Page 10 of The Worst Possible Plan

Okay, I did.

Still, I had a horrible feeling Captain Competent was about to become very familiar with all of my mistakes. At the rate things were going, he might need his own dedicated file.

Yay me.

3

SOPHIE

Pretending to be an event planner was hard. Trying to pretend to be an event planner while actually being expected to plan an event, well… that was a full-contact sport.

This morning, I’d woken up blissfully unaware of how much one’s life could deteriorate in eight hours. If you’d asked me then whether I’d ever stand in the middle of Maplewood Falls, drenched in sweat, clutching a binder the size of a tombstone, and telling grown adults where to put extension cords, I would’ve laughed in your face. A full snort-laugh. Possibly with choking.

Me? Run a summer festival? Never in a million years.

Yet here I was, standing in the middle of the town square doing exactly that. Or trying to. Mostly failing.

I squinted down at Helen’s binder, which looked like it had been assembled by someone with a deep love of tabs. Beside it was a stack of papers I was supposed to understand by now.

There was a vendor map. A safety checklist. A volunteer schedule that looked like it had been attacked by a highlighter. And my personal favorite: Livestock Holding Area Requirements.

Yeah. Super swell reading. Very comforting. No notes.

“You should sit down before you get a heat stroke,” announced one of the volunteers, standing near the folding tables with a clipboard of his own and a calm confidence that said he hadn’t accidentally lied his way into a municipal disaster. I’d already forgotten his name.

Stan? Steve? Stubert? It’d come to me in the middle of the night. Right after I finally fell asleep.

I shot him a look. “I’m fine. Thanks, Steve.” Total lie. I was tired. It was just after five in the evening, and I hadn’t even taken a break yet.

He shrugged. “Whatever you say, boss. And my name’s William.”

“Right.” Damn. Not even close.

I wanted to tell him to get lost. Or at least to take his clipboard and his reasonable tone and go be helpful somewhere else. But he was technically one of the only volunteers who hadn’t quit, wandered off, or asked me where the bathroom permits were, which I still wasn’t entirely convinced existed.

Besides, I was pretty sure I needed him.

He lifted his clipboard, unfazed. “Also, I just wanted to point out that the rental company still hasn’t dropped off the animal fencing.”

“I know,” I said, flipping through Helen’s binder. “I called. They said tomorrow.”

“But the animals are coming tomorrow.”

I shot him a look. “I know that, Stan.”

He frowned. “William.”

“I know that too.” I absolutely did not.

This wasn’t going at all as I’d imagined it in my head. The fencing should have been here and set up, then when the animals arrived, everything would go smoothly. And Helen would congratulate me on my planning awesomeness.

A truck rumbled somewhere behind me.

The volunteer smiled. “That sound? That’s either progress or a problem.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. Part of me wanted to introduce Helen’s binder to his forehead. Repeatedly.

I turned around. A long trailer with slatted aluminum sides rolled up to the curb, its oversized tires crunching over the gravel. Dust coated the metal, and the unmistakable scent of hay drifted through the warm air.