There you are!
Lifting the soft white tablecloth, Luna peered into the shadowy space beneath just in time to spy a little flash of green and purple disappearing behind a table leg.
Even without that glimpse, a trail of potting soil would have given away the hiding spot.
She had followed that trail from the large display in the middle of the table, all the way through a forest of crystal and fine cutlery, over the far edge, and now underneath.
Her prey was not fast and couldn’t get far.
On her hands and knees, Luna crawled under the table in pursuit, trying not to think about what an undignified position she was in.
The tablecloth slipped down behind her, creating a sort of tent.
A very posh tent, in a very posh setting.
The floor underneath her palms was gleaming parquet, and the table itself was a polished oak Chippenham, not some cheap fold-out affair.
But then, one must expect the finest of everything in The King’s Crown banqueting hall.
One did not expect blossoms from the centerpieces to make sudden breaks for freedom, however.
“Come on out, sweetheart,” Luna soothed. She leaned onto her elbows and inched toward the support beam in the center of the heavy table, carved in the graceful lines of a lyre. “You don’t need to be frightened.”
A series of small, purple faces peered out from behind the wooden lyre then vanished again in a blink.
“It’s only for a little while, I promise,” Luna persisted.
“You look so lovely in that display with the lisianthus. Everyone will be delighted to see you, I’m sure!
Then, at the end of the day, I swear I’ll come back for you.
I’ll bring you home to the shop, and you’ll have quite the adventure to share with all the other flowers. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
The little purple faces appeared again, framed by trembling leaves.
Luna had expressed her doubts when Miss Eugenia Lambert had declared her desire to have violets and lisianthus prominently featured in the floral arrangements for her wedding reception at The King’s Crown.
For one thing, both were such small blossoms, it was difficult to weave them in naturally with the more ostentatious peonies and severely elegant calla lilies.
But Miss Lambert had been so adamant in her wishes, and Luna had promised to do what she could to make it happen.
This wedding was such an unexpectedly large commission for The Arcane Bouquet—their first big, bougie event, with fantastic potential for advertising to a new, high-end clientele.
If they could pull off all the florals needed for such a last-minute production, it would go a long way toward establishing their Reputation in Society. That had to be a good thing, right?
After all, Mr. Grimm was going to need all the business he could get in the coming months. Since he wouldn’t be offering teas much longer.
Luna closed her eyes and gave her head a quick shake, right there underneath the Chippenham table.
She’d spent the better part of the last four weeks refusing to allow herself to think about her imminent departure.
Now, with that departure a mere three days hence, she must fight more than ever not to think about it.
It certainly wouldn’t do any good to dwell on it now, not with a distressed violet in need of comforting.
“Come on, sweetness,” Luna crooned, sliding her hand gently across the floor. “Let me get you back into your display with all your friends. You’ll feel better tucked in with the lisianthus.”
The timid plant crept out from behind the decorative lyre, the expression on its several purple faces faintly resentful.
But it coiled its little roots around Luna’s fingers and came to nestle in her palm.
Luna sat up, her head bent awkwardly under the table, and pressed the little bundle of leaves and blossoms gently to her heart, closing her eyes.
“It’s a big day for you, I know,” she murmured.
“And I don’t blame you for feeling nervous.
But you’re not alone, remember. The lisianthus is with you, not to mention the calla lilies and those big, strong peonies.
They’ll keep an eye on you. Before you know it, the evening will be over, and I’ll be back to fetch you home. ”
While the floral displays belonged to the Lambert family, to be distributed as they wished following the reception banquet, Luna didn’t think they would begrudge her reclaiming one small violet from the bunch.
She’d have to crash the reception, of course, but surely she could manage that without too much difficulty.
Miss Eugenia had originally wanted Luna to attend as a guest in any case.
“After all,” she’d declared with an emphatic press of one fist to her flat breast, “I owe everything to you!”
This statement, however passionately delivered, was not the truth.
While Miss Eugenia continued to cherish the belief that the flowers Luna had recommended for her to wear to the Duchess of Kinsley’s assembly last summer had boasted magical properties, igniting desire in the heart of the man who was about to become her husband .
. . they were, in fact, simply flowers. Very fine, fresh, beautiful flowers, grown in Garden’s profoundly magical soil, yes.
But still just flowers. It was Eugenia alone who had attracted her doting lover.
Well, Eugenia and the steel fortune bestowed upon her by a generous and conveniently-deceased godfather.
Luna’s brows puckered as she crouched under the table, cradling the little violet.
Though she knew it wasn’t her business, she couldn’t help the worry gnawing inside her at the prospect of this rushed marriage.
The last time she’d spoken with Miss Eugenia on the subject, the girl had been torn between two suitors—one titled, the other penniless, both of whom claimed to adore her.
Both of whom had been struck by sudden-onset adoration following her unexpected inheritance.
Over a rather confusing Double Jeopardy tea reading, Luna had advised the young miss to be cautious, to wait, and not to marry either suitor in haste.
It had come as some surprise when Miss Eugenia had showed up on the doorstep of The Arcane Bouquet a mere two weeks ago to order the bounteous florals for her wedding.
But who was Luna to question the choices of a steel heiress?
She was just a tea witch. And not even that for much longer. What did she know?
The violet seemed to have calmed down, its trembling reduced to nothing more than the occasional small quiver.
“All right,” Luna murmured. Still holding it gently with one hand, she angled herself back onto her knees and began to scoot out from under the table.
“Here we go. Let’s get you back into your—”
“Miss Talbot?”
Luna’s head jerked up, connecting with the lip of the table. “Ouch!” She hissed through her teeth. “Oh, Green Mother!”
Embarrassment mingled with the pain flooding her awareness.
What a ridiculous sight she must look, with her bum and work boots sticking out from under the tablecloth.
Hastily, she shuffled the rest of the way out, the linen cloth pulling at her hair and tumbling several frizzy curls over her nose.
She sat back on her heels, peering up through those curls into the sad blue eyes of her employer.
Mr. Grimm stood over her, an incredulous expression on his face.
He supported a large floral display in his arms—the very last of the arrangements hauled up to the banquet room from the hotel parking garage below.
Though he wore his green bib apron over his shirt, he somehow contrived to look quite natural in this ostentatious setting, beneath glittering chandeliers and surrounded by fine porcelain.
But that was just Mr. Grimm’s natural elegance for you.
His shirtsleeves were rolled up to the elbows, displaying his nicely toned forearms, which strained somewhat to support that heavy pot of peonies and lilies.
His hair was pomaded, of course, but the exertions of the last several hours had knocked a lock loose to flop over his forehead in that ever-so tantalizing way that was enough to drive Luna nearly batty with the urge to run her fingers through it.
She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, hating her traitorous stomach for the sudden infusion of butterflies careening around inside.
“What are you doing down there?” Mr. Grimm asked, his posh voice limned with bafflement.
Luna glanced down at the violet in her hands. “We had a runaway,” she said and held up the little plant for him to see. “Someone’s feeling a bit shy.”
Mr. Grimm’s eyebrows puckered. He set aside the heavy floral arrangement then stepped gracefully forward to crouch in front of Luna and the violet. One elbow resting on his knee, wrist limp, he held out the other hand. “Does she need to come home with us?” he asked.
Immediately, the violet extended its roots, undulating from Luna’s grasp to Mr. Grimm’s, and .
. . oh! Gracious Mother preserve her, but Luna’s heart positively wrung at the sight.
There was just something so completely overwhelming about seeing this man—this man whom she knew to possess powers far greater and more terrible than anything she’d ever dared imagine—look with such genuine tenderness at this little violet.
As though it was the most important thing, as though it really mattered to him.
His face was so gentle, so nurturing. So sweet and kind and all the lovely things he simply was.
And his words, spoken in that painfully beautiful voice of his which never failed to turn her insides to butter, seemed to echo in the hollow of Luna’s chest: Home with us.
As though The Arcane Bouquet were her home as well.
As though it ever could be.