before I even realize it’s happening. His hands find my waist and pull me closer, tighter, as I clutch his jacket to keep from floating away. The world narrows to just us—his touch, his scent, the way he tilts his head, deepening the kiss just enough to make my knees weak.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless and smiling like an idiot. Our foreheads touch, and he chuckles softly.

“Best prize ever,” he says.

“For the record,” I manage, my voice shaky, “I still think we did this for the doughnuts.”

The noise of the festival seeps back in as we step away from our hiding spot, but the world feels different now. He looks at me like I’m the only person here, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run from it or from him.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I first saw you this morning," Asher says, his voice low and hushed, reserved for me and me alone. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”

The words hang between us, warm and heavy, and I don’t know how to respond. My pulse races, and I freeze, caught in the quiet intensity of his gaze.

Then reality nudges its way in. My phone chimes, signaling a text, and I whip the phone out of my back pocket. I look Asher’s way ruefully as I show him the screen and the text from my mom.

I could use some help, sweetie …

I glance at my watch and blink at the time. “I should—” I start, gesturing vaguely toward the festival.

His brows lift slightly. “Back to the booth?”

“Yeah,” I say, stepping back, though I don’t let go of his hand just yet. “If I don’t get back there to be her assistant, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Asher chuckles softly. “I need to head over to the Ice Breakers’ booth anyway. Coach made it very clear we’re not just players—we’re ambassadors.” He gives the last word a playful lilt that makes me smile despite myself.

Stillness lingers between us, our bodies unmoving. Even the air, which feels heavier now, seems hesitant to let us drift apart.

I finally let go of his hand, shoving mine into my jacket pocket to keep from reaching for him again. “Have fun.”

“Yeah.” Asher nods, his eyes lingering on me like he’s memorizing something. “You too, Mabel.”

No Mabel at the table or Mabel from Maple Falls. Just you, too . I turn and start walking back toward my mom’s booth, my heart thudding in a way that has nothing to do with the festival crowds. I don’t look back. I can’t.

Because if I do, I might start wondering what it would feel like to stay in this moment a little longer, with him. And I don’t think I’m ready for that answer.