Chapter FOURTEEN
“Well, that was a wasted birthday wish, wasn’t it?”
Luna stood across the street from The Arcane Bouquet, shivering in the cold and holding herself tight around the middle, once again working up the nerve to cross.
In her mind’s eye, she kept seeing that moment when she’d blown out the little candle set in a swirl of pink frosting. She’d made a wish—wished as hard as ever she could, in fact. Wished that everything could go back to the way it was before between her and Mr. Grimm. Comfortable. Easy. Relaxed. A space in which she knew where she stood and what she felt.
And then last night had happened.
Luna bit her lower lip, as though she could still taste chocolate and buttery frosting.
That party . . . it was a lot. A lot a lot. More than she wanted, truth be told. She would have much preferred to spend the hours leading up to midnight alone with Mr. Grimm in the kitchen. But, well . . . she wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t have done something really, really stupid, if that had been the case. It was just as well he’d invited all those people over, and she was pulled away from him for the next several hours.
But then . . .
She’d asked him to kiss her.
Just outright asked him.
Her face flooded with heat at the memory, burning so hot, she was half-convinced the winter air around her sizzled.
Sure, she’d covered a little by turning her cheek . . . she hadn’t wanted to be so forward. But he knew. Didn’t he? He knew what she’d truly wanted.
Oh gods, what a stupid, stupid waste of a wish!
“We can never go back,“
she whispered now, stomping her feet inside her nice, sturdy boots. “Not to the way things were. There is no going back now.”
Her gaze sought across the busy street, searching out that little purple text which Mr. Grimm had added to the sign yesterday. He’d really taken his time over it. Where he’d found the purple paint she couldn’t guess, but the result looked very nice, even by morning light. The sight of it warmed her right down to the pit of her chest.
Well, she couldn’t stand out here all morning. The chantry bells on Giltspur Street were already ringing out the 8:30 toll. At some point, she was going to have to face whatever was happening between her and her employer. Even if she had no idea what that was.
Luna set her teeth. Taking opportunity during a lull in the traffic, she darted across Addle Street and ducked under the awning of the shop. Her stomach roiled with far too many butterflies, and her fingers shook as she fished out her key. She managed to get the door open to the familiar, welcoming tinkle of bells.
“Hullooo, Mr. Grimm!“
she called out, hoping he couldn’t hear the quaver in her voice. “I’m here!”
Then she stepped inside. And stopped dead in her tracks.
Everything was immaculate.
Luna had fully expected to find the shop in a state of at least partial disarray following the events of last night. It had taken the two of them, after all, simply to move the displays, and many more hands had worked to string up all that bunting and those fairy lights. She was fairly certain more than one wine flute had been smashed, the shards swiftly brushed aside, and last she’d looked, there’d been corks and bottles everywhere, along with dirty plates full of spice cake crumbs, paper napkins, all the usual debris of a Year’s End party.
But one would never know such an event had taken place in The Arcane Bouquet last night. Not a single stray plate or crumb, not one discarded napkin or cork. The displays were all back where they belonged, the flowers arranged and refreshed.
“Oh, Mr. Grimm,“
Luna whispered. “You’ll be dead on your feet this morning.”
She made her way across the quiet display floor. Even the flowers seemed sleepy, though the tiger lilies roused enough to growl softly at her as she tiptoed past. No one else moved or reacted to her presence. She might be in any old flower shop in any old part of the city.
Slipping behind the counter, she slid out of her coat and unwrapped her scarf. As she hung them on the peg, she noticed a folded paper propped on the counter, her name written across the front in Mr. Grimm’s clear, elegant copperplate. Moistening her chapped lips, Luna flipped it open.
“Miss Talbot”—it read—“I will be delayed by some hours this morning. Please, open the shop at your leisure. And enjoy Mrs. Goddard’s good breakfast.”
It was signed only: N.G.
Luna blustered a little sigh through her lips. Was she relieved? Relieved she wouldn’t have to look him in the eye so soon after not kissing him last night? Maybe. Or maybe this only prolonged the dread.
“A little of both, I should think,“
she murmured.
Mrs. Goddard had already been and gone, leaving the breakfast tray in her wake. Luna made herself sit and eat what she could, but her stomach was too knotted to do much about it. She ended up putting it in the icebox and hurrying about her opening duties, eager for something to distract her mind. Soon enough, she was flipping the sign to OPEN, and her first wave of customers arrived.
“Happy New Year, Happy New Year, Happy New Year,“
she said more times that morning than she ever had before. So many people arrived on the doorstep, eager for predictions for the coming year, hoping their local tea witch could shed light on the mysteries of life ahead. Luna felt singularly inept to the task today. Her own life was so twisted up with imponderables, how could she possibly be expected to maintain clear Sight for anyone else?
But she brewed up teas, swirled dregs, deciphered what visions she could. And, by and large, her clientele went away satisfied.
The clock ticked on. The morning passed.
Still no sign of Mr. Grimm.
Perhaps he was avoiding her.
Perhaps she was grateful.
Perhaps this was just the time she needed to realize that, surprise birthday parties notwithstanding, the rhythms of everyday life must inevitably reassert themselves. By the time he returned from . . . wherever he was . . . she wouldn’t be thinking about the subtle brush of his nose against the shell of her ear. Or his breath raising the fine hairs on her cheek. Or the sensation of his lips, pressed so softly, so gently, against her skin . . .
“And don’t leave the muffins to cool on the stove,“
Luna spoke a little too loudly, jerking her gaze up from the cup of tea in front of her and meeting the earnest eyes of a young gentleman client. “Your cat will eat the tops off, and you’ll have nothing to serve your lady friend when she visits. Happy New Year!”
Noon came around. Eventually.
During a lull in shop traffic, Luna returned to the kitchen and finished eating the cold breakfast. Still no sign of Mr. Grimm. But really, what did she expect of the poor man? He’d gone so far above and beyond yesterday, throwing her that party! Was she really so selfish? So demanding? He didn’t owe her anything beyond the wage he paid for her hard work.
“You’re spoiled,“
Luna muttered, returning from the kitchen and stepping back behind the counter. “That’s what it is. You’ve become absolutely spoiled by Nigel Grimm. No other man could possibly compare to—”
The shop bells tinkled.
Luna yanked her head up, smiled broadly. “Hullo, Mrs. Stansbury, welcome back to The Arcane Bouquet! Are you here for something particular, or would you be interested in trying the Emerald Eglantine Chai? It’s on special today.”
It wasn’t until 1 o’clock precisely that Luna heard footsteps in the stairwell. Her stomach plunged, then made a valiant effort to leap out of her body entirely and fly around the room. Had he been up there all this time? But of course—the poor man must have been absolutely exhausted after cleaning late into the night.
Luna flashed a quick glance at the stairwell just as he emerged. He staggered forth, a little unsteady on his feet, and his gaze flashed to where she stood at the counter.
He stopped short.
She caught her breath.
Then she yanked her eyes forward, focusing on the customer in front of her. She kept swirling the teacup in her hand as she talked, unsettling the dregs. “Yes, I would definitely serve the mutton for Saturday night, Mrs. Humphrington,“
she said. “Nice slow-roast. It’ll go over well with your in-laws. Can I interest you in a bouquet of carnations and fuchsia stock? Just the thing to liven up a parlor on a wintry day.”
By the time she’d rung up young Mrs. Humphrington, Mr. Grimm had vanished to the back of the building somewhere. Luna gripped the countertop. All right. So he was here. That was fine. That was totally fine! And he was busy. As was she. It was only 1 o’clock. In another hour, 2 o’clock would roll around, and it would be time for their tea break, and . . . and they would share a pot of tea, and . . . and . . .
The bells tinkled.
Luna looked up and slapped on a big smile. “Welcome to The Arcane Bouquet!”
She stayed busy through the next hour. Busier than usual. Seriously, where had all these people come from? It was like every soul in Eastside Ballycastle suddenly, on this first day of the New Year, was possessed with a need for fresh flowers and tea! With Mr. Grimm missing in action, Luna felt a bit run off her feet. While she might not have stayed up into the wee hours of the morning cleaning, she had danced until midnight, hadn’t she?
Noting the arrival of the postboy—and his swift depositing of mail in the snow heap outside—Luna escorted a customer out the front door, murmuring gentle, “Come again soons,“
as she went. Three middle-aged ladies arrived just then and shuffled inside. “I’ll be with you shortly,“
Luna said, and fetched the stack of mail. She flipped briefly through it as she returned across the display floor. Another ad for Bill Pickle’s services. A water heater bill. A flier for tooth powder, and . . .
Luna’s heart jumped. Right there, in her hand! Auntie Arabella’s familiar chicken-scratch handwriting, trailing across the front of a pink envelope with a floral border. “Only one day late!“
Luna said with a smile.
Just as she approached the counter, Mr. Grimm stepped out of the back passage and almost ran into her. “Oh!“
he said abruptly, drawing back.
“Oh!“
she echoed, pressing mail against her chest.
They blinked at each other.
Then: “I beg your pardon,“
he blurted, and she tumbled out a, “It’s quite all right,“
and both turned on heel and parted quickly.
Ducking her head, Luna fled for the counter, lifting the hinged portion to slip behind it, like a soldier fleeing back to the fort following an unsuccessful foray into the field of battle. She put down the stack of mail, forced a smile on her face, and demurely addressed her customers. “Are you ready to order?“
she asked, with scarcely any trace of telltale emotion in her voice.
“Another minute, dear,“
they answered.
“Take your time.“
Luna glanced over at Mr. Grimm. He seemed to be very busy, inspecting the double-delight rose. But he looked up, caught her eye. She dropped her gaze again quickly to the stack of mail. The letter from Auntie Arabella sat right at the top, and while Luna would ordinarily wait for her break to indulge in any personal matters, she suddenly found herself in desperate need of distraction.
Plucking up the pink envelope, she carefully sliced it open with her fingernail and pulled out the little card inside. Her eyes skimmed over the words once without quite registering them.
Then a second time.
Her breath caught.
A third time . . . and a small, “Uhhuh!“
broke from her lips. A high, thin cry. It didn’t even sound like her own voice in her ears. The world around her wobbled. She reached out, tried to catch hold of the counter. But it wobbled too, and she staggered, struggling to stay upright.
Voices burst in the back of her awareness, three ladies, all exclaiming variations of, “Dear, are you all right?“
and “You look quite pale, doesn’t she look pale?“
and “Do you need a doctor, love?”
Suddenly, Mr. Grimm’s voice was there, much nearer, much deeper. “Miss Talbot?“
A moment of silence, then: “I’m sorry, ladies, but we are closed for business just now. Please, come back tomorrow for your teas. I hope you will think of The Arcane Bouquet for all your future botanical needs . . .”
Luna was vaguely aware of him hustling the ladies across the floor, all while they chirruped worried protests. He was firm, however, and soon had the three of them back out on the sidewalk. He shut the door, locked it fast, and flipped the sign to CLOSED.
A moment later, Mr. Grimm was back at the counter. “Miss Talbot,“
he said, lifting the hinged portion and hurrying in beside her. He put out his hands, but did not touch her. “Miss Talbot, you look ill. Will you sit down? What has—”
Before he could finish the question, Luna shoved Auntie Arabella’s floral card into his hand. He wrinkled his forehead, surprised. Then, without a word, flicked it open. Read those telltale first lines.
“Oh.“
He breathed out slowly. His sad blue eyes lifted, but she could not bear to meet the expression on his face. “Miss Talbot,“
he said, in a voice that told her she hadn’t been mistaken. Those words—those awful, awful words—were truly written there. Exactly as she’d read them. It wasn’t a mistake, it wasn’t a dream. “I don’t know what to . . .“
He stopped, cleared his throat, glanced down at the card again. Then back to her. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?“
Luna echoed. “Yes. Yes, that’s it. It’s a sorry thing. Isn’t it? I’m sorry too. I’m . . . I’m . . .”
Then a sob ripped from her throat, and her knees gave way.