15. Sophie
SOPHIE
By nine o’clock that night, Maplewood Falls looked like somebody had bottled summer and poured it across Main Road.
The café lights glowed overhead in soft golden ribbons, music drifted across the square, and everywhere I looked people were smiling.
Children chased each other between booths with painted faces and sticky fingers.
Couples wandered hand in hand carrying lemonade.
The replacement band—the Riverstone Ramblers, bless every one of their ridiculously talented souls—had half the town singing along.
They were awesome, even better tonight than I’d remembered.
I’d spent the afternoon waiting for someone to discover I’d only survived by accident. Instead, the festival had simply worked.
I walked slowly through the square, Helen’s binder tucked under one arm, smiling at volunteers as they packed fresh supplies into booths.
A gray-haired man in faded denim overalls cheerfully wrestled a stack of folding chairs into neat rows while humming along with the band.
Nearby, a college-aged girl with purple streaks in her dark braid restocked bottles of water with practiced efficiency, her volunteer badge bouncing against a bright yellow festival T-shirt.
Across the walkway, a broad-shouldered woman with laugh lines around her eyes and gardening gloves still tucked into the back pocket of her jeans was happily arranging baskets of fresh flowers she’d probably grown herself.
Everybody looked busy, tired, and happy, like they’d all decided this festival belonged to them.
“Everything okay?” I asked her.
“We’re good,” the woman answered with an easy smile, brushing dirt from her hands onto her jeans.
No emergencies or disasters.
Things were good.
I was beginning to miss the adrenaline a little. Only a little.
Near the beer garden, I spotted Lola.
She’d somehow acquired another man. Scratch that. Make that two.
She stood between them wearing a different dress than the one from this morning.
This one was teal with delicate spaghetti straps, hugged every dangerous curve she possessed, and somehow managed to be both elegant and capable of causing minor traffic accidents.
Either she’d gone back to the inn to change…
or she’d gone back to the inn with one of these guys and emerged looking even more spectacular than before.
Honestly, with Lola, both possibilities felt equally plausible.
On her left stood a tall silver-haired man in an expensive navy blazer with the kind of suntan that suggested a sailboat and a retirement fund.
On her right was a rugged, broad-chested man in worn jeans and a plaid shirt with rolled-up sleeves, his laugh deep enough to carry over the music.
They couldn’t have looked more different if they’d been cast by competing dating apps.
Yet somehow both were leaning toward her, smiling like she’d just made each of them believe they were the only man in the crowd.
Lola threw her head back laughing, one hand resting lightly on the arm of the man in the blazer while the other absently straightened the collar of the one in plaid.
She wasn’t flirting with either of them exactly.
She was flirting with the entire concept of being adored, and the two men looked perfectly happy to participate.
She kissed one on the cheek. Took the other’s hand. Then switched.
I watched for a second. “How is that even possible?” She was in a league of her own and put all us singletons to shame.
Lola caught me staring and winked.
Yeah, I didn’t want to know. Some mysteries were healthier left unsolved.
I walked away, my gaze on all the booths and the band, making sure everything was still working.
Every few steps someone waved, another volunteer asked a quick question, or a child ran past clutching a balloon nearly bigger than they were.
The festival had settled into that wonderful, impossible rhythm where everyone looked busy without looking frantic.
I wasn’t scanning the square waiting for disaster. I was just… checking on things.
And checking to see if the sheriff was still around. I hadn’t seen him in about two hours, since I’d ducked behind the pretzel booth.
He’d simply disappeared. Maybe he’d been called away on more important matters than a street festival. That made sense.
Still, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed.
I enjoyed stalking the sheriff. A little too much.
A minute later, I found myself at the petting zoo.
And I wasn’t the only one.
Dottie was inside the pen standing beside Bandit and holding a faded cloth bag embroidered with tiny daisies.
She was talking to the animals in the same calm, matter-of-fact voice she used with people, as though discussing important business.
Bandit stood in front of her with perfect attention, Theo hovered nearby with hopeful eyes, and even Daisy and the donkey had wandered a few cautious steps closer.
Somehow, in the space of a single afternoon, Dottie had become the livestock equivalent of a beloved grandmother.
Curious, I wandered closer. “What are you feeding him? Are those… cookies?”
Dottie beamed at me. “Grass cookies. They love them.” She reached into the bag and produced another perfectly round little biscuit, which Bandit accepted with surprising delicacy.
I stared at her, open-mouthed. “Grass cookies?”
“They’re gluten-free.”
“For the goat?” I wasn’t even sure why I asked. At this point, I’d accepted that normal rules no longer applied in Maplewood Falls.
“He has a sensitive stomach,” she explained.
“Ah.”
Bandit happily accepted another cookie.
“I made carrot ones for you, sweetheart,” said Dottie, smiling at Theo.
I laughed. “Of course you did.”
“They’re part of the festival.” Dottie shrugged as though that explained absolutely everything. “Besides, happy animals make happy children, and happy children convince their parents to stay longer. It’s practically marketing.”
“Okay then.” I couldn’t even argue with that logic.
A slow country song floated across the square.
I turned as the lead singer stood at the microphone in worn cowboy boots and faded jeans, an old acoustic guitar hanging comfortably against his chest like it had belonged there forever.
His warm, easy voice wrapped itself around the lyrics while a woman with long auburn curls added soft harmonies beside him.
The stage itself glowed beneath strands of golden lights and old-fashioned lanterns hanging from wooden posts. The flower boxes tucked along the front made the whole thing feel less like a concert and more like somebody had invited the entire town into their backyard.
I loved it.
Conversation softened. Couples drifted toward the open space in front of the stage.
An elderly couple who looked well into their seventies moved together with the effortless rhythm of people who’d been dancing the same songs for forty years.
Nearby, a little girl stood on her father’s boots while he guided them in slow circles, her giggles carrying through the warm evening air.
Movement caught my attention.
Lola sashayed toward the dance floor—with both of her admirers.
One man held her right hand while the other rested a respectful hand against the small of her back, and Lola drifted between them as though dancing with two men at once was perfectly normal.
Every few seconds she’d twirl from one to the other, neither man looking remotely bothered.
If anything, they both looked delighted just to be included.
I watched them for a long moment, and something inside me loosened.
The frantic knot I’d been carrying around for two days untied itself one careful loop at a time. I wasn’t mentally rehearsing my next apology. I was simply… there, watching people smile because of something I’d helped make happen.
It was a strange feeling, wonderful and terrifying, like happiness had shown up uninvited. I was afraid to make any sudden movements in case it changed its mind.
I heard a burst of laughter and looked back toward the petting zoo. Dottie had kicked off whatever tiny sense of dignity she’d ever possessed and was twirling barefoot through the pen while Bandit bounced around her in ridiculous little hops.
I laughed. I loved Dottie. She moved through life like someone who’d never once worried what another person thought of her. Something was wonderfully fearless about that.
And part of me wished I was more like her.
Then…
“Care to dance?”
I turned. Sheriff Walker stood beside me, his hands tucked into his jeans with sheriff face. A very lovely, lovely face. Although tonight, it seemed softer somehow.
“You dance?” I asked, my pulse picking up.
He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Occasionally.” Then he held out one hand. “Dance with me.”
My heart promptly forgot how hearts worked. It skipped, stumbled, and then started up again. And finally I said, “Sure. I’d like that.”
His hand closed gently around mine. It was warm and rough with calluses. A man who worked with his hands. Not the decorative kind of calluses you got from going to the gym twice and posting about it online. Real ones, the kind that came from real physical work.
Very sexy.
Snap out of it, Sophie.
He led me toward the edge of the dance floor.
His fingers closed gently around mine, warm and steady, neither too tight nor too loose, as though he’d instinctively found the exact amount of pressure that said, “I’ve got you,” without actually saying it.
When we stopped, his other hand settled lightly against the small of my back.
My free hand rested against his shoulder, the soft cotton of his sheriff’s uniform still warm from the day, and I became acutely aware that the man was… solid.
The music eased us into a slow rhythm, and for one completely unreasonable second, I forgot several hundred people were standing only a few feet away.
It was alarmingly easy to fall into step with him.
Even more alarming was how naturally I fit there, like my body had somehow skipped the awkward introductory chapter.
We simply… fit.
“So,” I said, my mouth feeling suddenly dry like it was full of cotton balls.
“So,” he repeated.
“Where did you go? You disappeared for a while. Not that I noticed.” Good one.
His lips pulled into a short smile. “You were looking for me?”
“No.” Yes. Yes. Yes.
His eyes searched my face. “I was here. Just walking around. Checking. I never left.”
“Good to know.” I blew down the front of my top. “It’s hot tonight. Isn’t it?”
“Not especially.”
“Well I’m hot.”
He glanced at me. “You are.”
I felt my mouth drop open. “Huh. The festival isn’t a disaster.” Did he just say I was hot? Like hot as in sexy? Or hot as in he can smell the stress sweat?
One corner of his mouth lifted. “No. I don’t think anyone can accuse it of that.”
I gave a short laugh. “I’ve still got three hours left. Let’s not tempt fate.”
His hand pressed a little firmer against my back. “It turned out really well.”
I looked up. “You really think so?”
He held my gaze. “I know so.”
That hit me somewhere I wasn’t expecting. Right behind my ribs.
“Thank you,” I told him, suddenly aware my palms were getting sweaty. “I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.”
“You figured it out.”
“I mostly guessed. I’m very good at winging things.” I paused. “It’s less of a skill and more of a long-term survival strategy.”
He searched my face for a second. “Winging things?”
I nodded. “Oh yes. I’ve accidentally built an entire career on looking like I know what I’m doing about five minutes before everybody discovers I don’t. Somehow it keeps working. I don’t understand it either.”
His smile widened just enough to show teeth. Such lovely teeth.
“My family thinks I’m a disaster. Especially my sister Margot, though she won’t say it to my face,” I kept on.
“The one with that big German Shepherd.”
“Zeus.” I nodded. “He’s a great dog. And really clever. Wait. You know about my sister?”
His thumb brushed my back. “I heard about the dog. Maplewood Falls is a small town. Word travels fast.”
I thought of something. “Do you have a sister? Sisters? A brother? Cousins?” There I went again with the nervous word vomit.
A chuckle sounded from him. “An older sister.”
“Ah ha. Then you know what I’m talking about.”
He laughed again. Softly this time. Controlled, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go of Sheriff Walker.
Yet dancing with him, talking, just enjoying the moment felt natural.
“This is nice,” I blabbed before I could stop myself. “I mean… this. The dancing. Just the dancing.”
He tugged me an inch closer. “It is nice.”
The music carried us slowly across the square. Around us, couples swayed beneath the café lights while laughter drifted in from the beer garden.
And suddenly I was very aware of how close he was, of the gentle pressure of his fingers against my back.
“You’re good at winging things,” said the sheriff after a beat. “I’ve been watching you.”
I cocked a brow. “Are you stalking me now?” And if so… why did I find that ridiculously attractive?
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ve been watching you work.”
That somehow sounded even better.
He looked into my eyes. “You don’t quit.
You work hard.” His thumb shifted almost imperceptibly against the small of my back as we swayed with the music.
“When something goes wrong, you don’t look for someone else to fix it.
You figure it out.” His gaze never left mine.
“That’s not winging it.” He paused just long enough for the words to settle between us.
“That’s someone who’s stronger than she gives herself credit for.
” Another beat. “You proved that today.” His smile was small but completely genuine. “You’re very capable, Hartwell.”
I felt my insides shift. Like a lock I’d been trying to force open for years had finally clicked all by itself.
All day I’d been carrying around this impossible feeling.
Like maybe today hadn’t just been luck. Maybe the replacement band wasn’t luck.
Maybe the volunteers listening wasn’t luck.
Maybe people thanking me wasn’t luck either.
Maybe I wasn’t simply surviving another job until someone eventually realized they’d hired the wrong person.
Maybe I’d been wrong about myself.
The thought was so unfamiliar it almost felt dangerous.
Now standing here with the sheriff, surrounded by music and lights and an entire town laughing because today had actually worked, for one ridiculous, impossible, wonderful moment, I felt awesome. And brave.
And before my brain could object, before common sense reeled me back in, I rose onto my toes, cupped his face gently between my hands...
And kissed him.
His lips were warm and soft and perfect. But the second mine touched his, my brain finally caught up.
Oh… shit…
I was kissing the sheriff.