Chapter 2
GUNNAR
I’d been looking forward to five o’clock all day.
I couldn’t devote the full day to investigating the mystery of the missing star-shaped Christmas soaps. The foreman had our entire construction crew helping out with the festival this week, just as we’d done for the fall craft fair back in October.
Every time I got the chance, though, I’d sneak a peek over at Ivy’s booth.
I watched her, admiring her smile as she interacted with customers, and checking out the generous curve of her chest and the tight fit of her jeans as they tried to constrain that rounded ass.
She wore an apron, but it did little to conceal those delicious curves.
I was a good ten minutes late for our five o’clock appointment. My boss had us working on fixing a wiring problem for the Christmas tree lighting that was happening tomorrow night. The tree was at the apex of these two rows of booths, which put Ivy in my line of sight.
She had a cluster of customers when I finally got away from the tree, so I had to stand back and wait until the last customer walked away. Finally, she was alone at her booth, glancing around with that same worried expression she’d worn this morning.
I checked my watch—5:15. Time to face the music about being late.
I approached her booth, trying to look casual, despite the fact that I’d been thinking about this moment all day. About her.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said when I was close enough. “Work ran long.”
Ivy looked up, and her face brightened in a way that did something dangerous to my chest. “I was starting to think you’d changed your mind about helping the crazy soap lady.”
“Not crazy,” I said, leaning against her display table. “Determined. There’s a difference.”
She laughed, a sound that was quickly becoming my favorite thing about this festival. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Gunnar Erickson.”
“Good to know.”
I couldn’t help the slight smile that tugged at my mouth. The truth was, I was completely gone for this woman. Had been since the moment she’d marched up to me this morning, all fierce determination and flashing eyes.
I’d never believed in love at first sight—hell, I’d never even thought I wanted to get married—but something about Ivy Shaw made me want to throw out every plan I’d ever made for my quiet, solitary life.
She was the woman I was going to marry. I was as sure of that as I was of my own name.
“I have to admit, I didn’t find much today,” I continued, forcing myself to focus on the conversation.
Her expression fell slightly. “Oh.”
“I talked to about a dozen vendors. Nobody else reported missing merchandise, but a few mentioned hearing rustling sounds at night. Could be animals, could be someone moving around between the booths.”
Ivy nodded, processing this information. Then her eyes drifted past me to the large Christmas tree at the center of the festival grounds.
“What’s going on with the big tree? I saw you guys working on it all day.”
“Somehow one of the main light cords got cut,” I said. “We’ve had to restring a bunch of the lights. We’ll be finishing it up tomorrow in advance of Monday night’s lighting ceremony.”
I was still talking when Ivy’s jaw fell. She stared at me like I’d just told her the moon was made of cheese.
“What?” I asked.
“Are you serious right now?” She gestured wildly between her booth and the tree. “Someone steals my soaps and cuts a major light cord, and you don’t think those two things might be connected?”
I blinked. Then felt like an idiot.
“Shit,” I said.
“Yeah, shit.” But she was smiling now, a triumphant gleam in her eyes. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a festival saboteur.”
The pieces clicked into place in my head. Someone moving around at night, targeting different vendors, causing small but noticeable problems.
“You’re right,” I said. “We need to figure out who’s doing this before they escalate.”
“Exactly.” Ivy started covering her display with the tarp. “So what’s the plan? Stake out the festival tonight?”
“That’s one option.” I watched her efficient movements, the way she secured each corner of the tarp like she’d done it a hundred times. “But first, we should eat something. When’s the last time you had a real meal?”
She paused, tarp half-secured. “Define ‘real meal.’”
“Something that isn’t festival food or coffee.”
“Um.” She bit her lower lip, thinking. “Yesterday, maybe?”
“Right. We’re going to the diner first.” It wasn’t really a request.
“Gunnar, we should—”
“The saboteur isn’t going to strike while there are still people around.
Workers will be milling around, so your stuff will be safe at least until then.
” I stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of pine and winter berries that seemed to cling to her skin.
“Besides, you need fuel if we’re going to be playing detective tonight. ”
Ivy looked up at me, and for a moment, something passed between us that had nothing to do with stolen soaps or cut light cords. Something that made my pulse kick up a notch.
“Okay,” she said quietly. “Dinner first. Then we catch ourselves a saboteur.”
I nodded, already looking forward to both parts of that plan more than I probably should have been.