Page 25 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“You want me to taste-test?” I’m already reaching for one, the glossy frosting shimmering like edible art.
“Obviously.” She hands me a napkin, her expression turning serious. “And be honest. I can take it.”
The cupcake is almost too pretty to eat, but I take a bite anyway, and the flavors hit me like a hug from a cozy sweater. It’s sweet but not cloying, with a warm, nutty undertone and just enough maple to make me think of crisp leaves and flannel shirts.
“Oh, wow,” I say after swallowing. “This might be the best thing you’ve ever made.”
Neesha beams, leaning on the counter. “Really? You’re not just saying that to spare my feelings?”
“If I hated it, I’d have said something like, ‘It’s got potential.’”
“Fair point. I dated that guy, too.” She grabs a cupcake for herself and takes a bite, her shoulders visibly relaxing. “So, are you stopping in to say hi or are you out and about?”
“I’m off to an interview with one of the hockey players tonight. He’s so busy practicing that he could only squeeze in a dinner,” I say as Neesha rolls her eyes. “Girl, I can feel that eye roll from here.”
“You know how I get,” she says, flicking a hunk of icing at me. “Be careful. Next thing you know he’ll charm you into a date.”
I watch as Neesha’s face clouds over and my hackles rise up, ready to protect her. You know the saying, once burned twice shy? Well, I spent a lot of time on the other end of the phone last year after Neesha broke up with a certain hockey player, who happens to still be on the Ice Breakers, named Nate Simpson. All around turd, that one. Let’s just say Nate won’t be getting an interview or any kind of media time if I have anything to say about it.
As I watch, her bright smile suddenly reappears, like a ray ofsunshine chasing the storm away. “Anyway, tell me about New York. How’s the big city treating you?”
I lean back, turning the cupcake wrapper in my fingers. “It’s busy. There’s always something happening. The energy is addictive, I love going to Broadway shows, and dining out is next level. But it’s also exhausting, you know? Everything moves so fast.”
“Is it everything you hoped for when you left Maple Falls?”
The question lands heavier than I expect. I think about my tiny apartment with its constant hum of traffic outside the window, the late nights working to meet deadlines, and the hustle that never seems to end.
“Yes and no,” I say finally. “There are days when it feels like I’m living the dream. But there are also times when I’m wondering if the dream is still mine.”
Neesha’s eyes soften. “You don’t sound very happy.”
“You know what they say. Happiness is overrated.” I shrug, avoiding her gaze. “Success is what matters, right?”
She doesn’t laugh at my joke. Instead, she reaches across the counter and squeezes my hand. “You know it’s okay to want both, don’t you?”
“Sure,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. I glance around the shop, taking in the mismatched chairs, the worn bookshelves stuffed with novels, and the chalkboard menu listing drinks with punny names. It’s as if there’s a part of Neesha’s soul poured into this space. My apartment, in contrast, feels more like a holding cell than a home.
“Do you ever miss this place?” Neesha asks. “Maple Falls, I mean.”
I shake my head, but the answer doesn’t come as quickly as it used to. “Not really. I mean, I guess I do sometimes, but the city has everything you could ever want.”
“Except?” she presses, her tone gentle but insistent as she puts her cupcake down.
I hesitate, my fingers tightening around the napkin. “I don’tknow. I do know you’re asking me a lot of questions about city life. Is someone thinking of—GASP!—leaving?”
Neesha laughs so hard she actually spits out a tiny piece of cupcake that lands on my cheek.
“Oh man,” she manages as she hands me a napkin. “How gross, I’m so sorry!”
I can’t stop laughing. “That’s one way to redirect my question.”
“Well, come on. Maple Falls…‘you’ll never want to leave.’”
The last part is the one that does it. I don’t know if it’s the voice she uses or the air quotes, but we’re both doubled over and cackling, the way that only two old friends like us can do. It comes from years of friendship, growing up together, and a trusted bond that’s glued so tight, it would take an atomic explosion to break us up.
As the laughter dies down, Neesha leans against the counter, a wistful smile playing on her lips. “You know, I’ve been thinking about Seattle.”
“Seattle?” I echo, raising an eyebrow. “What’s in Seattle?”
