Chapter 6
GUNNAR
Something was wrong with Ivy.
I knew it the second we arrived at the festival grounds the next morning.
She’d been quiet in the truck, staring out the window at the lights strung across Main Street like she was somewhere else entirely.
At first, I chalked it up to what had happened between us last night.
Hell, I was still reeling from that myself.
But this wasn’t a “we crossed a line and now things are awkward” kind of silence.
This was heavier. She moved around her booth like she was half asleep, mechanically unwrapping soaps from the box I’d just carried over.
These were the soaps we’d hidden away last night, safe and sound, so she should be happy to be setting them out as she prepared for a big day of sales.
Instead, she was handling each one like it weighed ten pounds.
Meanwhile, the festival grounds were buzzing—electric with Christmas spirit.
Crews were stringing up lights, sound guys were yelling into mics, and chairs were unfolding like magic for the tree lighting tonight.
Vendors were gearing up for the kind of week-long event that paid for six months of bills.
The whole place was one big peppermint-scented adrenaline rush.
Everything except Ivy.
“You going to tell me what’s eating at you?” I asked, watching her set out a green soap with all the enthusiasm of a DMV clerk.
She blinked, startled, like she’d actually forgotten I existed. “What?”
“You’ve been a million miles away since we got here. Did I do something?”
“No.” Her head snapped side to side. Too quick. Too sharp. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
And that was it. No explanation, just back to unwrapping. I stood there, useless, watching the tight set of her shoulders, the way her eyes kept darting to her phone like she was waiting for bad news.
“Who called you this morning?” I asked.
Her hands froze on a box. “What?”
“You took a phone call while I was in the shower. You’ve been different ever since.”
She bit her lower lip—something I’d noticed she did whenever she was wrestling with herself. Around us, a crew was hoisting a wreath taller than I was onto the festival sign, laughing as they did it. The whole world kept moving while Ivy seemed to crumble quietly in place.
“It was Becca,” she said finally. “A friend from Cincinnati.”
I waited. Nothing.
“And?” I finally prompted.
“She owns a boutique in the arts district. She’s been wanting to expand into bath products for a while now.” Ivy’s voice was flat, careful. “She offered me space in her store. A real partnership.”
The bottom dropped out of my stomach.
“That’s…” I swallowed hard. “That’s incredible. That’s what you’ve been working for, right? A brick-and-mortar presence?”
“Yeah.”
She didn’t sound thrilled. She sounded like someone announcing her own funeral.
“So, what’s the problem?” I asked.
She looked up at me, and those blue eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I don’t know if I want to go back to Cincinnati anymore.”
Hope shot through me like a flare—bright, stupid, dangerous. But reality came crashing down right after. Of course she had to go back. That was her dream. What did I have to offer? A quiet mountain town with more deer than people?
“You have to take it,” I said, hating every single word. “It’s too good to pass up.”
“Do I?” She stood, finally facing me fully. “What if I don’t want it anymore?”
I wanted to tell her to stay. To beg her. But I’d watched what happened when someone gave up their dreams for love.
My dad had done it. Stayed in Wildwood Valley for my mom when Denver had offered him the world. He’d never said out loud that he regretted it, but sometimes I caught him staring out at the mountains with a look that gutted me.
“You can’t make decisions based on one night,” I said softly.
She flinched like I’d hit her. Her face went smooth, her voice even. “Right. One night. That’s all it was.”
Fuck. Not what I meant. But before I could untangle the mess, she’d already turned back to her soaps, hands moving too fast, too precise.
We worked in silence after that, tension stretched tight as fishing line.
Around us, carolers rehearsed near the tree, the sound guy let the mic squeal feedback across the grounds, and the air smelled of cinnamon and fried dough.
It should’ve been festive, but I felt like someone had reached into my chest and ripped out my heart.
I was adjusting her display sign when I noticed movement near the storage area. “Ivy,” I said, nodding toward the back. “Look.”
She followed my gaze and froze. “Is that—?”
A raccoon. A fat one, scurrying with something clamped in its mouth. We both got a clear look before it disappeared.
One of her star soaps.
“Son of a bitch,” I muttered.
We crept closer, quiet as thieves. Rustling, chittering met us. More than one animal.
“There,” Ivy whispered.
Behind the stacked tables, we found… well, honestly, something out of National Geographic meets Santa’s workshop. A whole raccoon family—two adults, three babies—had built a stash. But not just a pile. A neat little hoard.
One neat row of Ivy’s soaps, sorted by color. Another of stolen Christmas ornaments. A third of tea lights, lined up like soldiers.
“They’re…organized thieves,” Ivy breathed.
“Smart little bastards,” I said, pulling out my phone to snap pictures. “Shiny things, scented things…your soaps are basically raccoon catnip.”
We both watched as one raccoon delicately placed a jingle bell in the ornament row, then nudged it until it was perfectly aligned.
“Incredible,” Ivy whispered, though I could hear the sadness tucked beneath her wonder.
I snapped more pictures. The vendors were going to lose their minds over this.
But all I could think was that in a few hours, Ivy might be gone.
The raccoons had been stealing Christmas to build their own little wonderland.
And here I was, about to let the best thing that ever happened to me walk away because I was too afraid to ask her to stay.
One of the baby raccoons looked up, an ornament in its paws. I swear it gave me a judgmental side-eye. Like, Do something, idiot.
It wasn’t wrong.
“We should tell the others,” Ivy said finally. “Let them know their missing stuff isn’t really missing.”
“Yeah.” I pocketed my phone, but I didn’t move. Neither did she.
The tree lighting ceremony was only hours away. Soon, the whole town would be gathered, warm and buzzing with holiday cheer. And Ivy? Ivy would be packing her bags for a city that didn’t deserve her.
“Gunnar,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Last night…it wasn’t just one night for me.”
Before I could breathe, let alone answer, her phone rang.
“Becca,” she said. “Again.”
She lifted it, hesitating. But her eyes—her eyes were locked on mine like she was memorizing my face.
That was when it hit me. She didn’t want to leave. She was waiting for me to give her a reason to stay.
The raccoons skittered around behind us. Crews called out across the festival grounds. Christmas music floated from a small speaker somewhere. And I finally found the courage I should’ve had all along.
“Don’t answer it,” I said.
Her hand lowered, hope flickering in her gaze. “What?”
“Don’t answer. Stay. Stay with me.”
“Gunnar—”
“I know it’s crazy. I know we just met. But I’ve never felt like this about anyone, and I don’t think you have either. Build your business here. Hell, I’ll help you hammer together a storefront from scratch if that’s what it takes. Just don’t go. Please.”
The phone stopped ringing. The town around us glowed with Christmas, raccoons continued their bizarre crime spree, and Ivy Shaw looked at me like I’d just offered her the world.
“You really want me to stay?” she whispered.
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
Her smile lit up her face, bright and sure. “Then I guess I’m staying.”
And as the tree lights flickered to life in the distance, I pulled her into my arms and kissed her like she was my very own Christmas miracle.
Which, turns out, she was.