Page 18 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“I’m showcasing my dance moves, so yes, it’s good,” I joke, knowing that hearing I was reveling in dancing would make her happy.
“You’re dancing?” She practically squeals in my ear. “Oh, where is this, Asher? I have to see it!”
“Later, Mom. I’ll send you a link, but I’ll call you tonight, okay?”
“Fine, but make sure you call me or I’ll be worried,” she says, her motherly tone starting to shine through. “Don’t forget to eat something green today, not just carbs.”
“Love you,” I say, disconnecting before she can add another reminder about vegetables.
As I slip my phone into my pocket, I spot my PAL, or player assimilation liaison, Bailey Porter, navigating her way through the crowd with ease. She’s another Maple Falls local, and even though she was late to our first meeting—the one where she was taking me to my new place to live—she’s got a huge heart, themost positive attitude I’ve ever seen, and a love of maple butter that rivals my own.
“Did I hear someone shouting about your dance moves?” she asks with a smirk, falling into step beside me. While her position as a PAL is a new one to me, I’m lucky she’s got it. From the second I arrived, Bailey was tasked with helping me settle into the community. From sorting out where I was going to live,to helping me get tickets for friends and family to the games, she’s the best.
“TikTok. Our social media manager thought it would be a good idea to get us on there. Turns out it’s harder to live down than I thought.”
“I know Clara, she’s creative.” Bailey nods. “And I’ve seen those videos. You’re pretty good.”
“The result of dance classes since I was five,” I say, giving a slight bow at the waist.
“I’m sure that helps, too. How’re you doing?” Her question holds more weight than a casual inquiry, and I appreciate her subtlety. “I’ve not heard from you so I figured you were settling in, but I know it’s a rocky road with OCD if you’re not feeling yourself yet.”
“Better than I thought I would,” I admit. “Cade hooked me up with a local chronic illness support group.”
Bailey’s smile softens. “That’s huge, Asher. How was it?”
At practice, Cade’s noticing my tick helped me to break down one of my own walls. When we were leaving the arena that night, I’d joked I needed more therapy, and to my surprise, he offered to take me to a local Chronic Warrior’s Support Group meeting. Sixteen-year-old me used to dream about the day I’d get onto the ice as an NHL player; I’d probably go out on my first night with my new professional friends and have some brews and some steaks, and then…
But no. It’s not like that. I went to a support group for my mental health. And I am so grateful he took me.
“It’s exactly what I needed. I’ll probably go again.”
Her encouraging nod is cut short when my gaze snags on someone moving through the market. Mabel. Her hair is tied back, a few strands escaping as she carries a coffee in each hand. I follow her trajectory and see she’s heading toward a booth where her mom is busy arranging flyers on a table underneath a sign that shouts “SAVE MAPLE FALLS.”
Bailey follows my line of sight and smirks. “You know Mabel?”
“Yes, kinda—but, no,” I say, my voice distant as I watch Mabel interact with her mother before she jumps behind the table and starts helping to arrange flyers, books, and other items laid out on the table in their stall.
“She’s cool. I grew up with her.” Bailey smiles, reminiscing. “Our moms took us trick-or-treating together when we were little, and I’m pretty sure I had my first sleepover at her house. Her mom baked us fresh cookies that night. I’ll never forget it, going to bed after eating a hot, straight from the oven, chocolate chip cookie.”
Bailey’s voice drifts away, like a low hum of background music on a distant radio, barely registering as I watch Mabel. My focus is locked on her, every movement pulling me in like a magnet I can’t resist. “She’s…interesting,” I finally say, each word deliberate, the only ones I’m willing to give away.
“Well, it was nice running into you, Asher. Enjoy your day. You’ve got my number if you need anything.” Bailey pats my arm and then veers off toward another stall.
I linger, steadying myself before I start toward Mabel, not sure why my feet started moving in her direction. Obviously, the rest of me has to follow.
I approach the booth, and Mary-Ellen looks up first. Her face lights up with recognition, and she waves me over. “Well, hello, Asher. It’s nice to see you again.”
Mabel glances over, and her expression immediately hardens into a scowl. Her green eyes lock on me like I’ve just interruptedsomething important, and I’m pretty sure I’m already not her favorite person.
“Hi,” I say, grinning as I step closer. “Mrs. McCluskey, right?”
She smooths her hair back, preening as she straightens her shoulders. “Mary-Ellen, please. None of that Mrs. business.”
“Technically, she’s Mrs. Patterson,” Mabel deadpans. “But she didn’t take her new husband’s surname.”
“You say ‘new husband’ like I get one every few years,” Mary-Ellen says a bit sharply before she looks my way again and literally bats her eyelashes. “I got remarried about a year ago, and I’m at the age where everyone in town knows me as a McCluskey. Why confuse them?”
While her mother launches into the detailed explanation, her voice steady and assured, Mabel stares at her with an expression that can only be described asWhat the actual…?It’s the kind of look that could stop traffic, or at least make her mother reconsider mid-sentence.
