Page 31 of The Worst Possible Plan

“Morning, Eric—uh, I mean Walker. I mean Sheriff Walker.” Wow. Already with the verbal diarrhea. Wonderful. “So…” I continued, feeling my cheeks flame. “I can explain. The trucks are here.”

He glanced toward them. “I noticed.”

“They’re… not where they’re supposed to be.”

“I noticed that too,” he said.

I swallowed. “The inspector changed the layout. And now nobody wants to move.”

“I gathered.”

I nodded. “So…”

“So?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really have an ending for this sentence.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Barely. I wasn’t even sure I’d seen it.

“You usually don’t,” he said.

Was… Was that a joke? I blinked. Captain Competent had jokes.

Who knew?

He shifted the folder under his arm. “I came by because the food vendor permits still need signatures before tomorrow.”

I looked down at the stack of paperwork still sitting on Helen’s clipboard.

Right. Permits. Those.

The permits that had completely fallen out of my brain the second six-ton trucks started arguing with each other.

The chef stepped forward. “Sheriff.”

Captain Competent gave him a nod. “Tony.”

They knew each other? Of course they knew each other. Everyone in Maplewood Falls seemed to know everyone. That included the sheriff.

Tony pointed toward the trucks. “Inspector wants us moved.”

“I know,” answered the sheriff, his voice calm as if Tony had just informed him it might rain later instead of announcing the beginning of World War Food Truck.

“We’re already connected,” informed Tony.

Captain Competent’s gaze moved behind Tony. “Yeah. I can see that.” His eyes followed the thick electrical cables stretched neatly across the pavement before drifting toward the power boxes.

Tony folded his arms over his chest, a defiant look in his eye. “We’re not moving.”

The sheriff nodded once. “I figured that was your position.” There wasn’t a hint of irritation in his voice. Just the quiet acceptance of a man who’d probably spent half his career listening to stubborn people explain why they weren’t about to do the thing they absolutely had to do.

The blonde woman propped her hands on her hips. “It’ll take us an hour to disconnect everything.”

“And another hour to hook it back up,” Tony added.

The sheriff looked toward the spaces marked with bright orange spray paint on the pavement. Then toward the access lane and the electrical hookups. His eyes swept slowly across the lot, taking everything in with an ease that made it seem almost effortless.

I found myself watching him. It was annoyingly attractive. Competence shouldn’t be sexy. Yet somehow there he stood, studying asphalt like it contained the answers to the universe, and part of my brain was going… Yep. There it is. Nothing says “take me now” quite like a man silently calculating turning radiuses. Wonderful. This was who I’d become.