Page 45 of Checking Mr. Wrong
I step closer, drawn in despite myself. The mushrooms are delicate, their tiny caps glistening like they’ve been sprinkledwith dew. “It kind of does,” I admit, crouching beside him. “I half expect to see a little door carved into the bark.”
He grins, his camera still in hand. “Right? Or a tiny chimney with smoke curling out of it.”
I laugh, surprising myself with how natural it feels. “Okay, that’s adorable.”
He shifts slightly, angling the camera for a better shot, and his shoulder brushes against mine. It’s a small thing, but the warmth of it lingers.
“You’ve got a good eye,” I say, nodding toward his camera.
He glances at me, his grin softening into something quieter, more sincere. “Thanks. It’s easy when you’ve got good company.”
My cheeks warm, and I quickly look away, focusing on the mushrooms again. But the moment sticks, a tiny spark in the cool autumn air. My natural instinct when faced with vulnerable feelings is to deflect with sarcasm—but before I can, a flash of movement catches my eye. A bird with striking plumage flits to a nearby branch, its colors vivid against the muted backdrop of the forest. Something about it tugs at a memory, a feeling I can’t quite name. But then, an image of a certain bird on a book cover comes to mind, and I’m reminded of a conversation with Fiona not long ago.
“That’s a Blue Rock Thrush,” I say, pulling out my phone. I snap a picture, then open my messages to Fiona, tapping a quick one out for her.
“Everything okay?” Asher asks, peering over my shoulder.
“Kind of. I didn’t know those birds nested in this part of the park.” I stop and laugh at the sound of my words, like I’m David Attenborough. “You know how there’s this big push to ‘Save Maple Falls’ because of the issue with the heir who’s back to claim the land around here?”
Asher nods. “I’ve heard some, mostly from locals and Clara. That’s where the money went from Drench for Defense, you know.”
“Since I landed, all I’ve heard about it is either the Ice Breakers or what people are doing to save the town. Even Fiona wants to help.” I look at the sky above me, kind of surprised at what I’m about to say. “That’s the thing about this town that makes me crazy. It pulls you in and makes you care when you weren’t planning to.”
Asher chuckles. “Surely you’ve caught the bug from your mom?"
I try not to scoff. “No, that’s not it. It’s this place. It’s the people. They’re the heart and soul of the area, and even though I get down on it, it’s my own baggage. This place deserves all the help it can get, because there aren’t many spots like it left in the world these days.”
“What are you and Fiona thinking of doing?” He narrows his eyes as he watches me.
I pull out my phone and do a quick web search, finding a picture I want to show him. “See this bird? It’s a Blue Rock Thrush, the one I just saw. Willa, who you met, helped spot this bird here a couple years back and now she’s published a children’s book about it.”
Asher looks at me like I’ve lost my ever-loving mind, and trust me, I’m starting to wonder myself. “Okay. So it’s a case of ‘bird saves town’?”
“Willa told me that when she saw it, it was only the second time someone registered a sighting for it.” I cross my arms and stare at the trees around us. “I think there could be a way to use that bird to gain some kind of protective order.”
“I have no doubt that if anyone can figure it out, it’s gonna be you,” Asher says as he watches a trio of people sprint past us, taking pictures and laughing. He nods in their direction. “However, birds and saving towns aside, right now I really need you to focus on crossing the finish line with me.”
“Fine,” I reply, pocketing my phone. “Let’s keep moving.”
The rest of the walk passes in a blur of quiet contemplation and Asher’s relentless commentary about the virtues of maple-themed snacks. By the time we reach the end, the final tasks of eating pie and jumping in a leaf pile are all that’s left in front of us.
The pie-eating contest looks completely ridiculous, with pairs sitting at small tables, pies in front of them, and no utensils in sight. The crowd cheers as competitors psych themselves up, and I can’t help but grin at the absurdity of it all.
“This is going to be messy,” I warn, pushing my sleeves up.
“Bring it on,” Asher replies, his voice low and playful as he mirrors my movement, rolling up his sleeves to reveal forearms that look unfairly good for this kind of contest.
We dive in, laughter spilling between bites as whipped cream smears across my nose and a chunk of apple pie clings to Asher’s chin. The tangy sweetness of the pie is forgotten in the chaos of sticky hands and muffled giggles.
Mid-bite, Asher pauses, leaning closer. His hand brushes against my cheek, and I freeze as he wipes a dollop of whipped cream away with his thumb.
“Got it,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost intimate.
I glance up, and our eyes lock with my stomach deciding now is the time to do twisty things. The world slows, and around us, the din of the crowd fades into a gentle hum. His thumb lingers for just a second longer than it should, the warmth of his touch sending a small thrill down my spine. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until someone clears their throat loudly beside us.
“You’ve got one more task to do,” the announcer calls out, pointing to the leaf pile near the finish line.
The spell is broken, laughter bubbling up again as we glance at the heap of leaves waiting for us. Our pie now finished, we both hop up and get in line.
