Page 6 of Protected By the Single Dad Sheriff

"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 andearnest 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.

Chapter 3 - Jake

I've lost my mind.

That's the only explanation for why I'm pulling up to Libby's Boutique with a runaway bride and my daughters in tow. This goes well beyond professional courtesy and straight into what-the-hell-are-you-thinking territory.

"Wait here a sec," I tell Isabella, putting the cruiser in park. I step out and walk around to open her door, aware of how the afternoon shoppers on Main Street have all stopped to stare. Cedar Falls hasn't had gossip this good since Mayor Peterson's toupee blew off during last year's Fourth of July speech.

"Sheriff?" Libby appears in the doorway of her boutique, curiosity written all over her face as she takes in the scene. "Everything okay?"

"Fine, Libby. Just helping out a visitor." I offer Isabella my hand as she struggles to maneuver her massive dress out of the backseat. Her fingers are cool and delicate against my palm, but her grip is surprisingly strong as she leverages herself upright.

"Thanks," she murmurs, a flush spreading across her cheeks as she becomes aware of our audience.

Emma and Sophie tumble out after her, instantly flanking her like tiny bodyguards. The sight makes something twist in my chest. They've attached themselves to her with that immediate, uncomplicated acceptance that children sometimes offer strangers, and that I've long since lost the ability to give.

"Miss Isabella needs clothes," Sophie announces to Libby, who's still standing frozen in her doorway. "Her wedding dress is pretty but not good for mac and cheese."

Libby's eyebrows shoot upward, and I feel compelled to provide some semblance of a normal explanation. "Miss Rosewood is passing through town and needs some, uh, more practical attire."

"I see," Libby says, though she clearly doesn't. Her eyes rake over Isabella's expensive gown, the torn hem, the mud-stained satin heels. To her credit, she switches instantly into professional mode. "Well, you've come to the right place. We carry everything from casual to business casual, sizes 0 to 18."

"Thank you," Isabella says. "I just need something simple. Jeans, t-shirts, sensible shoes. And maybe a change for tomorrow."

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