Page 35 of Checking Mr. Wrong (Love in Maple Falls #3)

MABEL

Maple Leaf

THE SMELL of roasted turkey mingles with cinnamon and nutmeg as I balance a bowl of cranberry sauce in one hand and a basket of dinner rolls in the other. Mom moves through the kitchen like a general in a holiday battle, barking orders with one hand on the gravy boat.

“Don’t forget the sweet potatoes, Mabel,” she calls, as if I could forget the golden casserole that’s been sitting under the broiler for the last ten minutes, its marshmallows toasting into puffy clouds of perfection.

“I’ve got it, Mom,” I say, setting the rolls on the table where Asher is already stealing a seat next to Murray. Asher’s grin spreads wide as he catches my eye, holding up a fork like a trophy.

“What? I’m ready to eat,” he says, trying to grab at me as I walk past, managing to swerve his swipe.

Mom steps back into the dining room with a triumphant flourish, holding the platter of turkey as though she’s presenting the crown jewels.

“All right, everyone, settle down. This masterpiece isn’t staying warm forever,” she declares, setting the platter down at the head of the table. Murray helps her with a chair, and once we’re all seated, she takes a moment to look around the table, her eyes softening as they land on each of us.

“Before we dig in, I’d like to say a few words,” she begins, picking up her glass of sparkling cider. The room goes quiet except for the gentle crackle of the fire in the living room.

Mom clears her throat, her voice brimming with emotion. “This year, I have so much to be grateful for. To have my family, my husband and my daughter, around this table means more to me than you’ll ever know. And Asher,” she says, turning to him with a warm smile, “I’m so glad you’re here. I can see how happy you make my Mabel, and that makes me happy, too.”

Asher’s cheeks turn pink. “Thank you, Mary-Ellen,” he says, although the words barely escape his lips.

“Murray, you’re the most patient human in the world. I’m so lucky you’re mine,” she coos, as she kisses the back of his hand. “You taught me about unconditional love and how good it is to receive it. Thank you.”

She looks at me, her expression tender, and I swear she’s on the verge of tears. “Mabel,” she says, her voice catching, “I have not said this enough in the past and I’m determined to make it up to you now. I need you to know I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard, and now, to know you’ve landed a job with the new television station coming to town next year…”

“Right?” Murray whistles low. “Big-time sports reporter right here in Maple Falls. Can you believe it?”

“I still can’t believe it myself,” I admit, laughing nervously as everyone looks at me. “The fact Willa and Noah trust me enough to run the whole sports segment is amazing.”

Mom beams. “Well, believe it. The Beaumonts did an amazing thing by bringing in those investors to fund the station, but you, my dear, are going to be the one to make it shine. I just know it.”

“I do too.” Asher leans closer, his hand brushing mine under the table. “Sports reporting suits you. Now you can talk hockey all day and get paid for it.”

“And every other sport,” I remind him, earning a laugh from Murray as he positions himself to attack the turkey. “Equal opportunity, right here.”

My mother claps her hands. “We almost forgot the best news of all…Maple Falls is going to stay as it is. I still can’t believe it.”

Asher and I exchange a look, and Murray fights not to giggle. Of course my mother would find a way to drop something juicier than the turkey on Thanksgiving. The woman doesn’t even take a holiday off.

“Wait…what?” I blink at her.

Asher leans forward. “How did you find that out?”

Mom shrugs. “Right place, right time. I was in town yesterday and grabbed a latte before heading across the town square––I needed to pick up some dessert for today––and stumbled across a surprise gathering.” She waves her hand in the air. “It’s a long story, but I think someone said there will be an article about it in the Maple Falls Gazette today. We’ll go online later and see if it’s been loaded to their website and you can read all about it then.”

Murray nods in agreement. “Because right now, it’s turkey time.”

Asher grins, his hands coming together in an exaggerated, but well deserved, slow clap as he looks my way. “I wonder if the town has you, Fiona, and a certain bird to thank for this?”

“If so, I’d like a statue of me. In the town square,” I manage to say before Asher pulls me close and kisses my cheek. “Fiona, too, of course.”

“Of course,” he agrees, the corners of his mouth curling into a coy smile.

“If we’re done now…” Murray lifts the carving knife, poised dramatically above the turkey, and my phone suddenly vibrates against the table. The buzzing is like a rogue fly at a picnic—impossible to ignore.

Everyone pauses. Murray lowers the knife, his brows raised. “You’re not one of those people who live-tweets Thanksgiving dinner, are you?”

“Or someone who has their phone at the table period,” mom says dramatically, rolling her eyes. “I know I taught you better.”

“Sorry. I was looking up ‘how to tablescape’ for Thanksgiving,” I say quickly, reaching for the phone. “I’ll just ignore it.”

But then it buzzes again. And again.

Mom’s lips twitch as if she’s trying not to laugh. “Maybe the station is already calling to ask for a holiday sports special.”

“Or,” Asher says, deadpan, “it’s the group chat from the book club. Big drama over who brings the snacks.”

“Ha-ha,” I mutter, silencing the phone while my holiday companions laugh at my expense. “Fine. Let me just check, and then I’ll turn it off. I promise, no interruptions the rest of the day.”

I get up from the table, glancing down at the screen and smile. “It’s Neesha saying Happy Thanksgiving.”

“That sweet girl. Happy Thanksgiving to her as well.” She winks at me. “If she wants to bring her ice hockey player, I mean boyfriend over for dessert…”

“Mom,” I groan as the guys crack up. Murray puts the carving knife down and moves to stand beside Mom, who giggles as he presses a kiss to her cheek.

“This right here? This is the way I like my life,” she says, her voice soft with that specific kind of joy only moms get to own. “I’ve got my daughter moving home, my town’s safe, and a hot meal in front of us. What more could I ask for?”

pair of ice skates

The clatter of dishes and running water fills the kitchen as I scrape the last of the mashed potatoes into the trash and drop the plate into the soapy sink. Asher stands beside me, drying each dish I hand him. It’s an efficient rhythm we’ve settled into, but every now and then, our elbows brush, sending a spark that has nothing to do with static electricity.

From the living room, I hear my mom laughing at something Murray said as the football game hums in the background. She sounds happy, content. For the first time in forever, I feel the same way.

“You know,” Asher says, folding a dish towel neatly over the counter, “we could leave the rest of these for tomorrow.”

I glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “And risk my mother waking up to a dirty kitchen? Are you trying to get me disowned?”

He chuckles, then reaches over and plucks the sponge out of my hand. “You’re relentless, Mabel.”

“Relentless is how you get things done.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head as he sets the sponge aside. “Relentless is how you stay stuck in the kitchen all night. Come on.”

Before I can argue, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the back door.

“What are you doing?” I protest as he pulls open the door. The cool November air hits my face, carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves and the distant smoke of someone’s chimney.

“Getting you out of here,” he says simply. He holds up two mugs of tea that I didn’t even see him pour. “I made a strategic play while you were distracted by that casserole dish.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but I let him lead me outside to the porch. The wooden planks creak under our weight as we step out into the moonlight. It’s quiet out here, the only sound is the rustling of trees in the breeze.

Asher hands me a mug, and I wrap my hands around it, savoring the warmth. We sit side by side on the porch swing, the tea steaming between us.

“I was going to save this for another time,” he begins, his voice low and steady, “but now feels right.”

I look at him, the tea momentarily forgotten. “Save what?”

He turns toward me, his expression serious, though his eyes are as warm as ever. “Mabel, you’re everything to me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I fall asleep. Maybe that sounds like a cheesy line from a bad romcom, but I don’t care.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, but it’s caught halfway by the lump forming in my throat.

“I love you,” he says, his voice soft but sure. “I love the way you make me laugh, the way you light up when we start to banter and tease each other, and the way you make me feel like I am the luckiest guy in the world just by being here.”

“Asher,” I begin, but he stops me.

“No,” he says, his voice deep and steady, “my turn to say things.”

He takes my hand, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles in that way that makes my chest tighten and my heart beat faster. The moonlight catches in his eyes, turning them a shade softer, warmer, like a whispered promise.

“I know this is the beginning for us,” he continues, his tone low but filled with certainty. “There’s a whole future waiting out there, one where I plan to spend every day proving how much you mean to me. Not because I feel like I have to, but because I want to. Because you deserve to know, every single day, how incredible you are.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I don’t dare blink, afraid to miss a second of the way he’s looking at me.

“But I also know I want that future to start when you’re ready,” he says. “I don’t want to rush a single minute of it. I want us to savor every step, every laugh, every fight over the remote, every Sunday morning where we make plans for brunch or to go hunting for antiques.”

“You like antiquing?” I ask as he rolls his eyes.

“Shush, I’m not done.” He pauses, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “I want to make you a Tremblay, Mabel. I want you to have my name, and for the whole world to know you are mine.”

The words hang between us, soft and solid all at once. My breath hitches, and I feel the warmth of his palm pressing against mine, grounding me. His name. Mabel Tremblay. Oh, wow.

“I don’t just want to love you, Mabel,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “I want to build something with you. Something that lasts. Something that’s ours. And when you’re ready—when it’s the right time—I want to spend my life making sure you never doubt what you mean to me.”

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Asher Tremblay,” I murmur, shaking my head, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

He grins, that lopsided, perfect grin that makes my knees weak even when I’m sitting down. “And yet, here you are, hopelessly in love with me.”

“Hopelessly,” I admit, laughing softly as I lean in.

He cups my cheek, his hand warm against my skin, and when he kisses me, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away. There’s no cold winter night, no lingering dishes in the kitchen, no noise from the football game inside—just us, wrapped in a quiet moment that feels like forever.

When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine, his voice soft but sure. “Take your time, Mabel. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I whisper back, my voice breaking slightly, but not with sadness—with the overwhelming, breathtaking certainty that he’s my forever.

The porch swing creaks softly as we sit together, the tea cooling in our mugs and the stars glittering above us. Somewhere inside, the laughter of my mother echoes faintly, but all I can feel is the steady warmth of Asher beside me, his hand wrapped around mine like an anchor.

And for the first time, it’s not about thinking I’m exactly where I belong.

It’s about knowing I’m exactly where we belong.

Together.

Forever.