Gabe scooted around like a Wimbledon ball boy, gathering posters swirling in the low-level eddies. He collected around a dozen and brought them back. She smiled again and then stopped at the realisation her heart was softening – had already softened – towards him. Yet nothing had changed between them … had it?

He searched her eyes, still full of concern. ‘How’s the face?’

‘As ugly as ever.’

‘That makes two of us.’ He held out the posters. Being laminated, they were almost impossible to rip up, but whoever had done it had a good go at destroying them.

‘They’ve spent a lot of time on this. Look, they cut through the cable ties and judging by the muddy boot prints, they’ve stamped on them too. Do you know why anyone would do something like this?’

‘Are there any paw prints on them?’ said Sam.

‘Paws? Not sure.’ Gabe peered at the poster. ‘Why?’

‘I was joking, but only partly. Bryony Cronk hates the festival, even though she makes a packet from the extra custom.’

‘Bryony?’ He frowned then nodded. ‘Oh yeah. The metal fan who lived over the dog grooming parlour … Hmm, she was pretty feisty if I remember but I wouldn’t have thought this was her style.’

‘Who knows? You think you know people and then …’ Sam let the sentence hang but Gabe either didn’t notice or ignored her barb.

‘I’m sorry about this. Your face and the posters. There are some sick people around.’

‘I’m used to glitches, though I’ll admit, malicious vandalism isn’t that common.’ She pulled the hanky from her face and winced. ‘Has it stopped bleeding?’

Gabe peered at her cheek. He was so close, she could smell him. Something vanilla-y, which could have been aftershave or actual vanilla. She tried not to breathe it in too deeply.

‘Looks like it. It was only a small cut, but I bet it stings. You can keep the hanky.’

She had to smile, despite the bizarre situation. ‘Thanks.’

He held out the posters. ‘Do you want these?’

‘Thanks,’ she repeated numbly as she shoved them in her bag. ‘I’ll take them home. I’d better go.’

Leaving him behind, Sam made a beeline for the cottage determined not to look back. His hanky felt so soft against her skin and it smelled like him. Earthy and masculine yet sweet too. Would she ever get over fancying him? Would she ever stop caring what he thought – or caring about him? She couldn’t help suspecting that despite his protests, he was thinking about moving here anyway, and the festival was a coincidence, that he’d done it for her. But why this year? What had really triggered his return after all this time?

Chapter Sixteen