6. Sophie #2
“You look dreadful,” said Lola, frowning at me as she leaned closer, studying my face with unsettling concentration.
“You’ve lost that sparkle. What happened?
” She tilted her head another inch. “Actually… no. Wait. You’ve got a different sparkle.
It’s just buried under those dark circles under your eyes. Tell me everything.”
I debated whether to tell her and decided that she’d probably hear all about it later, so I might as well. When I was done, Lola had the strangest little smile on her face.
“What?” I asked her.
Lola raised her brows suggestively. “You and the sheriff? You naughty girl. When are you going to do the nasty?”
I snorted. “Nothing happened.” Though I’d thought about it. Once. Twice. A hundred times.
A smile spread over Lola’s face. “Honey, you practically licked him with your eyes, didn’t you?”
My cheeks burned. “You’re crazy.”
Lola pointed a finger at me. “You did. I can see it. Why, you little flirt.”
“Here you go,” came Dottie’s voice, just as a plate landed in front of me.
Scrambled eggs. Bacon. Toast. Home fries. Enough food to feed a family of four.
I stared. “I can’t eat all this.”
Dottie nodded, pushing the plate closer. “You can.”
I looked down at the plate. “You know… I think I might actually surprise myself.” After all, I’d only fed my stomach fermented grapes last night.
Movement caught my eye, and I looked over to see Sarah walking toward us, carrying a stack of fresh towels against one hip before stopping when she spotted me.
Sarah smiled at me. “The woman who survived the Great Goat Uprising of Maplewood Falls.”
I pointed my fork at her. “It’s been less than twelve hours and people are already giving the incident a title?” Wow. I wasn’t even sure I’d emotionally processed it yet, and somehow the town had already moved on to branding. Give them another day and there’d probably be commemorative T-shirts.
“Apparently, it was very memorable,” Sarah added with a smile.
I shrugged. “It was traumatic.” I took another bite of eggs.
Sarah laughed as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “So…” she said casually, standing next to our table. “How’s festival planning?”
I chewed thoughtfully, mostly because chewing gave me extra time to invent something that sounded optimistic. “I’d say we’re making excellent progress.”
Lola smirked. “That’s what I told Leo last night after round three.”
I sighed. “I now know significantly more about livestock than I did this time yesterday.”
“Well, that’s good. Right?” said Sarah.
“I know alpacas get emotionally attached alarmingly fast.” I shrugged. “One basically decided we were in a committed relationship after fifteen minutes.”
Dottie nodded. “They do.” She said it with confidence as though confirming the weather.
Sarah smiled over the rim of her mug. “You’ll laugh about it someday.”
I doubted it. “I’d prefer someday to arrive after the festival.” Preferably several weeks after.
Then Sarah asked, just a little too innocently, “Did Sheriff Walker help?”
My fork paused halfway to my mouth, and I could feel more flush rising up from my neck to my face. Wonderful. My skin had decided to answer for me. “Why?”
Sarah shrugged, but her smile betrayed her. “No reason.”
“They had passionate sex,” said Lola, grinning. “He took her in the back of his truck.”
Oh. My. God.
I looked around the dining room on instinct, half convinced one of the guests had heard her. This woman was going to be the reason I developed high blood pressure before forty.
“You did?” Sarah was smiling although the twitch at the corner of her mouth told me she knew exactly what Lola was doing.
“Ha. Ha. No. Absolutely not,” I said quickly, my face flaming. “The closest we came to intimacy was wrestling the same goat. Which, now that I’ve said it out loud, somehow sounds worse.”
Lola arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “But you wanted to wrestle him. Didn’t you? You big ol’ slut.”
I was not going to answer that. Mostly because any answer would be the wrong answer. Also because my brain, the traitor, had already started replaying Captain Competent in that fitted sheriff’s polo again.
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.