Chapter 25 #2
“I’m sure she’ll be along soon,” Nigel said, turning to the wardsman once more. “You can . . .” He hesitated but forced the words out from his suddenly-tightened throat. “You can wait for her. If you like.”
Ward’s mouth twisted ruefully. “Can’t wait, I’m afraid.
It’s Green Yule’s Eve. I’m off for home on the next train.
Got to go see the old mam and all. But I hoped to speak to Luna before I left.
You see . . .” He ran a hand down the back of his neck, looking unexpectedly chagrinned. “She stood me up last night.”
A wash of heat rolled through Nigel’s veins, followed by a rush of ice. “She what?”
“Yeah. I was taking her out for dinner. We were supposed to meet at Huck ‘n Clover’s. I wandered up and down the aisles for a good two hours, but she never showed.”
“That . . . doesn’t sound like her.”
“That’s what I thought. I mean, a girl’s got a right to break a date if she wants to.
But I would have thought she’d at least send a note or something.
” Ward’s brow wrinkled, and he pushed his cap back so that his dark curl was free to bob as it liked.
He looked properly concerned. “You haven’t heard anything, have you? ”
Nigel shook his head.
“Well.” Ward shrugged. “I won’t chase after her if she doesn’t like it. But if you see her, tell her I’ll stop by when I get back. Just to make sure she’s all right. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? There’s a chum.”
“Yes,” Nigel agreed. “Yes, I’ll . . . I’ll tell her.”
Ward took a last look back into the shop, as though he expected to see Luna hidden somewhere behind pots and plants. Then he shrugged again. “See you around, mate.” With that, he strolled down the snowy sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind, the picture of dejection.
Nigel closed the door. Locked it.
Stood a long moment, staring at the latch.
Debbie, murmuring, finally nipped his ear and succeeded in startling him back to the present. “Do you think she’s avoiding us?” Nigel asked, turning to look at the bird.
She ruffled her feathers.
“She wouldn’t just disappear.”
“Never mind?”
“No. No, I’m sure she wouldn’t. She’d give notice at least.” He forced out a little huff of air, like a laugh. “It’s fifteen minutes. That’s all. Anything might have happened to keep her.”
But the fact that she’d broken her date with Ward . . . without any excuse, without a note . . .
Deep in thought, Nigel drifted back across the shop floor, bypassing the poinsettias, who waved their leaves at him, wondering where the rest of their morning drink was. Leaving the watering can abandoned, he made his way to the counter nook. There he took a seat in the cane chair.
And watched the clock.
It ticked on.
To 8:50.
8:55.
Rather absently, Nigel rose, fetched the kettle, filled it. Put it on the burner. Prepared a pot of orange llarmi. Luna would want a cup when she arrived. Didn’t she say that’s what she craved on cold days like this?
8:58.
9:00.
Opening time. And no sign of her.
The regular morning queue gathered on the sidewalk outside, stamping their cold feet and swinging their arms to keep the blood moving. Someone tapped on the glass.
Nigel didn’t so much as turn to look. He sat back in the nook, listening to the kettle boil but not really hearing it. He rubbed his carefully-scraped chin contemplatively.
She wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Surely. Quit the shop and flee, all because of a . . . a kiss? Not even a kiss. Just a misunderstanding, really.
But it wasn’t the kiss that was the problem.
It was what he’d done after.
“You scared her,” he whispered. Passing a hand down his face, he pulled at his mouth. “Oh gods. You frightened the poor girl. Now she thinks that you . . . that I . . . expect something from her. That she’s not safe here with me.”
She was so vulnerable. Alone in this big city. What was she to do if her boss—the man she worked with day after day, all alone—proved untrustworthy?
“Now look at you!” Fabian’s voice growled in his memory. “Proprietor of a little tea shop, shagging the shop girl in the hall closet while the kettle boils over.”
The comment had come far too close to depicting any number of secretly-held and carefully-suppressed but never fully-conquered fantasies. Everything Nigel knew he should not feel and absolutely could never act upon.
Only he’d almost let it all out. Right there. Behind the counter.
Over a stupid clump of mistletoe.
Nigel stood abruptly, knocking the cane chair over.
He jerked the whistling kettle off the burner and set it down hard.
Then, turning, he paced behind the counter, running his hands through his hair.
“She’s gone,” he muttered. “She’s gone. You frightened her away.
You idiot. You absolute damnable fool. You—”
A little scrap of paper on the counter caught his eye. He recognized Luna’s large, loopy handwriting. Heart jolting, he dove for it, snatched it up in a trembling hand. Was it a note? Perhaps of farewell? A hastily scrawled notice, left behind before she walked out yesterday?
Instead he saw: No. 27 Bootblack Alley, Lower Eastside, Ballycastle. Garret.
An address.
Her address.
Well, technically Bryony’s, but they were roommates, so . . .
“I’ve got to find her.” Nigel looked up, catching Debbie’s eye. “I’ve got to apologize. I’ve got to make things right. I’ve got to—”
By this time, he was already scrambling for his coat, hat, and scarf.
He forgot his gloves in his hurry, but his hands probably trembled too much to get them on in any case.
He stuffed the paper in his pocket, turned again to Debbie, and pointed a finger at her beak.
“Watch over everything until I get back.”
He leapt out from behind the counter, took three strides toward the door. And saw the customers lined up outside, cupping their faces as they peered through the windows. Nigel grimaced.
Then he turned on heel, retreated into the passage, and made his escape through the alley.