Page 44 of Checking Mr. Wrong
Things I’m doubting: that this will be a fun adventure. I like fun, and I do fun things, but I’m not sure this would make my list. “I’m sure Mom needs me…”
“Stop talking about it and go,” she says as she gives me a shove from behind. “You’ve helped me get set up, I can handle it from here. Just come back long enough so I can slip out for lunch and to see my Ice Breakers.”
Before I know it, we’re weaving through the early throng as people arrive for the day. I’m still muttering about my mom’s betrayal when Asher nudges my shoulder. “Hey, cranky-pants, you’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re going to do this thing.”
I shoot him a side-eye glare but match his stride as we weave through the crowd. “Is there even a prize?”
“The glory of victory,” he says, his grin stretching wide.
I roll my eyes. “No prizes. Really?”
“If we crush it out there, I’ll spring for coffee. Don’t say I never spoil you.” He waggles his eyebrows like this is a major life event.
“You could’ve led with the coffee or just brought me one if you’re in the spirit of giving,” I mutter, tugging my coat tighter as the crisp fall air bites at my cheeks. “What’s the first thing on this scavenger list of yours?”
“Axe throwing,” he announces, practically bouncing on his heels. “And before you say a thing, yes, it’s safe. Mostly.”
“Mostlysafe doesn’t inspire confidence,” I reply, my stomach twisting. But as we approach the axe-throwing station, I have to admit the setup looks way more organized than my imagination was giving it credit for, with rows of wooden targets standing sturdy against a backdrop of hay bales. An instructor in a flannel shirt waves us over.
“You can do it,” Asher says, nudging me forward. “Just imagine the target is whatever’s making you so irritated today.”
“You?” I ask, deadpan. He laughs like I’m joking.
The instructor hands us each an axe and gives a brief overview. I grip mine tightly, the weight unfamiliar but not entirely unpleasant. Asher steps up first, making a big show of rolling his shoulders and stretching like he’s about to compete in the Olympics.
“Watch and learn,” he says, throwing the axe in one fluid motion. It sails through the air and hits the target with a satisfying thud, not quite a bullseye but close enough to draw a few cheers from onlookers.
“Beginner’s luck,” I mutter, stepping up to the line.
I focus on the target, take a deep breath, and throw. The axe veers off to the right, hitting the very edge of the board and bouncing off into the grass.
“Solid effort!” Asher calls, his tone entirely too cheerful. “You’re getting there.”
I shoot him a look that could melt steel. “Let’s see you do better on the second try.”
By the time we finish, I’ve barely managed one decent hit, while Asher has managed to charm everyone within a fifty-foot radius.
“Next up,” he says, consulting the list. “Stuffing a scarecrow.”
“Fantastic,” I say dryly, brushing stray bits of hay off my coat as we leave the axe-throwing station.
At the scarecrow station, we’re handed a burlap sack and directed toward a pile of hay and clothing. “This one’s all about teamwork,” Asher says, holding open the sack. “I’ll hold, you stuff.”
“Why do I get the messy job?” I grumble, but I’m already grabbing handfuls of hay.
“Because you’re good at it,” he replies, his tone so sincere I can’t tell if he’s teasing or not.
We bicker our way through the task, ending up with a scarecrow that’s more lumpy than lifelike. Asher holds it up proudly anyway, snapping a picture for proof. “Artistic interpretation,” he declares.
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a small smile as we head toward the next challenge. “A nature walk?”
“We have to take pictures and post them with a #MapleFest for them to be entered,” he explains.
The trail Asher leads me down winds through a wooded area, the crunch of leaves underfoot the only sound besides the occasional birdcall. The air is cool, carrying the earthy scent of damp soil and fallen leaves, and despite my best efforts, I’m starting to relax.
Asher, on the other hand, is fully in his element. He snaps pictures of the vibrant foliage, pausing every few feet to marvel at something I would’ve walked right past. His enthusiasm, while relentless, is also contagious.
“Look at this one,” he says, crouching to capture a cluster of mushrooms on a mossy log. His voice is soft but excited, like he’s sharing a secret. “It’s like a fairy house.”
