Page 90 of The Worst Possible Plan

“You arrested a woman trying to save some animals.” She didn’t blink. “The handler isn’t pressing charges.”

“I know.” I’d signed the paperwork myself. Three times. Bureaucracy loved duplicates.

“Dr. Keller offered to keep the animals until the handler figures something else out.”

“I know.” Keller had been surprisingly persuasive. Probably helped that half the clinic staff had already fallen in love with Bandit within ten minutes.

“And Sophie spent the entire time in that holding cell worrying about those animals.”

“I know.” Every time I answered those two words, they sounded a little less convincing. Like maybe I understood the facts without understanding why they bothered me so much.

Jenna pointed toward the bullpen outside. “She didn’t ask about herself once. Just the animals.” She studied me for another second. “So why couldn’t you answer her?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Because I couldn’t.” The answer sounded flimsy even to me.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I couldn’t.”

“There’s a difference?” She tilted her head slightly.

“There is to me.” Maybe not to anyone else. But once I’d decided to stay inside the role of sheriff, I couldn’t step halfway out of it because she looked at me with those eyes.

She let that sit for a moment, long enough that the silence became part of the conversation. Then she sighed. “I watched you two last night.”

My head snapped up. “What?”

“The festival.” She smiled faintly. “I saw the dance.” Her smile widened enough to tell me she knew exactly where this was going. “I saw the kiss too.” She delivered that one almost cheerfully.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” There were approximately seventeen other subjects I’d happily discuss first. Budget reports. Parking citations. Tax policy.

“Too bad.” She smiled. “I outrank you in nosiness.” She looked entirely pleased with herself.

“That’s not how rank works.”

“It does today.” Without missing a beat.

A tiny laugh escaped me, more out of surrender than amusement. I couldn’t help it.

Jenna pointed a finger at me. “There he is.” Her expression softened immediately.

“Who?”

“The guy who likes her.”

“I don’t.” Reflex. Automatic. Entirely unconvincing.

She waited—didn’t argue, didn’t interrupt, just waited me out with the patience of someone who already knew the ending.

I looked back at her. “Okay, fine. I do.” There. Out loud. Somehow saying it made it considerably more real than thinking it ever had.

“I know you do. It’s written all over your face.” Jenna smiled like she’d just finished a particularly satisfying crossword puzzle.

I sighed. “It doesn’t matter.” Feelings and practical decisions rarely occupied the same room for long.

“Why not?”

“Because it won’t work.” I’d already listed the reasons to myself a dozen times. They hadn’t become less logical.