Page 37 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“You’re lucky I haven’t lit the candles yet.” I regret the words as they come out. Is that the smoothest I can be?
“Candles?” She smirks, leaning back into the cushions. “So you’re one ofthoseguys. Should I expect a playlist, too? Something smooth and sultry?”
Before I can think of what to say, the oven timer buzzes from the kitchen.
“That’s my cue,” I tell her, backing toward the kitchen. “I made lasagna. Want some?”
She looks up at me, surprised. “You cook?”
“Only when I want something edible.” I grin, and after a beat, she nods.
“Sure. I haven’t had dinner yet.”
“Perfect.”
I plate up two generous portions and bring them over, setting them down on the coffee table. She takes hers, the firelight catching in her hair as she leans forward and digs in.
“This is really good,” she says after the first bite, sounding almost begrudging, like admitting it costs her something.
“I know,” I say with a mock-serious nod, earning a rare smile from her. “It’s my mom’s recipe.”
“Well, it’s delicious,” she says approvingly. “Are you two close?”
I nod. “We were like two peas in a pod, I guess. I’m the youngest, but I’ve got two older sisters. I think Mom was ready for a break.”
“Girls can be tough.” Mabel chuckles. “At least, if I go with what I know about the relationship I have with my mom, that rings true.”
“Your mom is…” I pause, looking for the right words.
“Too much to handle,” Mabel finishes for me, snickering before her expression changes. “I shouldn’t say that. I see her and the way she relates with everyone else in town, and it gets to me. It always has. I want that kind of relationship with her, you know? Where she smiles and waves to me, and is light and happy.”
“She’s a mom. She’s always going to be different with you, more so than anyone else.” I nod because I know. “I watched my two sisters and how they related to our mother when we were growing up. They had a better connection with my dad for a long time.”
“That sounds about right.” Mabel stabs at her lasagna before turning to face me. “Mothers and daughters need a manual.”
“So do fathers and sons.” I point to her plate, which is almost sparkling clean. “Looks like someone likes my cooking skills. That plate looks like you licked it.”
“Stop!” Mabel laughs, pushing me playfully. As she turns to face me, tossing her head back and laughing, I spot something I know that won’t make her happy.
“Hey.” I nod toward her shoulder, where a loose wave of hair catches the light. “You’ve got something…”
It takes me a second to realize what I’m looking at because it doesn’t belong there. A ribbon of melted cheese tangled in her hair, accompanied by the faintest smear of red sauce clinging to a strand like it’s trying to blend in. Only Mabel could somehowmake pasta-in-her-hair look stupidly endearing instead of it being a full disaster.
“What?” Her eyes grow wide, to the point I think they may bug out of her head, and she groans. “Don’t tell me there’s food in my hair? I swear it’s not a meal unless I drop something I’m eating on myself.”
“Even in your hair?”
“I know. It’s amazing, right?” She rolls her eyes. “It’s like food flies to my body and sticks to it.”
I reach out, only to have her jump straight up in the air and then land on the couch a few more inches farther away from me.
“I can see it. Let me help get it out of your hair, is that okay?”
Without thinking, my fingers drift up, gentle and slow, brushing the crumbs free like I’m handling something fragile—because right now, everything about her feels fragile and electrifying all at once.
Mabel stays still, her eyes catching mine like a spark caught in a bottle. Her breath hitches ever so slightly, and I swear I can feel the pulse of her heartbeat through the warmth of her skin. It’s the tiniest of sensations, yet it sends me into overdrive.
My fingertips drift from the strands of her hair to the gentle curve of her cheek, soft as a whisper, tracing every line like I’m committing a secret map to memory. The room fades away, shrinking until it’s just the two of us, bathed in flickering firelight and shadow. Her beautiful green eyes hold me captive, and I don’t even try to break free. Funny I hadn’t truly noticed before how her long lashes delicately frame them, like the perfect finishing touch on something already breathtaking.
