“As soon as the donation is made to Cottonwood, I’ll sign off on the file,” I tell Peter.
“It’s already done,” Peter says.
Georgia takes out her phone and taps on the screen. When she nods, I hold out the thumb drive with all the legal documents confirming this story.
“We’re done here?” I ask.
Peter smacks at a mosquito on his neck. “Completely, and I hope to never see you people again.”
Georgia and I watch as Peter gets in his car and speeds away from the park and Cottonwood. As soon as the dust settles, Georgia turns around.
“Come on out, ladies!”
The Stitches appear, and I see Mrs. Betty, Mrs. Nelson, and two others carrying a fake alligator. I run over and grab it from them and lay it across the old picnic table.
“How did you ladies manage to get that in the water? It’s so heavy.”
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Mrs. Betty says.
“They work out,” Georgia whispers to me like that’s the obvious answer.
“Getting it in the water was the easy part. Getting the remote to work was something else,” Mrs. Betty says.
“I can’t believe you guys had a plan like this ready to go.”
When Georgia first told me about the park, she said some kid got tetanus from the old jungle gym, and the city didn’t have the money to fix it up, so they just let it go. The gator was an old prop they used at the high school, and I’m pretty sure it’s the same place she “borrowed” her gun from.
“I’ve been trying to tell you, I’m always prepared.” Her sneaky smile drops. “Well, unless I’m not, but you know what I mean.”
I pull her into my arms and lift her off the ground. “I love you, Sheriff Georgia.”
“You do?” Her eyes get a little misty as I nod.
“From the moment we met, but seeing you today, I knew I couldn’t go another second without saying it. You’re incredible.”
“I know, right?” She places a kiss on my lips and then smiles against them. “But I love you too.”
“So fucking adorable,” Mrs. Betty says from behind us.
The two of us are laughing as we kiss again.
Epilogue
GEORGIA
“Ouch!” Mr. Warner mutters when I smack a sticker onto the front of his shirt.
“There are problems with my sticker?” I give the sticker a tap to ensure it is securely attached to him.
“You don’t have to assault me to put it on.” Mr. Warner rubs over the sticker, being dramatic.
“Let’s not throw words like ‘assault' around.”
“You already got my vote.”
“Good answer.” I shoot an air gun at him before making my way farther down the street, putting stickers on anyone that passes. I’m up for reelection, and I’m going to make sure I get to keep my badge.
“What are you doing?” My husband comes out of nowhere, stepping right in front of me to block my path. Him and his sneaky FBI training.
