Chapter 17 What, not even one kiss?
“What, not even one kiss?”
Luna sat before the little oval mirror on the wall, brushing out her curls. They were a bit limp after a long day of festivities and all that dancing. She’d have to re-pin them before bed if she wanted any bounce in her hair by morning.
She caught Bryony’s shocked expression in the glass. “Oh, come on, Bryony. You know I’m not the sort of girl who goes around kissing strangers!”
“Strangers? That man spent the whole entire day squiring you around the festival! If he isn’t a friend by now, I don’t know what he is.”
“I don’t go kissing friends either,” Luna added primly. “Anyway, John Ward is little more than an acquaintance.”
“Oooh, John Ward, is he?” Bryony tittered and shook her head. “First name basis, but not even friends? Honestly, Lunaloo, I quite despair of you. Here you were laying such solid groundwork all day and everything!”
Luna lowered her brush and turned to face Bryony, her brows puckered. “Groundwork for what exactly?”
But her roommate merely threw up her hands. “If I have to explain that to you, you really are hopeless.” She sighed then and draped herself over her bed. “Oh, I had such high hopes for how this evening would turn out! All that effort, and what do I have to show for it? Damned Bad Apple.”
Luna pinched her lips together and turned back to the mirror. Her stomach felt a little funny, and something in her throat had thickened. She swallowed it back and, after a moment, recovered her voice enough to say, “But you had a nice time today, didn’t you, Bryony?”
“Oh, sure. Saint Jollify’s always a lark.
” Her roommate rolled over onto her pillow, draping one shapely arm over her forehead.
“Back to real life in the morning, though. Holiday romances were never built to last.” So saying, she reached over, turned out the thaumatic light bulb beside her bed, and buried herself under her blankets.
Leaving Luna to study her own pale face in the mirror by light of nothing more than a humble candle.
Holiday romances . . .
Setting her chin, Luna got to work dampening her hair and rolling it up in sections, which she secured with little bobby-pin Xs. She liked the familiar, methodical nature of the task and tried to let it wholly occupy her brain. Only her brain wasn’t about to be so easily occupied.
It kept sneaking back to . . . moments.
Just little moments. Nothing big, nothing of any significance.
The way Mr. Grimm’s knees felt pressed on either side of hers, as the fete wheel turned and turned.
The warmth of his hand slipping around her waist when her foot wobbled and he stepped in to offer support.
The look he’d given her while seated beside her on the nurse’s cot . . .
But that wasn’t really a look, was it? All right, sure, it was a look, but not look look.
His sad eyes always did have a haunted quality about them, as though he constantly held at bay simmering depths of feeling.
One often got the impression something in him was on the verge of bursting, that he maintained his careful repression only with an effort.
But that was just his way. It didn’t mean anything.
Holiday romances . . .
“It wasn’t a romance,” Luna whispered firmly at her candlelit reflection. “It was barely even a . . . anything.”
Funnel cake on a waistcoat.
Thumbs pressed just under the line of her brassiere.
His palm against hers as she urged, “Quick, Mr. Grimm! Run for it!”
Her lips felt very dry, a little chapped.
Luna pressed them together and rolled, making stupid faces in the glass.
Holidays were such treacherous things. They took one outside of one’s day-to-day existence, made one see, think, and feel things one absolutely wouldn’t dream of seeing, thinking, or feeling under ordinary circumstances.
And then what? Daylight dawned, real life reasserted itself, and one was left with nothing but uneasy embarrassment as the regular rhythms of necessity reclaimed their rightful place.
Did she have anything to be embarrassed over, though? Anything that would truly make it difficult to look Mr. Grimm in the eye tomorrow morning?
“No.” She whispered the word firmly to the glass. “No, it was just . . . it was all those little . . . touches.”
That was the truth of it. She and her employer didn’t touch during regular workdays.
Why would they? Yes, of course, there was that time she’d literally climbed onto his shoulders but .
. . but . . . but that wasn’t the normal state of things.
As a rule, certain boundaries were maintained, and though they were friendly, there was always a barrier of Appropriate Behavior giving shape to their every interaction.
That barrier was dropped today. In the fete wheel.
In the Haunted House. On the dance floor.
Tiny moments of contact, which deceived one into believing an intimacy existed that really didn’t belong at all.
Once Appropriate Behavior was back in place, everything should revert to the way it was before.
And all these squidgy little feelings could be swept under the rug and firmly ignored until one forgot they ever existed in the first place.
Tomorrow. That’s all that was needed to set everything right: tomorrow.
She’d return to the shop, perform her duties, make copious amounts of tea, interact with Mr. Grimm exactly as she’d done all these weeks.
Friendly, easy, and, most of all, touchless.
All the workplace boundaries back where they belonged.
By the time closing came around, everything would be back to normal.
Confidence restored, Luna finished her pin curls, picked up her candle, and moved to her bed. There she paused.
The pink unicorn sat on her pillow. Looking at her.
Its glass eyes gleamed with faint accusation.
Luna grimaced. Green Mother save her, she’d scarcely thought of John Ward since they parted ways at the festival gate!
Other than when Bryony brought him up, her thoughts were occupied elsewhere.
And yet she’d spent the entire day with him.
With the most beautiful man she’d ever set eyes on.
Surely that was worth a little pondering?
He’d not tried to kiss her. Luna didn’t know if she should be concerned by this or not.
At the time, it was something of a relief, especially after everything Bryony had implied.
But Ward had remained a perfect gentleman, simply saying, “Well, it’s been a real one, Luna Talbot.
G’night.” Then he’d touched his forehead in a two-finger salute, put both hands in his pockets, and begun to saunter away.
“Good luck on your assignment,” Luna had called after him.
He’d turned and walked backwards several paces, dimples flashing. “Don’t forget those prayers you promised. I’m gonna need them!”
She’d laughed and assured him she wouldn’t forget.
Then he was gone. With no promise to look her up when he got back, no direct indication that he might want to see her again.
Was she . . . disappointed? Not particularly.
After all, she’d seen that image in his teacup clear as day.
Unless her Sight was disastrously off-kilter, she didn’t doubt her path would be drawn back to that of the handsome wardsman sooner or later.
Apparently they had a date with destiny.
“So don’t look at me like that,” she muttered to the pink unicorn, who gazed up at her with silent indictment. “It’s not like I’m going to forget him in the next couple of weeks, am I? Not with you here, staring at me.”
With that, she tossed the stuffie to the foot of her bed. Slipping under her covers, she blew out her candle, tucked in tight against the cold, closed her eyes firmly.
And saw that look Mr. Grimm gave her in the nurse’s pavilion.
As though whatever she’d just said was a revelation.
Or rather, as though she herself was the revelation.
As though, when he looked at her, the sun rose inside the darkness of his mind, briefly banishing all haunting shadows.
Luna gritted her teeth. Very softly, as though afraid Auntie Apolonia’s sharp ears would hear her all the way across the channel, she whispered, “Damn.” Then, flushing with embarrassment, she bit her tongue and said a prayer of penance to the Green Mother.