Page 19 of Checking Mr. Wrong
“So,” Mabel interrupts, “you’re saying McCluskey is like having a pen name?”
“Stop it, Mabel,” she hisses as she gestures to the jars of preserves. “Anyway, we’ve got apple butter, pumpkin preserves, and my famous spiced peach jam, all to show off the flavors of Maple Falls. You can taste-test while signing our petition here.”
“It all looks amazing,” I say, my gaze flicking to Mabel, who’s busy arranging jars like I’m not standing right here. “Do you make all of this yourself?”
“Oh, no,” Mary-Ellen says, patting Mabel’s arm. “I make the spiced peach jam for fun, small batches once a year. The rest I gather from local farmers and hobbyists to sell on commission.”
“Is there any maple butter?” I enquire.
Mabel snorts. “Maple butter?”
“Don’t be angry at it,” I explain. “We make it back home on my parents’ farm. It’s amazing on toast in the morning.”
“Well, if you ever get a care package and feel like spreadingthe wealth, I’d love to try some. I’ve only seen it on Pinterest,” Mary-Ellen says as someone approaches the booth, flagging her down. “Excuse me, you two.”
“You are quite the pair. Great teamwork,” I say, letting the compliment hang in the air as I aim it at Mabel.
She doesn’t miss a beat, turning to me with a look so sharp it could cut glass. “Thanks. We aim to please.”
“Really? Because that look you’re giving me says otherwise,” I counter with an exaggeratedly innocent expression.
Mabel’s lips twitch, but she reins it in, folding her arms across her chest. “Maybe you’re misinterpreting it. This is my ‘pleased’ face.”
“Is it now,” I say, nodding thoughtfully. “Because back home, we’d call that a ‘you’re pushing your luck’ face.”
Her eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of amusement beneath her mock glare. “And yet, here you are. Pushing.”
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I like to live dangerously.”
Mabel rolls her eyes, but I catch the faintest hint of a smile as she picks up her coffee and takes a sip. As she does, I notice a group of young adults nearby, clearly staring at us.
Mabel catches it too and groans, rolling her eyes. “Here we go,” she mutters under her breath.
The group approaches, and one of them—a guy with a backward cap—points at us. “Hey, are you?—”
“Yes, it’s me,” Mabel cuts in, exasperated. “I’m the person who dumped water on the TV reporter. Can we move on?”
The guy looks confused. “Uh, no. I mean, we’ve seen you in those TikToks, man,” he says, pointing to me. “You’re the dancer—the hockey player! Those videos are awesome.”
Mabel’s jaw tightens and she crosses her arms as the small crew walks off, her cheeks flushed bright pink with what I’m guessing is embarrassment. She doesn’t say it, but it’s written all over her face.
Suddenly, as if she was summoned out of nowhere, Mary-Ellen claps her hands, cutting through the awkwardness. “Mabel, would you please take some of these Maple Fest flyers around to the other stalls and hang a few up in town?”
Mabel sighs, already reaching for the stack of flyers. “Sure.” Her tone suggests she’d rather do anything else, but she doesn’t argue.
“I’ll help,” I say, jumping at the chance before I can think better of it.
Mabel’s head snaps toward me, her gaze cool and steady. “That’s not necessary,” she says, her words clipped and deliberate.
I flash what I’ve been told is a winning smile, the kind that got me out of trouble in high school and earned me a free drink or two in college. “I insist. It’ll go faster with two people.”
Her sigh is back and this one is loud, exaggerated, and entirely dramatic. “Fine. But try to keep up.”
She turns on her heel and heads toward the market’s bustling rows, the stack of flyers tucked under her arm like a shield. I follow her, weaving between colorful stalls of fresh produce and handmade crafts, my grin growing with every step.
Because the truth is, I don’t care if she’s annoyed. In fact, I am realizing that her irritation only fuels the fire. Spending time with Mabel—whether she’s glaring at me, rolling her eyes, or trying her best to pretend I don’t exist—is quickly becoming my favorite pastime.
And as she tosses a flyer onto a nearby stall with more force than necessary, I know one thing for certain: this little mission just got a whole lot more interesting.
