Page 27 of The Worst Possible Plan

SOPHIE

Sarah’s Jetta, which she graciously lent me again, smelled faintly of vanilla and one of those little pine-tree air fresheners that somehow never smelled remotely like pine trees. The seats were warm from the morning sun.

I started the engine. “Okay,” I told myself. “Today’s going to be different.”

I pulled out of the inn parking lot. “I am not chasing livestock today.” A beat passed. “I’m manifesting that.” Another beat. “Please don’t make me chase livestock today.”

The drive into downtown only took a few minutes, but Maplewood Falls was already awake.

The bakery had a line stretching onto the sidewalk. A florist was arranging buckets of colorful flowers outside her shop. Two fishermen were arguing beside the marina, both gesturing toward the water with the absolute certainty that only retired men seemed capable of possessing before nine in the morning.

A woman walked three golden retrievers that appeared to be walking her instead.

Normal. Peaceful. I relaxed a little.

Maybe yesterday had simply been… an unfortunate introduction. Maybe today would mostly involve paperwork. Paperwork sounded wonderful. Paperwork didn’t spit. Paperwork generally stayed where you left it.

As I approached the town square, colorful festival banners fluttered between the old brick buildings. Volunteers carried folding tables across the green while a landscaping crew planted bright yellow mums around the gazebo.

For the first time, I could almost picture what Helen had been seeing all along.

Families. Music. Food. Kids running around with sticky fingers. The whole town coming together. It really could be beautiful.

If we survived the next twenty-four hours.

I pulled into the temporary parking area behind the square and spotted Helen.

She stood beside a folding table with a clipboard tucked against her chest. She was dressed in a large blue blazer with shoulder pads that made her look like she was about to play football paired with cream linen pants and sensible shoes that looked capable of surviving both a town council meeting and a natural disaster.

Knowing Helen, they probably had.

She wasn’t alone.

Three food trucks sat parked in a crooked row with their serving windows firmly shut, looking less like cheerful festival attractions and more like disgruntled employees refusing to clock in. One was painted bright cherry red with cartoon tacos dancing across the side. Another advertised wood-fired pizza with flames climbing up the panels while the third was a polished silver with cheerful turquoise lettering that promised Coastal Lobster Rolls.

Beside the pizza truck stood a man in a spotless white chef’s coat with his arms folded so tightly across his chest I was surprised circulation still reached his fingers. He was somewhere in his late forties and broad through the shoulders with a shaved head and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard. His jaw worked slowly as he chewed what looked suspiciously like gum. One foot tapped impatiently against the pavement.

A woman paced beside the lobster truck, talking animatedly into her cell phone while slicing the air with her free hand. She wore black capri pants, expensive running shoes that looked far too clean to have ever been used for actual running, and oversized sunglasses perched on top of perfectly highlighted blonde hair. Every few seconds she threw both hands into the air, stopped long enough to glare at Helen from across the lot, and then resumed pacing.

Neither looked happy.

Yesterday I’d negotiated with animals. Today I was moving up to humans.

I wasn’t entirely convinced this was an upgrade.

I took a deep breath. “I can do this. I’m an event planner. I plan. That’s what I do.” Well… since yesterday, anyway. But I was going to own it.

Watch me.

I parked, grabbed the binder, and climbed out.

Helen spotted me immediately. “There you are. Finally.”

“I came as fast as I could.”

She glanced toward the food trucks. “We have a problem.”

I looked from one tense face to another. “A tiny problem?”