Page 3 of Falling for the Sheriff

Alice

The moment Daisy comes in a rush from the front, her words tumbling over themselves, I don’t need to hear the name. A cold, leaden certainty settles in the pit of my stomach. I already know who is waiting for me.

I guess a part of me always knew he was going to come find me eventually. Still, the foreknowledge does nothing to steel my nerves, nothing to calm the frantic drum of my heart against my ribs.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I stir where I stand, my feet refusing to take the first step. “Can’t you tell him I ran away?” The plea is a whisper, desperate and childish.

Surprised by the reluctance in my voice, she glances over her shoulder before shuffling closer, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”

My anxiety comes out as a brittle, fractured laugh, and I shrug my shoulders as if I could shake off the weight. “Not in the sense you think I’d be.” My next inhale is a shaky, useless thing that does nothing to fill the hollow ache in my chest. “He’s…He’s the guy, Daisy.”

She blinks, confusion knitting her brow. I watch it happen, the moment the pieces click into a terrible, inevitable picture. Her eyes widen. “Wait, the guy? Atlas?”

A hot, shameful flush trickles up my throat, branding me. I can only nod, my voice failing me. “Apparently, the sheriff of all people. Can you believe it?”

Suddenly, there’s an arm wrapped around me, and she’s pulling me into a hug. She’s making me squirm, but the contact is an anchor in the sudden, dizzying whirl of my panic.

“All this time, I’ve cursed the man who put you in this state, I’m not going to lie.” She pulls away, her hands rubbing my shoulders as if she could physically impart strength. “But Atlas? He’s a good man. A really good man.”

Her words are meant to comfort, but they only twist the knot in my stomach tighter. A good man made what we did so much worse.

I longed for him because he’s been out of my reach. Now that he’s here again, now that he’s real , I want to run. Not away, but right toward him. I want him to take responsibility.

I want him to want me. Not for another night, but forever. My expectations are high, and that’s all the more reason to put a bar between us.

“At least see what he has to say,” she urges, her gaze soft but insistent. “Now that I know he doesn’t plan on taking you away in cuffs, I think you can afford a few minutes away. If you want to back out, just say the word and I’ll be there.”

Clutching the front of my apron, I ignore the thud of my heart and nod my head. With her support, I find the strength to head toward the front of the shop.

Atlas is standing there in uniform again, his fingers tucked in his pockets. Trying to look nonchalant, the scrunch of his brows gives away his concern as he stares at the flowers.

My stomach clenches and tingles all at once.

Daisy follows behind me, helping my legs work. As she settles at her scheduling book for keeping track of orders, I drift around the counter.

“Um, hey.” Nearing him, I breathe in, and I’m hit with the same pine scent that has haunted me. “Let’s take a seat.”

There are a few benches against the wall, all small compared to a man of his bulk. Still, I sit and beckon him to join me. His knee immediately brushes mine, and my toes curl in my sneakers.

“Alice.” Murmuring my name like it’s something special, he’s not subtle about his staring at all. He’s not looking at me the same way he did the first time. He’s alert, panicked like he’s got one shot at this.

In all truth, I expected our paths to never cross again. I mean, he saw my belly. Leaving the police station, I gave him the chance to look the other way.

Instead, he came to my job, seeking me out. That has to mean something.

I nod, a tingle rolling up my spine from how nice my name sounds on his tongue.

“It’s mine…isn’t it?” The question comes out slowly and carefully.

If he already assumed, then why is he here? Usually, people don’t want to be tied down. They run away. Far away.

Unable to lie, I nod and hear the way his breathing shifts. Faster, uneven. I’ve scared him, haven’t I? By now, he must be regretting coming here.

“I don’t expect you to be there,” I force out, my eyes dragging to the ground. “This happened because I was reckless. So, you’re better off forgetting about me.”

He can leave and continue haunting my dreams. Nothing has to change. I’ll be fine, really.

“No.” The word comes too instant, too roughly, making me jump. When a soft curse follows, he nudges closer.

I’m fighting wars not to lean into his warmth. Compared to the cool air filling the front of the shop, he’s radiating heat like a heater.

“What time are you off?” He reaches forward, his fingers just shy of touching me. “Let me take you out again, properly this time. We can talk and…you can tell me more about yourself. I have questions. A few of them. I don’t have the time to ask them now, and I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

My heart races in my chest at his offer. Fumbling for my answer, the sound of a throat clearing helps snap me out of my momentary panic.

Daisy’s giving me a look, a worried one. She’s always so willing to help me out in every way possible. All I have to do is give her some kind of signal, and I bet she’d be happy to jump right in and save the day.

Right now, I’m not worried about getting out of this. Instead, I’m being silly by considering going along with his offer.

This is what I’ve been quietly hoping for. For another chance to meet him so that the next time we spoke, it wouldn’t all be about pleasure.

“Sure.” A single, jerky nod is all I can manage. My palms are slick against the front of my apron, and I wipe them frantically, my heart hammering a heavy rhythm against my ribs. “But maybe… I should give you my number instead? I’d like to clean up a little.”

The last thing I want is to show up smelling like soil and wilted flowers for what absolutely has to be a date. It has to be a date.

At my words, Atlas seems to glow, his smile widening until it’s all I can see.

The effect is a physical thing—a wild, fluttering swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach, their wings beating in a frantic, dizzying tempo.

I’m transfixed, painfully aware of every stunning detail of his face as he hands me his phone.

My fingers tremble as I type in my number, the simple task feeling monumentally significant. The moment he leaves, a hollow, longing ache blooms in his absence, so acute it steals my breath.

Daisy is at my side in an instant, her fingertips brushing my back. “Are you going to be alright? I can meet you there, keep an eye on things. Or if you need an escape, I can call you, sobbing.”

A breathy, nervous snort escapes me. I lean back against the counter for support, my eyes glued to the door he just vanished through. I shake my head slowly, the motion feeling distant and dreamlike.

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” I chew hard on the inside of my cheek, fighting a smile that threatens to split my face in two. “I mean… he came to me, knowing. That has to mean something, right? I’ll text you if I need an escape.”

She nods, ceding control. I grip the counter’s edge, my legs trembling enough that I’m sure they’ll buckle.

If I want to walk out of this shop with my heart still in my possession, I’m going to need a tighter hold on myself.

Because his hold on my mind every night is already territory conquered, I can’t afford to surrender the rest.

* * *

I hate how long I’ve stared at my closet, wishing I had something better to wear. Something that would make me look cute or stylish. Does Atlas even care about those little things?

The weather is chilly out now that the sun is making its way toward the horizon. With my luck, I’ll pick something too thin and regret it halfway through whatever he has planned.

Realizing I’m thinking too deeply about it, I reach into my closet and throw on a sweater and jeans. Convincing myself that it won’t matter what kind of outfit I wear, I pluck at my hair and suffer with the same dilemma.

It’s the rumble of my phone that keeps me from pulling out the strands. A message from Atlas tells me that he’ll be hitting the apartment complex in no time.

Should I have given him my address with such ease? This feeling in my gut says it’s a good idea. That if we part ways again, he’ll know where to find me if he decides he wants to see me again.

Daisy says he’s a neighbor of her brother. So, if I wanted to go up to the mountain, I could find him, too. Feels like we’re on even footing now.

Giving up on being picky with my appearance, I wait as calmly as one can. The nerves that fill my stomach don’t go away even as I rub the front of my sweater.

This is it. My first real date since high school. Did those even count? Those distracted movie makeouts and greasy, shared fries in a fast-food booth never made me feel like this—like my entire being is tuned to a single, vibrating frequency. A decade later, and it turns out I’m a complete novice.

So freaking embarrassing.

Is it him? Is it because Atlas refused to tell me a single thing about his plans, only offering that infuriatingly charming smile and the promise to “really get to know me better”? The mystery of it all is a current zipping under my skin.

A sharp rap at the door slices through my thoughts. I jolt, my heart performing a frantic somersault against my ribs.

He’s here. Already? Ridgeway Court is central, but he must have flown here. The thought sends a reckless, giddy thrill through me.

I drag a deep, shuddering breath into my lungs—a futile attempt to anchor myself—and cross over to the door. The handle is cool under my suddenly clammy palm.

And there he is. The same man from the shop, but transformed. Gone is the uniform, replaced by a soft-looking shirt under a worn leather jacket and jeans with artful tears at the knees.

He looks effortlessly, heart-stoppingly cool. But then I catch it—the clean, sharp scent of pine clinging to him, and the way his dark hair is still damp, curling slightly at the ends. He’d rushed, but he’d also prepared.

The contradiction makes my breath catch. He wasn’t worried about his appearance, but he’d clearly cared enough to make an effort. For me .

For a moment, he does some taking in as well. There’s something shifting in his eyes, and I’m sure it’s not curiosity. Taking in my appearance, drinking me in, his eyes linger on my stomach.

What I’d do to know what he’s thinking.

Finally, he clears his throat. “Ready to go?”

My heart says yes, but my body is hesitant. When he offers his hand, I swallow down the worries that come with all the what-ifs of this situation and slide my fingers into his.

“More than ready.”