I can't believe I just said that out loud. To a sheriff, of all people.
His eyebrows shoot up, and I watch his expression shift from professional concern to startled curiosity.
He's tall, much taller than me even in these ridiculous three-inch heels that are currently murdering my feet.
The late afternoon sun catches on his badge and the hints of silver at his temples, and there's something steadying about his presence that makes me want to keep talking, to explain myself to this stranger with kind eyes and an authoritative stance.
But I don't. I've said enough impulsive things today.
Running away from Sebastian at the altar, stealing my maid of honor's car, driving two hours without a destination in mind until I found this picturesque little town.
All of it feels simultaneously like the most reckless and the most honest thing I've ever done.
"I'm sorry," I say, trying to sound more composed than I feel. "That was inappropriate. I'm just a bit... lost."
"Geographically or metaphorically?" the sheriff asks, and there's a hint of something warm in his voice. Not quite humor, but understanding.
Both, I think, but don’t tell him.
"I just needed to stop somewhere. My feet are killing me." I gesture down at my satin heels, now stained with dirt and what appears to be gum.
My mother would be horrified. Thirty thousand dollars for this dress, and I've been dragging it through the streets like a rented Halloween costume.
The sheriff follows my gaze, and his mouth quirks slightly. "Those don't look like practical running-away shoes."
"I didn't exactly plan this," I admit. "It was more of an impulse decision. Right before the 'I do' part."
A small face appears in the window of his police cruiser—a little girl with dark hair pulled into a ponytail, watching us.
His daughter, I'm guessing. Something about her curious expression makes my chest ache.
Children are so wonderfully direct, so unencumbered by the social constraints that have been strangling me for years.
"Do you need medical attention?" the sheriff asks, his gaze assessing me for injuries. "Or are you in any danger?"
"No, nothing like that." I shift my weight, wincing as a new blister makes itself known. "Unless you count my family's wrath when they catch up with me."
His eyes narrow slightly. "Are they looking for you?"
My phone has been vibrating non-stop in my small clutch purse. I pull it out to show him the screen: 47 missed calls. 23 voicemails. 112 text messages. "What do you think?"
He whistles low. "That's quite a search party."
"My father probably has private investigators already on the road.
" I try to make it sound like a joke, but we both know it isn't one.
Senator Howard Rosewood doesn't accept public embarrassment gracefully, especially not from his only daughter.
"The Rosewood-Blackwell wedding was supposed to be the social event of the season.
Three hundred guests, including two governors and a supreme court justice. "
I don't mention the business merger that was supposed to be finalized tomorrow.
The real reason my parents were so invested in this match.
Sebastian's family owns shipping ports all along the eastern seaboard, a perfect complement to my family's import business.
Love wasn't a consideration in the equation.
The sheriff's radio crackles, and he responds with a brief "Ten minutes, Doris" before turning his attention back to me. "Miss Rosewood, is it?"
"Isabella," I correct him automatically. "But everyone calls me Bella."
"Isabella," he repeats, ignoring my preference, and somehow the way he says my full name—like it's worthy of all its syllables—makes me forget to correct him again.
"I can't force you to go back to your wedding, but I also can't leave you wandering around town in that dress. People are starting to stare."
I glance around and realize he's right. A small crowd has gathered at a discreet distance, whispering and pointing. A teenage boy is not-so-subtly taking pictures with his phone. Great. Social media evidence of my meltdown is exactly what I need right now.
"I just need somewhere to sit and think," I tell him, trying to sound more in control than I feel. "And maybe a change of clothes. I'll figure out the rest from there."
He stares at me, and I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. There's something disconcertingly direct about the way he looks at me, like he's seeing past the mascara streaks and wrinkled silk to something underneath.
"Alright," he finally says. "I was about to pick up my younger daughter from her after-school program. You're welcome to ride along, and then we can get you sorted out. Maybe find you some more comfortable shoes."
It's a ridiculous offer. Getting into a police car with a strange man and his child is exactly the kind of impulsive decision my mother has lectured me against my entire life. But then again, I've already blown past all reasonable boundaries today. What's one more questionable choice?
"Thank you," I say, surprising both of us. "That's very kind."
He gestures toward the cruiser. "Just to be clear, this isn't an arrest. You're free to change your mind."
"Are all Cedar Falls sheriffs this accommodating to runaway brides?" I ask, hobbling beside him toward the car.
"You're actually my first," he admits, and there's that ghost of a smile again, deepening the lines around his eyes. "Small town. We improvise."
When we reach the cruiser, he opens the back door for me. The little girl's eyes go as wide as saucers when she sees me up close.
"Emma," the sheriff says, "this is Miss Isabella. She's going to ride with us to pick up your sister."
"Are you a real princess?" Emma asks, staring at my dress with open awe.
The question catches me off guard. I've been called many things today—selfish, ungrateful, hysterical—but "princess" wasn't one of them.
"No," I say gently. "Just a girl in a very uncomfortable dress."
"It's the prettiest dress I've ever seen," she declares with absolute certainty.
I smile at her, my first genuine smile in what feels like days. "Thank you. I like your softball uniform too."
Her face lights up. "I play second base! Do you like softball?"
"Emma," her father interrupts, "let Miss Isabella breathe. She's had a long day."
"It's okay," I assure him, arranging my dress as I slide into the seat. The absurdity of cramming a couture wedding gown into the back of a police cruiser isn't lost on me. "And to answer your question, Emma, I've never played softball, but I'd like to learn someday."
This is apparently the right answer, because Emma immediately launches into a detailed explanation of positions and rules as her father starts the engine. I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror, and there's something like amused appreciation in his gaze.
"Sorry," he mouths silently.
I shake my head slightly, hoping he understands that I don't mind. The girl's enthusiasm is actually soothing, so refreshingly straightforward after months of navigating the treacherous waters of wedding planning and family expectations.
As we drive through the town, I notice charming storefronts with hand-painted signs, a gazebo in a small central park, and flowers blooming in window boxes.
Cedar Falls looks like something from a travel magazine about idyllic American small towns—the kind of place where people know their neighbors and community events draw actual crowds.
"Have you lived here long?" I ask the sheriff, interrupting Emma's explanation of the infield fly rule.
"All my life," he answers, making a turn onto a tree-lined street. "Except for college and police academy."
"It's pretty," I say, meaning it. "Peaceful."
He glances at me in the mirror again. "Most days. Though it's not every Saturday we get a runaway bride."
My cheeks warm. "I'm sorry to cause a disruption."
"Don't be," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes me look up and meet his eyes. "Sometimes disruptions are necessary."
The simple statement lands like a weight in my chest. That's exactly what today was—a necessary disruption. A breaking point after years of bending myself into shapes that pleased everyone but me.
We pull up in front of a cheerful building with a playground visible around the side. A sign reads "Cedar Falls Community Center - After School Program."
"I'll just be a minute," the sheriff says, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Emma, stay with Miss Isabella, please."
"Okay, Dad," she agrees readily, then turns to me. "Sophie has a tummy ache. She gets them when she's worried."
"What's she worried about?" I ask, genuinely curious.
Emma shrugs. "Dad working too much. Me forgetting to play with her. Monsters under her bed. Regular five-year-old stuff."
There's something so adult about her assessment that it makes my heart twist. I recognize that protective older sibling tone. I've heard it in my own voice when talking about my younger brother, before he went off to boarding school and came back a stranger.
"It's nice that she has you looking out for her," I tell Emma.
She beams at me. "Dad says I'm the best deputy he's got."
Through the windshield, I watch Sheriff Reynolds emerge from the building holding the hand of a tiny girl with blonde pigtails and a pink backpack nearly as big as she is.
She's dragging her feet slightly, but when she spots the police car, she perks up and points excitedly.
I can see the sheriff bending down, explaining something to her—probably the unexpected wedding dress-clad passenger in their car.
Sophie's face transforms with wonder, and she practically drags her father toward the cruiser now, bouncing with each step.
When the door opens, she stares at me with huge blue eyes, momentarily speechless.
"Sophie," the sheriff says gently, "this is Miss Isabella. She's going to come with us for a little while."
"Are you getting married?" Sophie asks, climbing into the car and immediately crawling across her sister to get closer to me.
"Sophie!" Emma hisses. "Don't be rude."
"Not today," I answer honestly, something about this child's directness making it impossible to offer platitudes. "I was supposed to, but I changed my mind."
Sophie considers this seriously. "Like when I wanted chocolate ice cream but then I saw they had rainbow sprinkles for vanilla and I changed my mind?"
A startled laugh escapes me. "Something like that, yes."
"Dad says it's okay to change your mind as long as you're nice about it," Sophie informs me, settling between Emma and me. "Were you nice?"
I think about Sebastian's shocked face, my mother's horrified gasp, the whispers that followed me as I ran down the aisle and out of the church.
"I tried to be," I say finally. "But it was complicated."
"Grown-up stuff is always complicated," Sophie sighs with the resignation of someone who has heard this explanation many times.
From the front seat, Sheriff Reynolds clears his throat. "Girls, let's give Miss Isabella some space."
"It's fine," I assure him quickly. "Really."
And it is fine. More than fine. There's something incredibly grounding about these children with their curious questions and earnest observations.
They're not looking at me like I'm having a psychological breakdown or calculating the social and financial implications of my actions.
They're just interested in the novelty of a woman in a wedding dress in their police car.
As we drive away from the community center, I finally allow myself to fully process what I've done today.
I've run away from my wedding. I've disappointed my family in the most public way possible.
I've likely torpedoed my father's business deal and my mother's social standing.
I have no plan, no change of clothes, and no idea what comes next.
And yet, sitting here in the back of a small-town sheriff's cruiser with a softball player and her curious little sister, I feel something I haven't felt in months: relief.
"Where are we going now?" I ask, realizing I've put myself entirely in this stranger's hands.
Sheriff Reynolds meets my eyes in the mirror again. "Well, that depends on you, Isabella. I can take you to the bus station if you want to keep moving, or to our one motel if you want to stay the night."
"Or you could come to our house!" Sophie suggests brightly. "We have mac and cheese for dinner. And ice cream!"
"Sophie," her father says, his tone warning but gentle.
"Actually," I say slowly, an idea taking shape, "is there anywhere in town I could buy some clothes? I should probably get out of this dress before someone recognizes me from the society pages."
The sheriff considers this. "Libby's Boutique on Main Street should still be open. She carries a little bit of everything."
"Perfect," I say, making a decision. "Let's start there."
He nods, making a U-turn at the next intersection. As we head back toward town, I notice my phone lighting up again in my purse. I pull it out and see Sebastian's name on the screen. With a deep breath, I power it off completely.
Whatever comes next, I'm determined to face it on my own terms. Starting with getting out of this dress that was never really my choice to begin with.