Page 65 of The Worst Possible Plan

Helen’s mouth actually fell open. “I…” She shook her head in complete disbelief. “Sophie… that was…” She laughed. A relieved, slightly breathless laugh, but I could see the color returning to her face. “I knew I hired the right person for this job. Good work.” With one last smile, Helen disappeared into the crowd leaving me standing there, still in a bit of a shock.

And then something strange happened to me.

I smiled.

Because something inside me shifted.

Because maybe I wasn’t pretending anymore.

Maybe I finally knew what I was doing.

15

SOPHIE

By nine o’clock that night, Maplewood Falls looked like somebody had bottled summer and poured it across Main Road.

The café lights glowed overhead in soft golden ribbons, music drifted across the square, and everywhere I looked people were smiling. Children chased each other between booths with painted faces and sticky fingers. Couples wandered hand in hand carrying lemonade. The replacement band—the Riverstone Ramblers, bless every one of their ridiculously talented souls—had half the town singing along.

They were awesome, even better tonight than I’d remembered.

I’d spent the afternoon waiting for someone to discover I’d only survived by accident. Instead, the festival had simply worked.

I walked slowly through the square, Helen’s binder tucked under one arm, smiling at volunteers as they packed fresh supplies into booths. A gray-haired man in faded denim overalls cheerfully wrestled a stack of folding chairs into neat rows while humming along with the band. Nearby, a college-aged girl with purple streaks in her dark braid restocked bottles of water with practiced efficiency, her volunteer badge bouncing against a bright yellow festival T-shirt. Across the walkway, a broad-shouldered woman with laugh lines around her eyes and gardening gloves still tucked into the back pocket of her jeans was happily arranging baskets of fresh flowers she’d probably grown herself.

Everybody looked busy, tired, and happy, like they’d all decided this festival belonged to them.

“Everything okay?” I asked her.

“We’re good,” the woman answered with an easy smile, brushing dirt from her hands onto her jeans.

No emergencies or disasters.

Things were good.

I was beginning to miss the adrenaline a little. Only a little.

Near the beer garden, I spotted Lola.

She’d somehow acquired another man. Scratch that. Make that two.

She stood between them wearing a different dress than the one from this morning. This one was teal with delicate spaghetti straps, hugged every dangerous curve she possessed, and somehow managed to be both elegant and capable of causing minor traffic accidents. Either she’d gone back to the inn to change… or she’d gone back to the inn with one of these guys and emerged looking even more spectacular than before. Honestly, with Lola, both possibilities felt equally plausible.

On her left stood a tall silver-haired man in an expensive navy blazer with the kind of suntan that suggested a sailboat and a retirement fund. On her right was a rugged, broad-chested man in worn jeans and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his laugh deep enough to carry over the music. They couldn’t have looked more different if they’d been cast by competing dating apps. Yet somehow both were leaning toward her, smiling like she’d just made each of them believe they were the only man in the crowd.

Lola threw her head back laughing, one hand resting lightly on the arm of the man in the blazer while the other absently straightened the collar of the one in plaid. She wasn’t flirting with either of them exactly. She was flirting with the entire concept of being adored, and the two men looked perfectly happy to participate.

She kissed one on the cheek. Took the other’s hand. Then switched.

I watched for a second. “How is that even possible?” She was in a league of her own and put all us singletons to shame.

Lola caught me staring and winked.

Yeah, I didn’t want to know. Some mysteries were healthier left unsolved.

I walked away, my gaze on all the booths and the band, making sure everything was still working. Every few steps someone waved, another volunteer asked a quick question, or a child ran past clutching a balloon nearly bigger than they were. The festival had settled into that wonderful, impossible rhythm where everyone looked busy without looking frantic.

I wasn’t scanning the square waiting for disaster. I was just… checking on things.