Page 71 of Checking Mr. Wrong
And then they’re gone, leaving me all alone with Asher.
“What the…what just happened?” I ask, still reeling.
Asher steps closer, his grin softening into something almost shy. “I asked your mom to help me surprise you. I thought we could have a fun evening. Just the two of us.”
I glance around, suddenly noticing the soft glow coming from the kitchen. “What did you do?”
“It’s not what I did, but what Mary-Ellen did.” He holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s check it out together.”
I let him lead me into the kitchen, and my breath catches. No wonder I was on door duty tonight. Our small kitchen table has been removed, and candles flicker along the countertop. Soft music plays in the background, filling the room with warmth. It’s simple, but perfect.
Asher turns to me, holding out his hand again. “Will you dance with me?”
I flush, shaking my head. “I can’t dance. I’m not graceful.”
His lips curve into a smile that’s both reassuring and a little teasing. “Trust me.”
I hesitate, my heart pounding, but he doesn’t back down. Instead, he steps closer, his arms circling me gently but firmly. His voice is low, intimate. “Mabel, trust me.”
Something in his tone breaks through my nerves. I nod, letting out a shaky breath as I lean into the overwhelm I’m feeling. “Okay.”
He begins to move, guiding me effortlessly across the small kitchen space. It’s like he knows exactly how to hold me, how to make me feel like I’m floating instead of stumbling. The warmth of his hands seeps through the fabric of my dress, grounding me even as the rest of me feels as light as air.
Being this close to him is intoxicating. His chest is solid, the kind of strength that feels both protective and thrilling. My hands rest on his shoulders, and I can’t help but notice how perfectly we fit together. Every movement is smooth, deliberate, like we’ve done this a hundred times before.
“I’m not graceful or good at this kind of thing,” I say. “Not all of us are trained dancers.”
His breath brushes against my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. “Stop. You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his voice like a caress. “Quite the natural.”
My cheeks burn, but I don’t pull away. If anything, I lean in closer, letting the scent of him—clean, woodsy, unmistakablyhim—fill my senses. His lips are near my ear now, his words low and deliberate.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, and the way he says it makes my stomach flip. “You always are. But tonight? You take my breath away.”
The words unravel something in me, and before I can second-guess myself, I tilt my face up to his. He doesn’t hesitate. His lips find mine, soft and searching, and my world tilts.
The kiss deepens, and the air feels heavy, electric. His hand slides up my back, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate lines that make my skin tingle. He pulls me closer, and I lose myself in the feel of him. I’m weak when confronted with the strength of his arms, the faint taste of sweetness on his lips, and the rasp of his stubble against my skin.
When he pulls back just slightly, his forehead rests against mine. “I need you to know how glad I am that I met you.”
I blink up at him, dazed. “I thought you’d be secretly thrilled to get rid of me?”
His lips quirk into a bittersweet smile, but his eyes remain serious. “Now that I know there’s ayouout there in the world who’s meant for me…I don’t know how I’m supposed to forget you.”
The music swirls around us, a haunting melody that seems to echo the ache building in my chest. He kisses me again, slow and deep, as if he’s imprinting this,us, on his soul.
I want to hold on, to let myself believe this could work, but the weight of reality presses down on me. I pull back just enoughto meet his gaze. “Asher, I…” My voice cracks, and I try again. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“I get it.” His grip on me tightens briefly, then loosens as if he’s letting go. “I know you’re still leaving, but that doesn’t mean I don’t wish you’d stay.”
I want to scream,SAME!!I want to say it out loud, to tell him that I’m terrified of leaving, of walking away from this—the sweetness of his smile, the safety of his arms, the way my name sounds when he says it like I’m his favorite story. But how do we know? How do we ever know when we roll the dice if it’s going to work out?
Then there is coming home again. I mean, Maple Fallsishome, but not the version I left behind. This is something new, something I didn’t expect. It feels like the warmth of a crackling fire after coming in from the cold, like Christmas morning when the world is quiet and magical. It’s laughter around the table at Thanksgiving, where the jokes are bad but the love is good.
But now, it’s also Asher. It’s the land of all the sexy kisses, where my heart races and my knees go weak. It’s teasing grins and stolen glances, long hikes and quiet conversations. It’s comfort and thrill and all the things I didn’t even realize I’d been missing.
It’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
And yet, it’s not New York. It’s not my job, my life, the thing I’ve worked so hard to build. But is it still my dream? Or has that dream shifted, reshaped itself into something softer, something more?
