Page 21 of Checking Mr. Wrong
I study him, waiting for the point.
“One day,” he continues, “she forgot to pick me up from hockey practice. I waited for an hour, and when she finally got there, she was so apologetic, but she looked tired. Not the kind of tiredness you fix with a nap. Just worn down.” His smile is faint, wistful. “I didn’t get it then, but looking back, I think she was trying to be everything for everyone and didn’t leave anything for herself.”
I don’t say anything, but his words settle in my chest, sounding very familiar.
He straightens, his usual easygoing grin creeping back. “Just something to think about,” he says lightly.
Before I can respond, my gaze snags on a small group of women a few stalls away, watching us. They’re whispering to each other, not exactly subtle, and when one of them catches my eye, she grins.
I snort. “Look, they’re staring at you this time.”
Asher glances over and laughs. “Nope. I can tell they’re staring at you.”
“Why would they be staring at me?” I ask, skeptical.
“Because you’re famous,” he says, as if it’s obvious.
“Famous,” I repeat, incredulous. “I would have thought this would have died by now.”
“It’s because you did what people want to do. From what I see, and hear, you’re the kind of hero made for women who get ‘it,’” he says, his grin turning sly. “Women who understand why you did what you did.”
I raise an eyebrow. “The scorned?”
He laughs, full and genuine. “I guess, yeah. If that’s what you want to call it. But come on, you got on live television and served your ex the karma he had coming. Why is that a bad thing?”
I can’t help it; I laugh, shaking my head. “Well, when you’re right, you’re right.”
“I knew you’d see things my way,” he says, his grin never wavering.
“Mabel? Mabel!” a familiar voice interrupts. I turn as my old colleague Willa Blackwell-Beaumont comes bounding over, her long dark hair bouncing and her excitement practically radiating off her. She’s dragging a tall guy behind her, who I recognize as her better half. Willa is one of those people you can’t help but like, even if you’re feeling grumpy.
“Willa! I’ve been meaning to call you since I got back?—”
“Oh, please. I know what it’s like,” she says with a wink before gesturing to the guy beside her. “You know Noah, right,my husband? He used to play for the Ice Breakers. Noah, this is Mabel. She writes forAthletic Edge.”
“Nice to meet you.” Noah shakes my hand firmly, his expression polite but friendly. As his line of sight moves to the man with me, Noah’s eyes light up as he reaches out to shake Asher’s hand. “Dude! I know who you are. Asher Tremblay. Defense, signed to River City Renegades for your mandatory AHL introduction, then BAM!—you’re sent to Maple Falls instead to go pro, man.”
“Noah Beaumont?” Asher grins. “You’re a legend. It’s awesome to meet you.”
The two men step aside, their conversation already dipping into hockey talk. Willa grins at me as another familiar face appears from the crowd, waving. “Mabel? Is that you?”
I glance up to see another New Yorker, Fiona Hale, weaving through the crowd. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and holding an iced coffee like she just stepped off a Manhattan sidewalk. “I thought that was you. Oh my gosh, don’t you just love this small town! Of course I’d run into you at the farmers’ market. It’s soGilmore Girls,isn’t it?”
“I didn’t know you’d be here yet,” I say, genuinely surprised.
“Just got in last night,” she says with a smile before glancing at Willa. “Hi. I’m Fiona.”
“Willa,” she says, extending a hand.
“Willa is an amazing photographer who worked freelance for a while, but we met when she was an editor forAthletic Edge,” I explain to Fiona.
I’ve known Fiona, loosely, for about two years now. We’ve crossed paths at events here and there—it’s funny how, in a city as big as New York, your world starts to feel surprisingly small once you find your niche. Case in point: a few months ago, I was at my favorite salon getting a blowout, minding my own business, when guess who waltzes in and takes the chair beside me? Fiona.
As it turns out, we share the same hairdresser. Even crazier?We were both chatting about packing for Maple Falls at the exact same time. Talk about synchronicity.
“Of course you did,” Fiona says, shaking her hand. “I love how everything’s connected! It’s really nice to meet you, Willa.”
“How do you two know one another?” Willa asks.
