Page 91 of The Worst Possible Plan

Jenna raised an eyebrow. “Why?” She genuinely wanted to hear me say it.

“We’re total opposites.” I gestured vaguely into the hallway. “She steals livestock. I enforce laws. She jumps first. I think first. She creates chaos, and I spend my days cleaning it up.” It seemed like a fairly comprehensive list.

Jenna nodded thoughtfully. “So?” She looked genuinely puzzled, which made my own argument sound weaker.

I spread my hands. “How exactly is that supposed to work?” I wanted an answer. Because from where I stood, it looked like a recipe for professional disaster with a side order of emotional exhaustion.

A grin slowly spread across her face.

“Eric.”

“What?”

“Opposites attract.” She said it like she’d uncovered an ancient universal truth.

I rolled my eyes. “That’s a refrigerator magnet.”

“It’s also true.”

I shook my head. “No.” Mostly because admitting otherwise felt dangerous.

“No?”

“No.” I held the line with all the conviction of a man standing ankle-deep in rising water insisting everything was perfectly dry.

“You’re really going with denial?”

“I’m going with reality.” Or at least the version of reality that required significantly less emotional risk.

She laughed and walked toward the door. Her hand settled on the knob as she looked back one last time. “You did the right thing arresting her.”

I nodded once. “I know.” At least intellectually.

“But…” She smiled gently. “You handled everything after that like a sheriff.” She let the words hang there. “You forgot to be Eric.” She opened the door. “You should probably fix that.” Then she gave me one last knowing smile just as the door clicked shut behind her.

I stood there alone, staring at the empty doorway. Funny how one person could leave a room and still somehow occupy all of it.

Fix that.

The words echoed through my head.

Jenna was right.

I’d done my job. But somewhere between arresting Hartwell and putting her in that cell, I’d forgotten how to be myself.

It was time to fix that.

22

SOPHIE

Lola drove us back to the Hartwell Inn with Dottie in the front seat and me in the back. I sat behind them with my forehead resting against the cool glass, watching Maplewood Falls drift by in a blur of flower boxes, front porches, and perfectly respectable citizens who’d somehow managed to avoid committing livestock-related crimes before noon.

Lola had told Sarah about our situation and had dropped her off first to get her Jetta. Good thing I’d left the keys in the car. Bad thing that after this, Sarah might evict me from my room at the inn.

No one spoke for the first five minutes, not because we didn’t have anything to say but because there was simply too much. Between the kissing, the stealing, the handcuffs, the jail cell, and my blossoming criminal record, we’d somehow accumulated enough conversation for an entire weekend. My brain voted unanimously to postpone all discussions.

Eventually Lola glanced at me in the rearview mirror. I caught her eyes for half a second before pretending to become deeply fascinated by a mailbox as we drove past it. Excellent mailbox. Very… mailboxy.