Page 49 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“Sure you don’t.” Carson grins, his gaze focused ahead. “I mean, whatever it is, it’s probably none of my business. Especially if it has to do with a journalist who grew up here. But, all I can say is don’t let it pass you by. Whatever’s got you grinning like an idiot lately? Probably worth paying attention to.”
I bark a laugh, rolling my eyes. “Grinning like an idiot? Really?”
Carson throws up his hands. “Hey, I call it like I see it.”
We slow as we approach our house. Carson jogs up the steps, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going to make some dinner, sodon’t stay out here thinking too hard about what I said for too long.”
I stay on the sidewalk, watching him disappear inside. First my mom calls out my overthinking, and then Carson. I feel seen as the streetlights flicker on, casting long shadows across the pavement.
Carson’s words echo in my head.Don’t let it pass you by. He doesn’t know how right he is.
I pull my phone from my pocket and scroll until I find her name.
It rings twice before she answers, her voice soft and curious. “Hello?”
“Mabel,” I say, the cool autumn air sharpening my focus. “Are you busy? I’d like to ask you something really quick…”
CHAPTER 17
MABEL
“You said no.”Neesha drops the frosting bag she’s holding, the bright orange icing smearing across the counter like a crime scene. “I am sorry, but you did what?” she asks, staring at me like I just confessed to kicking puppies. “How could you say no?”
“Like this:No,” I say, emphasizing the last word like it’s a punchline to the world’s worst joke.
“Mabel, you kissed him, not once but twice. He then asks you out, and your response is negative?” Neesha shakes her head, her earrings catching the light as they swing with the force of her disapproval. “Honestly, I think you’re making a huge mistake.”
I laugh, nearly choking on the cupcake. “Oh yeah, says the woman who hates ice hockey players. Anyway, let’s hear about the last time you had a date.”
Neesha’s lips press into a thin line as she narrows her eyes at me. “This isn’t about me, missy.”
“Sure feels like it is,” I mutter, licking frosting off my thumb. The cupcake tray between us is dwindling fast, and I’m only half sorry about it. Emotional eating isn’t pretty, but it’s effective.
“I know this side of you. Don’t deflect,” Neesha says,pointing a frosting-covered finger at me. “We’re talking about you and your inability to accept that not everyone’s a jerk.”
I snort. “I’ll take that under advisement. Now, tell me how it’s going with your business plans for Seattle. That’s a better topic for discussion as it has merit and a future, unlike my going on a date with Asher.”
Neesha ignores me as my eyes land on a lone piece of paper tucked next to her mixer. I recognize it, because I’m the one who brought it to her the other day after I saw it posted on the bulletin board in the town hall.
“Are you going to enter the Maple Falls Emerging Entrepreneur Award Competition?” I ask innocently as I point to it. It’s a grant being awarded to small businesses in the town, and it’s worth twenty thousand dollars. In my opinion, she’d be crazy to not enter.
Neesha sighs. “You know I’m not. I’d have to stay here for two years. I’m really needing to move my business to a city, not keep it here.”
“Why? It’s money that gets your business going. You’ve already got a market here. Look, I know you’ve got this idea of city life being better, but take it from me: as much fun as it can be to live in a city, there is something about the heart and soul of a small town, too.” I put my hands on my hips and stare at her. “I’m not trying to be a pain; I just want you to be happy.”
“Your mom always used to say you could drive a wooden man crazy. I get it now.” Neesha shakes her head, not taking my bait. “Anyway, we’re not talking about me. We’re discussing you and your new boyfriend.”
I grab a napkin, crumple it and throw it at her. “Stooooop!”
Cracking up, she pushes a fresh cupcake in my direction and gives me a look that’s equal parts pity and exasperation. This is why I love her. We can weave in and out of conversations and we just simply are us. “I’m just saying, maybe give the guy a chance. You never know.”
“I do know,” I say, wiping crumbs off my fingers. “I knowhe’s obnoxiously cheerful, my mother loves him, and—most importantly—he is so not my type.”
“And how is that?”
“For one, he lives here and I live in New York.” I take another bite and chew with abandon, the only way I know how when things feel out of control.
“And yet,” she says, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, “you’re sitting here eating your feelings about it.”
