Page 8 of Checking Mr. Wrong (Love in Maple Falls #3)

“Well. If I was a professional player, I’d want anyone interviewing me to be fully prepared and on point when I met them.

” She shakes her head, clearly exasperated with me all of a sudden.

I hate to tell her that my version of on point during my introduction to Asher was chipping my tooth in front of him.

“So, are you going to come to tonight’s emergency meeting with your old ma? ”

I can’t stop the snort that erupts from me.

It’s not just a sound, oh no. It’s a full-body betrayal, like some rogue demon has taken up residence inside me and decided now is the perfect time to make its grand debut.

Not a scary, fire-and-brimstone demon, mind you—more like that distant cousin who shows up uninvited to parties, tells embarrassing stories, and leaves everyone weirdly charmed despite themselves.

“Who decreed that there is something so menacing ‘afoot’ here that you need an emergency town meeting?” I ask while also attempting to not choke on my laughter.

This is what it’s like to grow up the daughter of Mary-Ellen McCluskey.

Maple Falls’ resident busybody with a heart of gold.

Has time for every meeting, every cause, and everyone. Well, almost everyone.

“Oh, stop it. It’s for a good cause. I’ve got it on good authority that Maple Falls is under attack.”

“Attack?” Now she’s done it. I knew it would happen. She’s gone off the deep end. “This has to be made up.”

“No, it is not. Apparently, and according to my source, there’s a man named Alexander MacDonald who’s sent a lawyer here.

He’s trying to say that parts of Maple Falls are technically his, that he’s the heir and wants his land back,” she says matter-of-factly, as if I should know exactly what she’s talking about.

“Can you give me some more context?” I all but plead. “It sounds like you’re pitching me the synopsis for a soap opera.”

She rolls her eyes. Petulant parent. “Years ago, before either one of us was ever here, the MacDonald family owned the majority of the land around Maple Falls. When the last of the known MacDonalds, a man named Victor, passed away, no one stepped forward to claim his property. The town tried for years to find a living relative, but nothing. Since no one claimed it, the property was given to the town.”

“So, are you saying an heir has come forward after all this time?”

“Honestly, Mabel, I wish you were listening to me,” she manages under her breath. We’ve stopped in front of Shirley May’s Diner, our lunch date for the day. Probably not the smartest move on my part, but they have smoothies and milkshakes, which were both approved by my dentist.

“I was, and am, listening,” I say, holding the door open with an exaggerated flourish, waving my arm like I’m a ma?tre d’ at some high-end restaurant.

“Well,” she huffs as she flounces past me, her heels clicking against the floor with dramatic precision, “if this so-called heir can prove he’s related to Victor and is supposed to be the rightful owner of the land, then a lot of Maple Falls will legally be his to do with as he pleases.”

“Oh, great,” I deadpan, closing the door behind us. “Because what this town really needs is another power struggle over land rights. That always goes well.”

She spins on her heel to face me, her eyes narrowing. “Don’t be flippant, Mabel. This is serious. Do you know what could happen if he decides to sell it to developers?”

“Yes, Mom,” I reply, crossing my arms. “It’ll be the end of Maple Falls as we know it. The quaint bakery will turn into a chain coffee shop, the diner will start serving kale smoothies, and the Fall Festival will be replaced by, what? A Pumpkin Spice Latte Festival?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Neither is the idea of someone trying to overthrow Maple Falls like it’s some medieval realm,” I quip, crossing my arms and looking around the diner for a table. My kingdom for a chair.

Her lips press into a tight line as she steps closer, pointing a finger at me like she’s about to deliver one of her infamous you-know-I’m-right lectures. “You’re being impossible.”

“And you’re being over-the-top,” I counter, shrugging.

“I want you to take this seriously, Mabel.” Her glare sharpens as she looks around. “I’m regretting I even told you. Just do me a favor, and keep this quiet and between us for now, since the meeting’s tonight.”

My mother and I have a way of bickering that would make a therapist cringe—or drive them straight to their own therapist after one session with us.

I’ve often thought over the years it might be our love language, but even my old friend Neesha thinks it’s odd how my mother can show one face to Maple Falls while reserving another one only for me.

I go back to scanning the room as she talks to me. She’s moved on, chatting away about her plans for Maple Fest and an Ice Breakers-themed brunch she wants to host, when my gaze lands on someone I am not at all prepared to deal with, at least not right now.

Asher sits at a corner booth, with someone I guess is a fellow hockey player, judging by his size, hunched over what looks like the world’s most serious plate of pancakes.

The expression on Asher’s face is like he’s trying to solve complex mathematical equations with syrup patterns.

He’s wearing a baseball cap pulled low, probably thinking it makes him invisible in a town where everyone knows everyone’s breakfast order by heart.

Our eyes meet across the diner for exactly 2.

3 seconds—long enough for my stomach to do something that feels suspiciously like figure skating—and instead of looking away like a normal person trying to lie low, his whole face lights up with this ridiculously genuine smile.

Like spotting me in a crowded diner just made his entire morning. Real subtle, hotshot.

Mom’s still talking, prattling on about coordinating with the mayor’s office and needing my help with decorations—but her words are starting to fade into the background.

Asher looks up again, catching me mid-stare.

This time, he doesn’t look away immediately, and I don’t either.

Instead, I feel the corners of my traitorous mouth tug upward, unbidden and entirely against my better judgment.

Great, now I’m staring back at him like some kind of diner stalker with a suspiciously enthusiastic grin. Fast as I can, I clamp down on it with such force my jaw practically clicks, replacing it with what I hope is a neutral expression.

“Mabel?” Mom’s voice cuts through my mental spiral. “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yes,” I lie, still peripherally aware of the hockey player who’s now paying way too much attention to his coffee cup. “Ice Breakers brunch. Very...brunchy.”

Mom follows my line of sight, and I watch her entire demeanor shift from frustrated mother to practically vibrating with small-town excitement. “Oh my goodness, is that?—”

Before I can groan or stick out my foot to trip her as she takes off, Mom is in Mary-Ellen mode and headed straight for their table. Honestly, she’s such a stalker but I love her.

“Well, hello, Carson,” Mom says. She turns to me knowingly. “We met at the farmers’ market, what, last week?”

“Yes, ma’am. You’re the reason I’m here today. You told me about Shirley May’s pancakes, so I’m here to have some.” He looks at me and holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Carson.”

“Carson Crane, also known as Bama,” I say, shaking his hand. “I’m Mabel McCluskey, her daughter but also a reporter for Athletic Edge . ”

Carson grins. “Very cool. You in town for a visit?”

“Here for some interviews,” I say, casting a look at Asher before snapping my attention back to Carson. “Would love to talk to you at some point, if you don’t mind?”

“Hand me your phone,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll give you my cell. Let me know when and I’m happy to talk.”

After he adds himself as a new contact and hands me my phone back, he points across the table to his companion while I slide into a seat at the empty booth opposite them. “Have you ladies met Asher yet?”

“Not me, but”—Mom flicks her hand my way as she joins me—“apparently my daughter has.”

Asher’s lips are pulled up at the corners with the biggest smile, but when I meet his gaze all I see in his eyes reflected back at me is pure delight. Mischief even. He taps his mouth.

“How’s it going?” he asks while Carson and my mother exchange a look.

“It’s fine, thank you. All fixed.” I grab a menu off a nearby table and flip it open, pretending there’s a need to scan it right now. I highly doubt Shirley May has changed anything on this menu since she opened her doors, but today I’m going to make sure of it.

“She’s not allowed solid foods for another hour,” my mother explains as if someone asked. She looks at Carson and Asher as she tosses a sympathetic look my way. “Chipped front tooth.”

“ Mom .” The horror. She’s always loved to tell everyone about my business. Don’t get me started on my first menstrual cycle. She announced it to the church choir. “Carson and Asher don’t need to know…”

“Hey, we found a random tooth on the ice at the arena yesterday,” Carson says, looking at Asher, who is bobbing his head in agreement. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

“We’re experienced in the art of losing teeth,” Asher reminds me, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’m not experienced in the art of talking about my business with strangers,” I snap, causing both Asher’s and Carson’s eyes to widen, with Asher biting his lip.

“She’s tired,” my mother pipes in, reaching across the table to pat my hand. “She’s from New York City, and she’s always a little cranky as she adjusts to the time.”

She drops that last bit as if it should explain why I’m acting like I am. Maybe she wants me to add on to her statement or even apologize for my attitude. But I don’t and I won’t. Let’s be clear: I’ve spent my time apologizing for things I didn’t need to, and I’m not going to start again now.

“I’m sure Asher and Carson aren’t worried about it.”

“You never know, dear,” she says as she settles across from me in the booth and finally opens her menu.

I decide on a banana and strawberry smoothie, praying the sugar alone makes up for the fact that I cannot chew anything substantial for at least sixty more minutes.

Just as I’m about to close the menu, a shadow falls over the table.

I glance up to see a woman with cropped, bright red hair and glasses perched on her head, her face lit up like she’s just spotted a celebrity.

“Oh my goodness! It is you!” she exclaims, loud enough to turn a few heads. “You’re the one who dumped a bucket of water on that guy on TV, aren’t you?”

I freeze, my fingers tightening around the menu. “Uh…”

Mom, ever the queen of composure, pretends to be deeply engrossed in the menu. I know for a fact she’s ordering a BLT on wheat with fries, as she has every Thursday since the dawn of time.

“Yeah,” I say reluctantly, my shoulders slumping under the weight of public recognition. “That was me.”

The woman claps her hands together, practically bouncing on her heels. “I knew it! I told my sister, ‘That’s her, I’m sure of it!’ But she said, ‘No way, why would she come to a diner in Maple Falls?’ And here you are!”

I catch movement from the corner of my eye and glance over. Asher sits with a steaming plate of eggs and bacon, watching the scene unfold with open amusement. When our eyes meet, he quirks an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he’s fighting off a grin.

I glare at him, but it only makes his grin widen.

“What was it like?” the woman continues, oblivious to my silent battle with Asher. “Did you plan it? Or was it, like, a spur-of-the-moment thing?”

“Definitely spur of the moment,” I say, dragging my gaze back to her as my mother shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“That’s what I thought!” she says, nodding so enthusiastically I’m surprised her glasses don’t fall off. “You’re kind of a legend, you know. That guy totally deserved it.”

Oh, no. She said it. She said the word legend. My mother finally looks up, her expression cool and unimpressed. “I’m sure my daughter would prefer not to dwell on it,” she says, her voice a polite dagger.

“Oh, of course!” the woman says quickly, holding her hands up. “But, you know, good for you.” She winks at me, then bustles back to her seat at the counter, her excitement still palpable.

I let out a slow breath and slump back in my seat.

Mom arches a brow at me. “Aren’t you a hero,” she says flatly. “A right ‘legend,’ in fact.”

“Don’t start,” I mutter, burying my face in the menu. I’m not sure who wants to fall into a hole in the floor and disappear right now—me or my mom.

As if on cue, Asher lets out a low chuckle, and it’s loud enough for me to hear. My head snaps up, and our eyes meet again. He leans back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his expression one of pure, unfiltered amusement.

I narrow my eyes as he raises his coffee cup in a mock toast, his grin infuriatingly smug.

“I’m just saying, Mabel.” Mom clears her throat, pulling my attention back to her. “Not everyone gets a fan club for being impulsive.”

“Maybe not,” I say, risking one last glance at Asher. He’s still watching me, his expression softer now, almost curious. It makes my stomach do an annoying little flip.

“But it’s nice to know someone appreciates me,” I add, turning back to my mom.

“I thought I raised a lady.” Mom hums noncommittally, flipping her menu closed.

“You did, and then she moved to the city.”

“Well, that city attitude is going to get you nowhere if you keep it up,” she huffs, clearly irritated.

I glance back at Asher one more time, drawn in by the weight of his gaze. This time, his grin tilts into a smirk, slow and deliberate. It’s as if he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Whatever is brewing in that maddening head of his, I don’t know. But the way his eyes glint with unspoken mischief sends a clear message: he’s not letting this go anytime soon.

And something tells me, neither am I.