Page 76 of Checking Mr. Wrong

He chuckles, then reaches over and plucks the sponge out of my hand. “You’re relentless, Mabel.”

“Relentless is how you get things done.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head as he sets the sponge aside. “Relentless is how you stay stuck in the kitchen all night. Come on.”

Before I can argue, he grabs my hand and tugs me toward the back door.

“What are you doing?” I protest as he pulls open the door.The cool November air hits my face, carrying the faint scent of fallen leaves and the distant smoke of someone’s chimney.

“Getting you out of here,” he says simply. He holds up two mugs of tea that I didn’t even see him pour. “I made a strategic play while you were distracted by that casserole dish.”

I laugh, shaking my head, but I let him lead me outside to the porch. The wooden planks creak under our weight as we step out into the moonlight. It’s quiet out here, the only sound is the rustling of trees in the breeze.

Asher hands me a mug, and I wrap my hands around it, savoring the warmth. We sit side by side on the porch swing, the tea steaming between us.

“I was going to save this for another time,” he begins, his voice low and steady, “but now feels right.”

I look at him, the tea momentarily forgotten. “Save what?”

He turns toward me, his expression serious, though his eyes are as warm as ever. “Mabel, you’re everything to me. You’re the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing before I fall asleep. Maybe that sounds like a cheesy line from a bad romcom, but I don’t care.”

A laugh bubbles out of me, but it’s caught halfway by the lump forming in my throat.

“I love you,” he says, his voice soft but sure. “I love the way you make me laugh, the way you light up when we start to banter and tease each other, and the way you make me feel like I am the luckiest guy in the world just by being here.”

“Asher,” I begin, but he stops me.

“No,” he says, his voice deep and steady, “my turn to say things.”

He takes my hand, his thumb brushing gently over my knuckles in that way that makes my chest tighten and my heart beat faster. The moonlight catches in his eyes, turning them a shade softer, warmer, like a whispered promise.

“I know this is the beginning for us,” he continues, his tone lowbut filled with certainty. “There’s a whole future waiting out there, one where I plan to spend every day proving how much you mean to me. Not because I feel like I have to, but because Iwantto. Because you deserve to know, every single day, how incredible you are.”

Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but I don’t dare blink, afraid to miss a second of the way he’s looking at me.

“But I also know I want that future to start when you’re ready,” he says. “I don’t want to rush a single minute of it. I want us to savor every step, every laugh, every fight over the remote, every Sunday morning where we make plans for brunch or to go hunting for antiques.”

“You like antiquing?” I ask as he rolls his eyes.

“Shush, I’m not done.” He pauses, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. “I want to make you a Tremblay, Mabel. I want you to have my name, and for the whole world to know you aremine.”

The words hang between us, soft and solid all at once. My breath hitches, and I feel the warmth of his palm pressing against mine, grounding me. His name. Mabel Tremblay. Oh, wow.

“I don’t just want to love you, Mabel,” he says, his gaze unwavering. “I want to build something with you. Something that lasts. Something that’s ours. And when you’re ready—when it’s the right time—I want to spend my life making sure you never doubt what you mean to me.”

A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Asher Tremblay,” I murmur, shaking my head, “you’re impossible, you know that?”

He grins, that lopsided, perfect grin that makes my knees weak even when I’m sitting down. “And yet, here you are, hopelessly in love with me.”

“Hopelessly,” I admit, laughing softly as I lean in.

He cups my cheek, his hand warm against my skin, and when he kisses me, it’s as if the rest of the world fades away. There’s no cold winter night, no lingering dishes in the kitchen,no noise from the football game inside—just us, wrapped in a quiet moment that feels like forever.

When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine, his voice soft but sure. “Take your time, Mabel. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know,” I whisper back, my voice breaking slightly, but not with sadness—with the overwhelming, breathtaking certainty that he’s my forever.

The porch swing creaks softly as we sit together, the tea cooling in our mugs and the stars glittering above us. Somewhere inside, the laughter of my mother echoes faintly, but all I can feel is the steady warmth of Asher beside me, his hand wrapped around mine like an anchor.

And for the first time, it’s not about thinking I’m exactly where I belong.

It’s about knowing I’m exactly wherewebelong.

Together.

Forever.