Page 71 of The Worst Possible Plan

I sighed. “This was probably a bad idea.” Saying it out loud felt strangely disappointing. I hadn’t realized how much I’d wanted him to disagree.

His eyes stayed on mine. “It was.”

Yup. And that was when my ego died.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak right now.

The sheriff watched me. “Doesn’t mean I regret it.”

Okay? Was that better or worse? Definitely better. Dangerously better. The sort of better that encouraged extremely poor decision-making and entirely too much smiling for no medically justifiable reason.

I laughed once. A tiny, disbelieving laugh. “You’re just not sure if you want to do it again.” There. Now let’s see what he says.

“No,” he shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”

“See?” I gestured to his face. “How can I tell? You’ve got sheriff face all over again.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got.” The sheriff smiled, a real one, and it transformed his face from handsome to uber hot. The man smiled like it was some sort of secret weapon he only took out under special circumstances.

“I should…” I pointed toward absolutely everything. “The festival.”

He nodded. “You should.”

With my face flaming, I took one step backward. Then another. Neither of us looked away. This was becoming increasingly difficult to exit with dignity. Honestly, nobody ever told you this part in romantic movies. They always fade to black after the kiss. They never show the awkward human shuffle where both people silently negotiate who leaves first without looking like they’re fleeing a crime scene.

“I’ll just…” I turned, walked exactly six steps, and stopped. Because my brain, determined to maximize the embarrassment, chose that exact moment to replay the kiss in perfect high-definition. It wasn’t even giving me the highlights. Oh no. It had clearly invested in the deluxe director’s cut with surround sound and bonus commentary.

His hand on my back. His mouth. The way he’d kissed me back. The fact that he’d wanted to.

Heat flooded my face all over again. I could practically feel my ears glowing. If someone had tried to toast a marshmallow beside my head, I genuinely think it might have worked.

But then he agreed that it wasn’t a good idea.

What the hell did that mean? And what did I do with that? Did he mean not now? Or not ever? Or terrible timing but excellent execution? There were so many possible interpretations.

Focus, Sophie.

I was still on the clock, so to speak. I didn’t have time to kiss handsome sheriffs and start imagining our wedding. Or our honeymoon.

Nope. Not going there.

The festival. Focus on the festival. I had vendors. Guests. Responsibilities. I did not have time to develop a schoolgirl crush on the sheriff. I especially did not have time to wonder whether he was a cuddler, what his morning coffee order was, or whether he’d always smelled that ridiculously good. Those were tomorrow problems. Or preferably next year’s problems.

“I can’t do this now.” I marched toward the information booth with considerably more determination than emotional stability. A volunteer smiled and waved as I passed. I smiled back with what I hoped looked reassuring and not like the expression of a woman who’d just accidentally derailed her own nervous system. If anyone asked whether I was okay, I was fully prepared to lie with impressive confidence.

I felt eyes on me and turned to see Lola still on the dance floor.

Judging by the grin stretching across her face, she’d seen everything. Every glorious, humiliating, life-altering second of it. She was swaying lazily between her two dance partners, somehow still dancing with both men at once without either appearing remotely concerned by the arrangement, but the second our eyes met, she pointed dramatically at me. Then at the sheriff. Then back at me. Then she clasped both hands beneath her cheek, closed her eyes, and mimed the world’s most exaggerated Awww… true love. She even sighed dramatically enough that I could practically hear it over the music.

My stomach dropped. “Don’t.”

Lola pointed at her lips and made an exaggerated kissing motion. Then she puckered dramatically, fluttered her eyelashes, and hugged herself.

Shoot me now.

“Oh my god… how old are you?” I muttered.

And then Lola blew me a kiss while making a little heart with her fingers.