Page 26 of The Worst Possible Plan

Dottie slid another piece of toast onto my plate. “He seems nice. I’ve always liked Sheriff Walker. Very polite.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I took a determined bite of toast, as if carbohydrates could save me from this conversation.

“You spent half the afternoon with him,” Sarah pointed out.

“I spent half the afternoon humiliating myself in front of him. There’s a difference.” A very important difference.

Sarah smiled into her coffee. “So… do you like him? He’s very handsome.”

I nearly inhaled a piece of scrambled egg. “What?” I coughed, reached for my coffee, and wondered if choking to death would actually be less embarrassing than continuing this conversation.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Sarah as she and Lola shared a dangerous look. The kind women exchanged when they’d already decided something about your love life before you’d even admitted it to yourself.

“The really handsome ones are always trouble,” added Dottie.

I sighed. “He just…”

Sarah leaned forward expectantly. Lola stopped fidgeting. Even Dottie paused, her hands on hips. I’d attracted an audience.

“Has unfairly symmetrical features,” I finished.

Dottie’s grin widened. “And?”

“And he looks annoyingly competent.” Like the sort of man who alphabetized his spice rack for fun and had never once misplaced an important document in his life.

Sarah nodded. “Mmm.”

“And calm,” I continued.

“Mm-hmm.” She nodded again.

“And…” I stopped myself. “I was going to say he has very clean boots.”

Lola blinked. “Clean boots?”

I gave a one-shoulder shrug. “They were ridiculously clean.” Which was frankly a little odd. We’d both spent the afternoon chasing livestock. Mine looked like I’d hiked across three farms during monsoon season. His still looked polished enough to appear in a uniform catalogue.

Sarah burst out laughing. “You noticed his boots?”

“I noticed everything because I was actively embarrassing myself.” I pointed my fork at all of them. “This conversation is over.” Preferably forever. Or at least until my face stopped generating enough heat to warm the entire dining room.

Sarah lifted both hands. “If you say so.”

“I do.” Just then, my phone buzzed on the table. I grabbed it with far more enthusiasm than any text message deserved, grateful for the interruption, and stared at the screen.

A text message from Helen.

Helen: Morning! Quick update. Meet me at the festival grounds in thirty minutes. We have a tiny issue with the food vendors.

I stared at the screen. “When people say ‘tiny issue’…”

Dottie didn’t even hesitate. “It never is.”

I sighed, grabbed another piece of bacon, and reached for Helen’s binder.

Round two. Here we go.

7