Page 2 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“Well, legends are unforgettable no matter how they’re made, even if they’re clowns.” I let out a strangled laugh despite myself. “Or at least I hope so.”
“Let’s hope you’re not always known as the reporter who dumped a bucket of water over her ex’s head on national television. I raised you better than this,” she replies with no indication of humor in her tone. “Now, look, I’m sorry I can’t be there to pick you up myself today.” She sighs in my ear. I know that sigh; it has a special musical tone that’s meant to sound bummed, but also final. It’s the same sigh she used the time she couldn’t make it to my senior class awards night because of Bridge Club. No, not a committee to save bridges, but a card game. “I really wanted to be there, but the planning for this inaugural bash has gotten bigger than expected and they’ve called an emergency town hall meeting for tomorrow, and of course I’ve volunteered to help get the word out.”
A horn honks, causing me to jump. In my pacing I somehow managed to step off the curb and almost into the path of a taxicab. The New Yorker in me is not impressed, and the special one-finger salute I give the cabbie lets him know what I think of him, too.
“It’s fine, Mom.” I could say it’s what I expected, or I’m used to it, but why bother? A shuttle breezes past with a familiar image and logo that makes my skin crawl in the most visceral reaction I’ve had in ages to anything.“We’re headed to Maple Falls—you’ll never want to leave”is probably reassuring to some people. A beacon of coming home. In a Hallmark movie, it’s the instant when the viewer realizes that our hometown girl is back, in the small town where she grew up, to do some good. She’llsave some local businesses from destruction, fall in love with a billionaire, and live happily ever after.
Only this is not a Hallmark movie. It’s my life.
“Have you found Murray’s friend who’s picking you up?” She sounds distracted, probably ticking down her to-do list for the day. I bet she’s at the spot where she can cross my name off the list. Mabel…tick, handled. “Keep an eye out for a man inside the terminal holding a sign with your last name on it.”
With my oversized suitcase next to me, I kick it out a few inches and park my rear on top of it, pulling my two smaller ones closer to me. I should have gotten one of the bag trolleys, but this girl didn’t feel like shelling out ten bucks to rent a trolley to go a few feet. I’m rethinking that decision, that’s for sure. “So, I need to go back inside the terminal?”
Mom’s exasperated sigh slams against my ear. “Yes, Mabel. Where else is he going to be?”
“It would have been good to know that information before I wrangled my bags to the outside curb, that’s all.” I inhale a sharp breath. The last thing I need is to start bickering with her before I’ve even set foot in the house. I was hoping this visit back would be smooth, but I feel this conversation is telling me a big fat ‘nope, not today.’
“Well, you shouldn’t have packed so much,” she says matter-of-factly but then self-corrects. “You always do, and yet you wear the same outfits over and over.”
“Ignore her, Mabel. Your mother’s agreed to do too many things, and she’s being difficult.” The familiar voice of my stepdad, Murray, comes through the phone. Clearly, I’ve been put on speaker. “Be careful, or Mary-Ellen will rope you into helping, too.”
My mother is a very lucky woman in the fact that she’s had the chance to fall in love with two amazing men in her lifetime. Her words, not mine. My father was one of them, of course, and now Murray. Murray even comes with perks: he’s the building supervisor for the Maple Falls Arena. Trust me when I tell you,my mother, an avid ice hockey fan (see definition: stalker-adjacent) never misses a chance to use those comped seats every season.
“Thanks for the warning,” I say with a half-laugh. Murray and I have become good friends since they eloped. It’s funny to think of these two as a couple, really. My mother and Murray could not be more opposite—she likes summer, he loves the winter; she vacations at the beach while he wants to go skiing—but he worships the ground she skips across, and she loves him to the moon and back. Can’t argue with that, can you? “I assume she wants me to go door-knocking to get people to sign petitions or help at some booth for Maple Fest this year?”
“Yes to all of the above,” Mom interjects. “However, we’ll talk when you get here. Just get back inside and look for the man with the sign.”
I’m not even surprised when the call disconnects, leaving me standing here confused. I grab my bags and start to balance everything so I can get back across the thruway and into the terminal when I spot a lone empty baggage trolley. It might as well be shimmering like a desert oasis as far as I’m concerned. Clutching my bags, I drag everything over so I can plop it on top of the little pushcart, my body already thanking me.
As I begin to wrestle my bags onto the trolley, I finally feel a glimmer of hope. My back sings with relief, and I grin like I’ve just won the lottery. I’m literally in the middle of hoisting the biggest piece of luggage up to load onto the cart…when the trolley glides away. It happens almost too smoothly, like it’s being carried off by a magical force. Except it’s not magic. It’s a man. A very large giant man who looks like he could palm my suitcase if I’m being honest.
“Hey!” I shout, spinning around just in time to see this guy in a hoodie and faded jeans pushingmytrolley away like he’s late for a flight. My shoulder bag slips and thuds onto the sidewalk, barely missing his foot.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look back. Unreal.
“Excuse me!” I yell, grabbing my dropped bag and straighteningup, my voice cutting through the chaos of the curbside pickup area.
No reaction.
I’m beyond irritated now. Somehow, I manage to scoop up my smaller bags, precariously balancing them as I clutch my other bag and stomp after him. “Hey! You! Cart thief!”
Still nothing. No flinch, no pause. Just the steady push of my good-luck trolley.
By the time I catch up, breathless and absolutely livid, I’m about two seconds away from yanking the trolley right out of his hands. “Are you serious right now?!” I snap, planting myself in front of him.
That’s when I see them—AirPods, tucked snugly in his ears, practically glowing with audacity. If they had faces, I’d be looking at little tongues sticking out at me.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” I mutter, more to myself than him. I wave a hand in front of his face like I’m flagging down a taxi. “Hello!”
He blinks, finally noticing me, and pulls out one earbud, a huge smile spreading across his face. A very good-looking face at that, and it’s on top of a broad set of shoulders, but I’m too mad to appreciate him and his good looks right now. Even if his eyes are the clearest blue I’ve ever seen and the hoodie he’s wearing hugs the curves of his arms and shows off his biceps. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I point to the cart. “You took my trolley.”
His gaze flits to the cart as he pushes a few strands of his sandy blonde hair out of his line of sight, then back to me. “Was this yours?”
“No,” I deadpan, sarcasm dripping from every word. “I enjoy chasing strangers. It’s the number-one way to win friends and influence people.”
His face breaks into a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. I thought it was a freebie someone left behind.”
