Page 47 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“For the record,” I manage, my voice shaky, “I still think we did this for the doughnuts.”
The noise of the festival seeps back in as we step away from our hiding spot, but the world feels different now. He looks at me like I’m the only person here, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t want to run from it or from him.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I first saw you this morning," Asher says, his voice low and hushed, reserved for me and me alone. “I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
The words hang between us, warm and heavy, and I don’t know how to respond. My pulse races, and I freeze, caught in the quiet intensity of his gaze.
Then reality nudges its way in. My phone chimes, signaling a text, and I whip the phone out of my back pocket. I look Asher’s way ruefully as I show him the screen and the text from my mom.
I could use some help, sweetie…
I glance at my watch and blink at the time. “I should—” I start, gesturing vaguely toward the festival.
His brows lift slightly. “Back to the booth?”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping back, though I don’t let go of his hand just yet. “If I don’t get back there to be her assistant, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Asher chuckles softly. “I need to head over to the Ice Breakers’ booth anyway. Coach made it very clear we’re not just players—we’re ambassadors.” He gives the last word a playful lilt that makes me smile despite myself.
Stillness lingers between us, our bodies unmoving. Even the air, which feels heavier now, seems hesitant to let us drift apart.
I finally let go of his hand, shoving mine into my jacket pocket to keep from reaching for him again. “Have fun.”
“Yeah.” Asher nods, his eyes lingering on me like he’s memorizing something. “You too, Mabel.”
No Mabel at the table or Mabel from Maple Falls. Justyou, too. I turn and start walking back toward my mom’s booth, my heart thudding in a way that has nothing to do with the festival crowds. I don’t look back. I can’t.
Because if I do, I might start wondering what it would feel like to stay in this moment a little longer, with him. And I don’t think I’m ready for that answer.
CHAPTER 16
ASHER
Everywhere I lookthere are signs of autumnal glory, from stalks of corn bunched together on porches, to carved pumpkins on sidewalks. My neighborhood is looking ready for the upcoming holidays. There’s a soft wind today, and the crisp crunch of leaves underfoot syncs with the steady hum of my mom’s voice coming through my earbuds.
“You’re on a roll, kiddo,” Mom says, the pride in her voice unmistakable. “Back-to-back wins, and not just barely scraping by, no sir! Those were commanding performances.”
“Yeah, we’re clicking as a team,” I say, nudging a stray leaf with my toe. “Which is good, because we’re on the road for some away games next week. We don’t want to show up as a team to those looking like we’re unhinged.”
“No,” she says with a chuckle, “you don’t. Hey, before I forget, your dad sends his love. He would be here but he’s prepping for distribution ahead of the holidays.”
I have a small wave of nostalgia, knowing if I wasn’t here I’d be there helping in my free time. This is the time of year when I’d be double-checking the quality of everything going out, and of course, always offering my skills in the art of taste testing.
“But, what we want to know is how areyoudoing?” she asks, her tone softening. “Is everything all right with you, Asher?”
I know by asking this question, she means how is my OCD. I glance at a cluster of pumpkins arranged on a neighbor’s stoop, their goofy grins oddly comforting. “I’m fine,” I reply casually. “It’s under control.”
Mom doesn’t buy it, not for a second. “Goodness, Asher,” she says, sighing into the phone. “Whenever you brush things off like that, I can’t help but think there might be a girl involved.”
Except she was usually wrong when she guessed that before. I laugh, the sound echoing down the quiet street. “This time, you might be right.”
There’s a beat of silence, then she pounces. “What?” she practically shrieks. “There’s a girl? Who is she?”
“Her name’s Mabel,” I admit, my voice warming just at the mention of her name. I take a few minutes to fill my mother in on all things Mabel McCluskey—which surprisingly takes longer than one would think. She’s got quite the resume, in life and professionally, but it was when I brushed over her old job as a sports reporter that my mother let out a tiny yelp.
“Wait, that’s her? Mabel’s the woman who tossed that bucket of water on that jerk’s head?” My mother isn’t one to revel in others’ misery, but something tells me she did for this. “Ohhh, I can’t wait to meet her, Asher. Wait—will I meet her? Is it serious?”
How do I answer?I’ve had my lips on hers and it was lovely, thanks for asking?Or I could try:We seem to be getting along just fine. But it all sounds trite and?—
