Page 4 of Fall Into Love

I look around again, slower this time, and something itches at the back of my skull. This damage isn’t telling me there was a robbery. The register’s shut. There’s a laptop sitting right out in the open. Whoever did this knocked over some stuff, yeah, but they left the valuable stuff, which means they’re either the dumbest burglar in Washington, or not a burglar at all.

“Dale already come and gone?”

“In and out in ten minutes,” Molly says flatly. “Told her it was kids. Or the wind.”

I shake my head. Dale is a nice guy, older, a decent Sheriff for such a small town, but he’s always been quick to blame local ‘riffraff’ rather than investigate bigger issues. “The wind didn’t do all this,” I say, gesturing around us. “Hey, Molly. Your bakery still has that camera over the front door, yeah?”

Her whole face lights up. “I do! It points right at the street. It catches anyone coming up the sidewalk for the entire block.”

“Then that’s the first thing we should pull to see—”

Emma turns on me, her tears dried, face still flushed. But she’s not crying now, so I’ll count that as a win. “You don’t have to do that.”

My brow furrows. “Do what?”

She waves a hand at me. “Swoop in and be, you know, the mayor. I called it in. Dale will…find something, I’m sure. And I still need to take inventory, so thank you for trying to help, but I’ll handle it.”

God, I could kiss her right now, which is a wildly inappropriate thought given the circumstances. I hold up both hands. “Wasn’t mayoring. That was ninety percent nosey neighbor.”

And about a hundred percent, let me be your armor, sweetheart.

She giggles, wiping under her eyes as she peers up at me. “I mean it, Caleb. This is my shop. My mess. I’ve got it.”

The hell it is. “Okay.”

She narrows her eyes. “Okay?”

“You’ve got it.” I glance at the mints crushed into her nice hardwood floor. “But you’ve got a full inventory to do before you can even tell what’s gone, and I’ve got two free hands, and nowhere to be that can’t wait.” I crouch and start righting the nearest rack like it’s already decided. I give my best crooked grin and wink. “You might not know this about me, but I’m pretty bad at leaving.”

She stares at me, brows raised like she doesn’t know what to say.

Then Molly, bless her, claps her hands together and says, “Great! I have to get back to work, but I’ll grab some coffee and pumpkin scones for you two. Nobody inventories a crime scene on an empty stomach.” She disappears out the door before Emma can argue with either of us.

Emma watches me, kneeling in the ruins of her shop and something in her face gives. “Fine,” she says. “But I have a system when it comes to the earring cards, so just leave those to me, please.”

“I’m at your disposal, darlin’,” I promise solemnly, with no idea what an earring card is. I get the smallest laugh out of her, and it lands heavy in my chest.

Four pairs of wool socks. Three scarves. And twelve months of hellos and see you arounds. Turns out all it took to spend the day with the woman of my dreams was the worst morning of her life.

Taking Stock

Emma

By noon, my shop looks like a shop again, but I still can’t tell what’s missing.

Caleb and I have spent three hours putting Marigold’s back together—uprighting racks, refolding sweaters, rehanging the scarves that survived, sweeping up a truly upsetting number of crushed mints. And the more we fix up, the less any of it makes sense. All the things a person would actually want to steal are exactly where I left them.

But then I get out my inventory binder and I start counting…

“Emma?” Caleb’s crouched by the front display, resetting a stack of folded flannels with more care than I’d expect from a man built like a door. “What is it?”

“The brooches are gone.” I stare at the little ceramic dish on the counter where I keep them—vintage rhinestone pins, the sparkly ones tourists coo over but rarely buy. It’s empty. “And the sequined clips. And the—” I flip a page, my throat tightening. “The whole card of statement earrings. The flashy ones.”

He comes to stand beside me, close enough that I catch woodsmoke and something underneath it that’s just him. I force myself to focus on the binder.

“Not the little gold hoops; those are worth triple. They took the shiny junk. The costume stuff.” I scoff, my frustration building. “Who breaks into a boutique, leaves the cash, the cashmere, and steals a fistful of rhinestones?”

Caleb doesn’t answer right away. He’s looking at the floor, a little trail of dropped sparkle leading toward the utility sink, then the window. “Somebody in a hurry,” he says slowly. “Grabbing whatever caught their eye.”