Chapter 23
On the day before Green Yule’s Eve, Luna arrived at The Arcane Bouquet with but one purpose in mind.
She removed her hat and coat, hung them up on their pegs, and sat in the cane chair, drying her feet for some moments.
A roughness tickled the back of her throat, and she coughed into her arm a few times.
That wasn’t a good sign, but she wasn’t overly worried.
She never got sick. Not really sick. Certainly not at Green Yule.
Not when there was so much that still needed doing.
“There’s no putting it off any longer, Mr. Grimm,” she said, turning in the chair to look at her boss, who was busy going over the books. “We’ve got to have a Winter’s Heart Tree.”
He looked at her from under his brow, his expression long-suffering. “Must we?”
“We must,” she answered firmly. “Garden has grown one and left it just outside the boiler room door. You can’t miss it the instant you step outside. If you won’t bring it in and decorate it like you’re meant to, Garden will be deeply offended, and I won’t be held accountable for the consequences.”
Mr. Grimm opened his mouth to speak some lame protest, only to cut off abruptly as he lunged for his long-handled pruning shears.
The next instant, he sprang up onto the counter, quite nimble for a man in a waistcoat and cufflinks, and stabbed aggressively at the ceiling, knocking one of the thaumatic light bulbs swinging.
All to no avail; the mistletoe, much too quick for him, scurried quickly along a pipe and out of sight.
Puffing with effort, Mr. Grimm climbed back down again.
His face was flushed, and that rebellious lock of hair flopped over his forehead.
But he set the shears down, smoothed his hair back, and straightened his tie.
“Very well, Miss Talbot,” he said calmly, as though he hadn’t just behaved like a complete maniac and all was as it should be.
“I will bring the tree in. But I will not be roped into any trimming of boughs or decking of halls. Is that understood?”
“Aye aye, captain,” Luna grinned and offered a salute.
Mr. Grimm narrowed his eyes but turned heel and made his way out to Garden.
While she waited, Luna hastily replaced the wet cardboard in her shoes then set to work making certain all her teas were ready and waiting for the morning rush.
Mr. Grimm had added more cups and saucers, plus two more pots to their collection, to save a bit of time dishwashing in the middle of the day.
Of course, it only made for considerably more dishes to wash by the day’s end, but Luna’s job, at least, was easier.
She lined everything up, filled the sugar bowls, and placed all of the popular peppermint and cinnamon teas within grabbing range.
Now and then she stopped to cough into her arm.
Still rather a tight cough, not much more than a tickle, but .
. . blast it all, she didn’t have time for this nonsense!
All those walks back and forth from Mrs. Boggs’s in falling-apart boots were taking their toll, but she knew what to do.
Just as soon as she had a chance, she’d make herself a strong ginger tea, and that would fix everything.
There were still a few minutes until opening by the time Mr. Grimm hauled the tree in from Garden and affixed it to a stand.
Luna helped him place it in a position of prominence, right at the front of the shop.
It was quite a nice evergreen, a delightful Dudley Fir, and Garden had taken pains to grow it to the perfect size and shape.
“I’ve spoken to the double-delight,” Luna said as she fluffed out branches. “She has agreed to give up a couple of blooms to make for a lovely topper.”
“Really?” Mr. Grimm cast the rose a look of surprise. “Are you sure about that?”
“Oh, yes. She and I are quite chummy, you know.”
Her employer stood by as she bustled, arms crossed, a determinedly perturbed expression on his face. But he didn’t leave. He watched as Luna moved around the shop, fetching flowers and floral wire with which to rig up makeshift decorations.
“When I dressed the Winter’s Heart Tree with the aunties each year,” Luna said, “we always made dough ornaments out of flour and baking soda. We’d cut it into shapes—snowmen and trees and dozens of stars—and bake them in the oven.
They looked so much like cookies, and I was forever begging to try one!
Auntie Apolonia sternly forbade it, but I did sneak a bite once.
Ugh! Ghastly!” She made a face at the memory.
“Still, with a little bit of paint and a whole lot of glitter, they made for quite a cheerful tree.”
Mr. Grimm nodded solemnly, taking in this flood of information. “And will you bake ornaments for this tree?” he asked.
Luna shrugged. “There isn’t really time for it now. Maybe next year.”
Even as she spoke the words, however, a sudden sinking dragged at her gut.
The truth was, she wouldn’t be here next year.
She’d be lucky if she made it all the way to spring.
By the time another Green Yule rolled around, who knew where life would carry her?
Somewhere far from Ballycastle, far from The Arcane Bouquet, far from .
. . from . . . Debbie. And the double-delight. And everybody.
She cast a short glance up at Mr. Grimm.
He caught her eye, but looked away again quickly.
Did he guess what she was thinking? She hoped not.
It was best, she’d often found, if no one suspected.
Made things easier in the long run. She shook her head, stifled a cough in her arm, and forced a little good spirits back in place.
“This year,” she declared, “our Winter’s Heart Tree will just have to be decked with flowers.
Roses for the top, poinsettias for pops of color.
Maybe some holly berries on string. It’ll be pretty, Mr. Grimm. Wait and see.”
“I do not doubt your skill, Miss Talbot.”
Luna was still decorating the tree when the shop opened, and the first customers came through.
Mr. Grimm urged her to finish her task and went about taking tea orders and brewing up pots of tea on his own.
He’d become quite handy with it, Luna noted covertly from behind evergreen boughs.
She was summoned to perform the readings, of course—nothing too challenging, just little predictions.
“Don’t let Granny nip too much of the spiked eggnog, or else!”
“When your neighbor brings by a large fruitcake, be sure to accept it. It’s better than it looks.”
“Yes, there’s going to be a little ring box under the Winter’s Heart Tree on Green Yule morning, so best have an answer prepared.”
Little things. All sweet. Nothing ominous.
Nothing involving cake in the face.
Luna caught herself wondering, not for the first time, what had become of Mr. Grimm’s brother.
Had he met his predicted fate? Had Mr. Grimm, in fact, been the one to shove that glorious dessert into that offensive visage?
She longed to ask, but Mr. Grimm was so closed-mouthed about the whole affair.
When she questioned him discreetly on the subject, he only admitted that he met his brother for dinner three nights ago and insisted that Fabian Grimm would not be visiting the shop again anytime soon.
Which was good news as far as Luna was concerned.
Still, it was the sorry fate of a tea witch to rarely have a chance to see her predictions come true. In this instance, she would have taken great satisfaction in witnessing the vision’s fulfillment.
Halfway through the day, when a lull in customers gave her a free moment, Luna returned to the Winter’s Heart Tree to finish her decorating. As she stood on the stepstool to tuck poinsettias in among the higher branches, the mistletoe descended suddenly on its vine, dropping close to her shoulder.
“Don’t let Mr. Grimm catch you,” Luna whispered. She paused to cough into her elbow before continuing. “He’s quite determined to put an end to your shenanigans.”
The mistletoe fluttered its leaves at her.
“Oh, I know! You mean well.” Luna reached out and touched the tip of her finger to one white berry reassuringly.
“It’s all in good fun, and folks are quite enjoying it.
But you’ve caused him heartache in the past. Unless you find a way to make up for it, I don’t think he’s forgiving you anytime soon. ”
The little plant ball seemed to consider this.
Then it ascended its vine once more, vanishing among the pipework.
Seeking new unwary souls in which to ignite sudden romance, no doubt.
Luna wished it well in its endeavors. She’d quite enjoyed watching more than one happy pair of strangers leave arm-in-arm with an unexpected warmth sprung between them.
The idea of love-at-first-sight had always appealed to her, and she was ready to believe a true connection might be struck into existence by a single mistletoe-kiss.
“It’s a lovely thought, anyway,” she murmured.
Another cough stopped her short, and a poinsettia fell from her hands to the floor.
When the fit had passed, she stepped down from the ladder to retrieve the blossom, but paused.
Was that a brown paper parcel, tucked under the Winter’s Heart Tree?
When had it gotten there? Kneeling, Luna reached underneath the low-hung boughs and withdrew the little box, which was tied with a bit of floral string.
There was a card attached. She flipped it over and read: To Miss Luna Talbot.
It was signed: From the Green Mother.