9. Sophie #2
He was still standing close enough that I could feel the warmth coming off him.
One hand lingered lightly at my waist as though he wanted to make absolutely sure I wasn’t about to topple over again.
His gaze stayed on mine, steady and impossibly calm, before drifting—just briefly—to my mouth and then returning to my eyes.
It couldn’t have lasted more than a heartbeat. I might’ve imagined it. Probably imagined it. Hopefully imagined it.
Because the alternative was far more dangerous.
Heat crept across my cheeks before I could stop it, and I suddenly became painfully aware of everything.
The way my pulse had mistaken itself for a jackhammer.
The fact that he was still holding me. The fact that I could smell cedar and clean soap.
The fact that his eyes weren’t just brown.
They had little flecks of amber in them that caught the last of the evening sunlight.
Why was I noticing eye flecks? Nobody should ever notice eye flecks. That was how these things started.
First it was eye flecks. Then it was wondering what someone looked like when they laughed. Next thing you knew, you were picking out curtains together.
My brain was sprinting toward a future I’d never authorized.
I opened my mouth. Closed it again.
Was… was that flirting? No. Probably not. Maybe. Possibly. Or maybe he looked at everyone’s lips after catching them from falling off ladders. That seemed unlikely. Although I admittedly didn’t have enough experience falling into attractive sheriffs to say for certain.
My brain called an emergency meeting. Unfortunately, nobody attending appeared qualified.
I cleared my throat. “Well…” Brilliant contribution, Sophie. Very articulate. I’d always dreamed that when I met an attractive man I’d leave him breathless with my wit.
The sheriff rescued me before I could make things worse. “You’ve done a lot today.”
I nodded. “I’ve mostly survived today.”
“That’s usually the first step.” I didn’t hear a hint of teasing in his voice. Just quiet certainty. Like surviving counted. Like maybe I’d been measuring success all wrong. For some ridiculous reason, that landed somewhere right behind my ribs.
Nobody had said anything like that to me in a very long time.
Long enough that it caught me completely off guard.
I looked back toward the lights stretching across the square, imagining families walking beneath them tomorrow night, kids laughing, music playing, people eating from food trucks that were finally parked where they belonged.
He followed my gaze across the square, taking in the lights, the volunteers, the banners swaying gently in the evening breeze. “It’s coming together.”
I smiled. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined that possibility.” Yesterday I’d been picturing headlines involving escaped livestock and insurance claims. Progress was lowering the odds of public humiliation one hour at a time.
“You’ve still got work to do,” he added.
“Oh, believe me, I know. Helen reminds me every five minutes.”
One corner of his mouth lifted again. “I imagine she does.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a simple white business card. He held it out to me. “Here.”
I looked at the card. “What’s this?”
“My card.”
“I gathered that.” I looked it over. Nothing fancy. Just his name, the sheriff’s office number with his extension, and an email address. Somehow even his business card looked organized. Mine would probably have coffee stains and mysterious glitter on it for reasons nobody could explain.
“If you run into something you’re not sure about…
” He shrugged one shoulder like it wasn’t a big deal.
“Road closures. Crowd control. Safety questions. Permits. Anything that falls under my department.” His voice stayed matter-of-fact, but something was reassuring about the way he said it.
Like asking for help wasn’t admitting defeat.
It was just part of getting the job done.
He paused. “Call before it becomes a problem.”
“You mean… instead of waiting until livestock are involved?” I turned the card over even though nothing was on the back, mostly because it gave my hands something to do besides shake.
He gave a short laugh. “I’d recommend that.”
“I was hoping yesterday wouldn’t become my professional reputation.” I sighed dramatically. “I’d really been aiming for ‘competent event planner.’ Somehow I overshot and landed on ‘woman frequently outsmarted by hooved mammals.’”
His eyes warmed with amusement. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
I groaned. “I’m forever going to be remembered as the woman who shut down Main Road with a miniature donkey.” Stories were probably already being told about it over dinner. Children would grow up hearing the legend. I’d become local folklore before I’d even unpacked it emotionally.
He considered it. “The goat eating permit paperwork didn’t help.”
“Oh, good. Thank you. That’s exactly the reassurance I was looking for.” I placed a hand over my heart. “Really building my confidence there, Sheriff.”
“I do what I can.”
I lifted his card. “I’ll try not to abuse this.”
The sheriff watched me for a beat. “I don’t think you will.
” There it was again—that quiet certainty I’d started noticing.
He never sounded like he was flattering me.
He simply said things as though they were facts.
He took a step backward and glanced toward the parking lot. “I should let you finish.”
“Right.”
He nodded once. “Good night, Hartwell.”
“Good night, Sheriff.”
He turned and started walking across the square toward the parking lot, his hands tucked casually into the front pockets of his jeans. His long stride was relaxed and unhurried, like a man who never needed to prove he was in charge because everyone already knew.
I watched him go, strictly because it would’ve been rude not to. It would’ve been disrespectful to the denim.
He reached his white SUV, opened the driver’s door, and then glanced back over his shoulder.
For one horrifying second, I thought he’d caught me staring.
I became fascinated by a nearby flower planter. What lovely petunias. Very… petunia-like. Incredible petals.
When I finally risked another look, he was climbing into the SUV. A second later the engine started and headlights swept briefly across the square before he slowly pulled away.
I let out a breath. “Get a grip, Sophie,” I muttered to myself as I picked up the strand of café lights again. “You have a festival to finish. This is your chance. Don’t blow it because you got distracted by a hot sheriff.”
A beat passed.
“And stop thinking about his ass in those jeans.”
Yeah, that was not going to happen.