Chapter 20
Luna hurried as fast as she could down the snow-mounded sidewalk, her boots making short, shuffling movements, leaving little trenches in her wake.
She was not convinced she’d make it to The Arcane Bouquet before her feet positively dropped from the ends of her legs.
Perhaps they already had . . . who could say?
They’d become such ice blocks, and she’d long since lost any sensation in her toes.
She couldn’t manage to spare the street fiddler a smile.
How did he keep on playing in such bitter weather?
She began to suspect the man had fairy blood, for nothing, absolutely nothing seemed to put him off from his solemnly ordained task of filling Addle Street with music.
He grinned at her as usual and started up a quick little jig-like clip in time with her shuffling feet, as though to coax her on her way.
Snow came down in thick, fluffy clumps, which accumulated densely on the frozen pavement.
The only advantage to this was the reduction in daily traffic.
With far fewer automagic mobiles on the road, Luna didn’t have to wait long for a gap to cross Addle and hasten under the flower shop’s awning.
There she found the little metal tables so piled in snow, one couldn’t tell what they actually were.
She didn’t bother sweeping them off; it’s not as though anyone would be sitting outside today.
Her fingers were too numb to work her key into the door lock. She tried three times, almost dropping the key into the snow, before giving up at last. She pounded on the door with the flat palm of her mittened hand. “Mr. Grimm!” she shouted through chattering teeth. “Open up, will you, please?”
Her employer appeared on the other side of the glass a moment later, his face lined with concern.
He opened the door just as a particularly cruel blast of wind and snow hit Luna from behind, knocking her over the threshold.
She staggered into the shop, and it felt absolutely heavenly warm after her icy garret room and the street outside. Like a greenhouse!
“Miss Talbot,” Mr. Grimm said, pushing the door shut against the wind and locking it. It was still half an hour until opening time. “Are you quite all right?”
“Not quite!” Luna admitted, shaking snow from her hair.
She stomped her way across the shop and ducked behind the counter into the nook.
Oh, thank the Green Mother, Mr. Grimm already had the fire going in the little stove!
Luna didn’t even bother to strip off her jacket; she wasn’t convinced her numb fingers could work the buttons anyway.
She simply plunked down in the chair and held out her hands to the heat.
Feeling started to return, and oh, dratted hecks, but it hurt.
She gritted her teeth against far fouler curses piling up on her tongue.
Mr. Grimm appeared in the nook, silently took the kettle, filled it at the trimming sink, and popped it on the stovetop. Bless the man! “What tea are you craving this morning?” he inquired.
“Oh, on mornings like this, there’s only one tea I want!
” Luna replied, rubbing her aching fingers together fast. “And, before you ask, it’s nothing to do with cinnamon, apple, pumpkin spices, or peppermint!
No, no. Just a nice, dark orange llarmi.
With a dab of milk and a spoonful of sugar, thanks. ”
Nigel nodded and slipped back to the kitchen, while Luna concentrated on the feeling returning to her digits and nose. Now . . . she winced. Now she had her toes to deal with.
Grimacing, she hiked one foot up over her knee.
Her fingers were still kind of numb, but she managed to undo the laces and pry the boot off.
Then, reaching inside, she pulled out chunks of absolutely sodden cardboard.
No use trying to dry those out—she tossed them into the stove’s burning heart, before setting her shoe on the open stove door.
Then she set to work pulling off the second boot.
Mr. Grimm returned with tea things to the nook just as she unrolled a wet stocking from one foot.
She heard him utter a little choking sound behind her, and cringed.
How very uncouth he must think her, stripping off stockings and showing her bare feet like this.
And oh! how ghastly her feet looked, all blue-toed with cold.
Luna hastily pulled her skirt down over her knees. “Sorry, Mr. Grimm,” she said, not quite daring to look round at him. “I’m quite soaked, I’m afraid. May I just dry my stockings for a moment? Before I put my boots back on?”
“Of course,” he answered, his voice a little tight. He cleared his throat and added, “You’ve dried a lot more than that in the past, Miss Talbot.”
She grinned up at him then, even as a flush tinged her cheeks. “Well, I’ve no need to borrow your dressing gown today, thank goodness!”
“No,” he acknowledged. His gaze flicked to her bare feet and away again swiftly. “But perhaps a pair of socks?”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Oh, Mr. Grimm, you’re too kind!”
He ducked his head and darted up to his apartment. While he was on this errand, Luna took the opportunity to hunt around the counter nook. She found a set of boxes meant for the transportation of bouquets. The lid of one was rather bent; Mr. Grimm wouldn’t mind if she confiscated it, surely.
Fetching both lid and scissors, she set to work cutting strips from the cardboard.
Mr. Grimm returned just as she began. He offered her a pair of woolen socks, gifts from Mrs. Goddard, unless Luna missed her guess.
She’d learned a thing or two about his landlady’s unique generosity.
These socks were surely knitted with loving care and featured little holly berries and leaves around the top and heel.
“I’ve never worn them,” Mr. Grimm said rather dryly.
“What?” Luna grinned. “No holly on the door nor on the feet?”
“Hardly.”
“Pity. They’re just what you need to get you in the festive spirit!
” She pulled the socks on. They were much too large for her and came nearly up to her knees.
But they were so blessedly warm, she wished she might ditch her own much-darned stockings for the rest of the day and simply pad around in Mr. Grimm’s borrowed pair.
Somehow she didn’t think that would look right to their customer base, however. And what would Mrs. Goddard think?
This sobering thought in mind, Luna set back to work cutting her strips of cardboard. Mr. Grimm watched her silently until she began to stuff the cardboard into her boots. Then he said abruptly, “Miss Talbot, you are in grave need of new shoes.”
“Don’t I know it!” Luna sighed. “I’ve been trying for weeks now to save up enough, but it’s nearly impossible.
Mrs. Boggs keeps upping her prices on everything.
Now it costs half again as much rent as usual, just to get a little heat up to our attic room twice a day!
” Following this most recent price-hike, Luna’s savings had been reduced to mere pennies.
She’d been obliged to delve into her shoe-stash several times.
“I’ve been down to the chantry house on Giltspur,” she continued sadly.
“Checking the donation barrels, you know. Nothing, so far, has come anywhere close to fitting me. One wouldn’t think a size seven would be so rare a find.
I’d be happy to squeeze into a size six or flop around in size eight as well.
But they’ve only had worn-out men’s work boots for weeks now. And don’t think I haven’t tried them!”
Mr. Grimm listened solemnly, a stern line settling between his brows.
Then he turned and pretended to read the logbook, not very successfully.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said at length, turning pages at random, back and forth, “I might just pay you a holiday bonus. You’ve been working extra hard, and—”
“No, Mr. Grimm,” Luna said firmly. “I know the shop is doing much better these days, but we’re certainly not at holiday bonus status.”
“Well, then, perhaps an advance on next month’s salary—”
“And what would I do when next month rolled round, hmmm?” Luna shook her head. “Every penny is accounted for, I’m afraid. You might as well hold onto it until then.”
Mr. Grimm rolled his jaw in thought. “There’s the tip jar. You could have that, and—”
“I don’t think they’re selling boots for buttons and half-sucked peppermints.” Luna laughed bitterly and tested her stockings. They were still quite damp but so thin, so pitifully thin. They might just be dry before opening.
The kettle whistled. Mr. Grimm moved to pour, but Luna hopped up.
“No, no! I’ll get it.” She poured hot water into the teapot he’d prepared, first peeking to check the proportion of tea leaves within.
Mr. Grimm had learned to make a decent orange llarmi over the last few months.
Satisfied, she covered the pot with both lid and tea cozy.
“Six minutes to brew,” she declared, catching her employer’s eye.
“Shall I fetch those poinsettias for the front table while we wait?”
Just as she spoke, sounds of a clatter erupted from the kitchen. “How about you see to Mrs. Goddard?” Mr. Grimm suggested. “I’ll deal with the poinsettias.”
Luna knew what he was doing—giving her opportunity to eat his breakfast. Again.
For the most part, she’d gotten over her guilt, and she and Mr. Grimm had come to a silent arrangement: she would eat half the meal and leave the rest for him.
They never discussed it. But she knew he wasn’t touching any of the meal if she didn’t eat first. If he knew she had eaten, however, he would finish what was left, and she hoped it was enough that he no longer needed to venture down to The Egg ‘n Spoon in the early hours of the morning.