Page 30 of Where I Should’ve Been

He’s referring to the Melba Danser Bakery Disaster about a year ago. That was before my sheep Mabel got pregnant and managed to sneak into Melba’s shop and raid her bread display.

Frankly, it’s a day I’d prefer everyone in Red Bridge forget.

“Oh, no worries. I’ll have them wrangled up before they get that far.”

The light turns green, and Sheriff Peeler chuckles as he drives away.

When I pull my truck to a stop outside Fran’s, Mayor Norman Wallace is the next person to call my attention from across the street. “You ever thought about pigs instead, Tad? I hear they’re much easier to keep in a pen.”

I pretend to laugh to keep the peace. Mayor Wallace’s ego knows no bounds when wounded—the yellow bridge in a town named for a red one is evidence enough of that.

He moves on with a wave, his head bobbing with pride over his joke, and I head toward my woolly hooligans who have now destroyed all the flowers Fran has sitting outside her shop.

Shit. Landscaping bill is going to be big this month, given the destruction to Sheila and Marty’s Japanese maple, Betty’s hedges, and now this.

As I wrangle the flock toward the back of my truck, where a big pen waits for them to climb their asses inside, Cindy Jo Barringer offers a flirtatious finger-waggle in my direction. She’s Red Bridge’s one and only wedding planner and moved here from Texas about two years ago. She’s also single, in her late twenties, and always ready to mingle.

“Oh hey, Tad,” she says, stopping to watch me muscle fluffy ass after fluffy ass up the ramp and into the trailer.

“Hey, Cindy Jo.”

“Missed you at karaoke on Friday. You still owe me that duet.”

“How about a rain check?” I say, managing a friendly smile through the sweat dripping into my eyebrows. “I should have these troublemakers contained by the end of the week.”

I wink, and she laughs. “Those sheep of yours need leashes,” she teases.

“I’ll be sure to tell Randy. Maybe we can tie them all to his legs.”

She cracks up and then scuttles away toward her boutique next to The Diner, but before I can finish up, I field two more single bloodhounds as they sniff out their chances of turning my eye.

After Cindy Jo, there’s Peggy, and after Peggy, there’s Nicole. Nicole is fully single, but technically, Peggy is in the middle of a divorce—she’s just handling her social life like the papers have already been signed.

I’m kind and friendly and everything a man should be when a nice woman greets him, but I don’t dare invite attention that goes further than that. They seem like vipers, but I know for a fact that they’re the type to cling and clang about relationships and marriage as soon as their backs hit your bed.

Unlike Breezy Bishop, who snuck out early Sunday morning without a word or a trace. I don’t even have her fucking phone number, and it seems she actually wants it that way.

Though, it’s hard to really ghost someone in a town this small. It’s almost a certainty I’ll see her at some point.

Unless she already went back to New York, that is…

I ignore the uncomfortable ping in my chest and refocus on my sheep.

By the time I get them squared away in the trailer and pay Fran for all the flowers they’ve destroyed, I’m parched.

CAFFEINE is the perfect solution. I figure Randy deserves a peace offering anyway, and if Breezy Bishop just happens to be there to see her best friend Josie, all the better.

Two birds, one stone, you know?

I push open the door of CAFFEINE, the bell chimes above my head, and Josie is waiting behind the counter. “The usual, Tad?” she asks, her morning rush clearly already over.

“Yeah, but make it two and toss in a few cinnamon rolls as well.”

“Randy pissed at you again?” she asks, grinning at me as she rings me up. “Saw a few of your sheep make their way from Betty’s house to enjoy a buffet of flowers across the street.”

“When isn’t Randy pissed at me,” I retort on a snort. “And trust me, I know. I just paid Fran for seven bouquets worth.”

Josie makes my coffees and packs up the cinnamon rolls in a cute box, and I scan the tables around the café for the second bird.