You thought that having a sheriff boyfriend would come with perks like getting out of trouble, maybe a little preferential treatment here and there. But Eben wasn’t that kind of sheriff. And unfortunately for you, he definitely wasn’t that kind of boyfriend either.

Eben had a way of enforcing rules without ever raising his voice. He didn’t need to. One look, one calm sentence, and you’d feel more corrected than if he’d yelled. It was equal parts admirable and… deeply inconvenient.

Which is exactly why you were currently trying very hard to look normal while walking down the dusty roadside with a small paper bag clutched in your hand.

Helen his sweet, sharp-eyed grandmother had asked you to pick up seeds for her garden. Thinking nothing of it, because Helen had a very nice greenhouse you picked up her order to find out it's something not legal. A short, unmistakable whoop of a car cut through your thoughts.

You froze mid-step. Slowly, painfully slowly you turned your head as the familiar sheriff’s cruiser rolled up beside you, gravel crunching under the tires. The window slid down, and there he was, Eben.

One arm resting casually on the door, aviators pushed up into his hair, eyes already locked onto you with that calm, assessing look you knew too well. "Hey, baby," he said, voice warm but edged with curiosity. "Mind telling me why you’re walking around with marijuana seeds?" Your stomach dropped. How did he even know? Was he suspicious of his grandmother's basement?You tightened your grip on the bag like that might somehow make it less suspicious. "I-okay, first of all," you started, already sounding defensive, "they were not labeled clearly."

Eben raised an eyebrow. Just one. It was impressive, really "Mhm." "And second of all," you continued quickly, "your grandma told me to get seeds. That's it" He leaned a little closer out the window, gaze flicking briefly to the crumpled top of the paper bag before returning to your face. "You didn’t think to check what kind of seeds?" "I trusted the establishment," you said, as if that was a solid defense. It wasn’t. His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile threatening to break through his otherwise composed expression. A quiet huff of amusement escaped him, and he shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he said, pushing the door open and stepping out of the car. "Let me see them." You instinctively pulled the bag a little closer to your chest. "Eben-" "Sweetheart," he interrupted gently, holding out his hand. There it was again. That calm authority. Not forceful. Not harsh. Just inevitable.

With a reluctant sigh, you handed over the bag. He peeked inside, then reached in and pulled out one of the small packets. His eyes scanned the label, and this time he didn’t even try to hide the smile. "Yeah," he said, holding it up slightly. "These are definitely not for Helen’s roses."