Page 111 of The Worst Possible Plan

I leaned into him without even realizing it. He pulled me closer, and the scent of cedar, fresh-cut wood, and soap surrounded me. His thumb brushed lightly along my side.

I smiled against his mouth. Actually smiled. Because somehow, in the span of a few hours, this impossible man had arrested me, bought four farm animals, and completely turned my world upside down.

I laughed softly between kisses.

He pulled back to look at me. “What?”

I shook my head, tears threatening again. “You’re…” I laughed once more. “A really wonderful man.”

Something warm flickered across his face. The guarded sheriff disappeared.

There was only Eric.

He rested his forehead lightly against mine. Then he slipped his fingers through mine. “Come on.”

“Where?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got something to show you.”

I laughed. “That is either the most wholesome invitation ever or the smoothest.”

He chuckled. “I guess you’ll have to come inside and find out.”

Still holding hands, we walked toward the house together. He held the door for me, and I walked in.

“Nice,” I said, taking it all in, the brown leather sofas, the heavy wood furniture. “Very manly. A bit caveman-ish. But I like it.”

“It gets the job done.”

“Well, that’s certainly one way to sell it.”

He smiled.

I wandered a few steps farther inside, my eyes moving from one corner of the room to the next. It looked exactly the way I’d imagined Eric’s house would.

Nothing fancy. Nothing pretending to be something it wasn’t. Everything looked solid. Built to last. The leather sofa had clearly been sat on hundreds of times, but it was well cared for. A large stone fireplace dominated one wall, and neatly stacked firewood waited beside it even though summer hadn’t quite given up yet.

My gaze drifted to a pair of well-worn work boots sitting neatly beside the back door. Not kicked off. Placed there. Of course they were.

“You alphabetize your socks too?” I teased.

He frowned. “No.”

“Really?”

“They’re separated by color.”

I stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

His expression never changed.

It took me three full seconds to realize he was teasing me. “You almost had me.”

Eric chuckled. “I know.”

I laughed.

Books were scattered across a shelf beneath the television. Not decorative books people bought because the colors matched the curtains. Real books. Repair manuals. Local history. Wildlife guides. A thick volume about woodworking. A couple of crime novels with creased spines.