Chapter 29 #2
The door slammed in his face. There was a moment of silence. Then Luna listened to the sound of his footsteps, retreating down the narrow stair.
When he had gone from the stairwell and progressed into the passage below, Bryony turned to Luna and threw up her hands.
“Well!” she cried. “Isn’t that something?
‘Don’t worry about the expense,’ my very fine arse!
Tell me, Lunaloo, what exactly do you do for that man in your little tea shop all day? ”
“It’s a flower shop,” Luna murmured. She smoothed the blankets on her lap with both hands. “I’m a shop girl, Bryony. I serve the customers. I care for the flowers. I sweep up a bit. That’s all.”
“Oh, that’s all?” Bryony snorted, making her way back across the room to her own bed, frowning when she found it stripped.
She turned a narrow look Luna’s way. “I’ve had curmudgeonly bosses over the years, and I’ve had pervy bosses over the years.
I’ve worked under curmudgeonly perverts and perverted curmudgeons, and not one of them was going to drop everything on Green Yule’s Eve to come nurse me through pneumonia!
Certainly not without expecting a little something back. ”
Luna flushed so warm, she half-wondered if her fever had returned. “It’s not like that,” she protested. “Mr. Grimm doesn’t feel that way about me.”
“You quite sure about that?”
“Yes. In fact . . .” Her stomach tightened, and she smoothed a little harder at non-existent wrinkles in her blankets. “In fact, he was asking about you. Recently.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Pull the other one. It’s got bells on.”
“I’m serious!” Luna persisted. “He said you made an impression on him at Saint Jollify’s. Asked if you were seeing someone and everything!”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him you weren’t stepping out with any one in particular.”
Bryony snorted. “Right. Good on you, Lunaloo.” She glanced back at the door, her eyes narrowing again. Then: “If you swear you’re not having me on—”
“I swear I’m not!”
“—then why hasn’t he done anything about it? Hmmm? It’s been over a month since Saint Jollify.”
“Well, he’s . . . shy.”
Luna looked down at her hands and smiled a little.
Memory of the first time she’d met her boss came back to her: all that awkward stammering, as though he’d never tried to carry on a conversation with a woman before!
Not at all like the man she now knew. Who could have guessed then at his dry sense of humor?
His wit, his unique brand of charm that was so very un-charming and yet rather adorable in its way.
A charismatic powerhouse he was not, but he had his own subtle magnetism, which drew one to him, made one feel glad to be in his atmosphere.
She cleared her throat. “I would imagine he’s a bit of a slow mover.”
Bryony snorted. “Well, I don’t have time for tortoises.
Not when there’s so many delightful hares to be had!
” She looked at the door again, twisting her mouth contemplatively to one side.
“He is very cute, though.” Pursing her lips, she turned to Luna and fixed her with a too-insightful gaze. “What about you?”
“What about me?” Luna asked innocently.
“What do you think of your Mr. Grimm?”
“Oh!” Another flood of heat to the cheeks.
Luna found herself flashing back to that moment behind the counter.
To that not-a-kiss. And the far more fiery moment which followed, when Mr. Grimm grabbed her arm, when he pulled her back, when he gazed deep into her eyes, and his lips hovered so near to hers . . .
She gave her head a little shake. “I think very highly of him. He’s been good to me. Just like a . . . a brother.”
“A brother?”
“Yes. A brother,” Luna repeated firmly. “Nigel Grimm is like my kindly, considerate, and”—she snorted softly, her lips twisting in a little smile—“rather stuffy older brother.”
The words had no sooner left her mouth when there was a knock on the door. Luna and Bryony exchanged glances. “Go away, Mrs. Boggs!” Bryony shouted.
A pause. Then another, tentative knock. Not at all Mrs. Boggs-like.
With a huff, Bryony rose from her bed, crossed the room, and flung the door open. To reveal Mr. Grimm. Standing there at the top of the steps. Very pale. Hollow-eyed.
Very much not looking Luna’s way.
“Pardon me,” he said softly with a little clearing of his throat. “I seem to have left my overcoat.”
“Oh, have you now?” Bryony turned and cast about the room.
She spied the overcoat where it lay on the floor, having been knocked there when the chair on which it was draped had overturned.
Bryony swept it up and handed it to him.
“Anything else you need?” she asked, lounging against the doorframe, angling her hips and arching her back rather more than she had a moment before.
Her voice could only be described as coy.
“No,” Mr. Grimm replied in monotone. “Thank you.” He turned to go. Paused. Almost looked back. Then he covered a cough in his sleeve and, with a short shake of his head, disappeared down the stairs.
Bryony lingered, fist planted on a still-cocked hip, watching him go.
“And Merry Green Yule to you, Mr. Grimm!” she called after him, to no response.
With a sigh, she shut the door, then turned back to Luna, shaking her head.
“Slow mover my foot. If that man moves any slower, he’ll be going backwards! ”
Luna couldn’t answer. She stared down at her hands. For some reason she couldn’t explain, she heard a voice in her head. A low, uncertain voice, murmuring the words of the old hymn: “Like a whisper of love, a gleam of light hails the hope of dawning day.”
Two tears escaped, racing tracks down her cheeks. But Luna sniffed and hastily dashed them away.