Chapter 8
The tea was off.
Luna took a slow sip, eyes closed. And grimaced.
Something wasn’t quite right. Yes, the pot had been primed.
The water level inside was correct. The brew time had been exact.
And sure, she’d only just poured out her serving when Mr. Grimm’s voice had startled her with news that Ward had come to see her, obliging her to cover the cup with the saucer to keep the heat from escaping while she went and dealt with the situation.
But that shouldn’t have affected the flavor.
No, no, there was something else. Something just on the edge of awareness.
“The dibble-dab,” she muttered, glaring down into her cup. “He skipped the dibble-dab.”
And he’d done it on purpose. Luna knew it. For a fact. Because Mr. Grimm had brewed her ever-so-many pots of tea only two nights ago, when she’d stayed over. And every one of those had been practically perfect. But this?
This was a luckless brew.
With a frustrated huff of air through her lips, Luna marched to the sink, upended her cup, then grabbed the teapot and poured out its second serving as well.
Because, of course, Mr. Grimm had brewed up a double serving.
He never made tea for himself, only for the two of them.
Together. But he wasn’t sharing this pot with her.
For all she knew, they’d never share a spot of tea again. Not after what she’d made him do.
Her movements brisk and efficient, Luna set to work washing and rinsing both pot and cups and left both to dry on the draining board. She turned her attention then to the breakfast platter left by Mrs. Goddard. Her stomach turned over. There was no way she could eat. Not now.
“I suppose I’ll make up for it tonight,” she whispered. “Over dinner. At The King’s Crown.”
Biting her lip, Luna leaned against the counter.
She felt so heavy. Inexplicably so. Heavy in body.
Heavy in soul. That kind of sluggishness in the blood that afflicts one when the spirit is downcast. One of those deep heavinesses that makes one wonder if one will ever feel any other way, or if this is it now. This is life.
“You look like a girl in need of a good meal, a little wine, and a great deal of dancing,” Ward had said, grinning at her with both dimples at full charge. “What do you say we finally have that dinner tonight?”
Luna had felt her face smiling back, like it belonged to someone else.
Her lips had moved, prepared to turn him down.
After all, she had a perfectly valid reason, didn’t she?
“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t have dinner with you tonight, because my auntie died.
Last month.” Only, no matter how she’d turned the words around in her head, they sounded more excuse-like than reasonable.
If someone tried a line like that on her, she would think it was a put-off.
So, Luna had bitten her tongue and looked into Ward’s deep green eyes again.
The truth was there, hidden just on the other side of his smile: if she turned him down again, this was it.
He wasn’t going to keep chasing and chasing if she didn’t give him some sign that she wanted to be chased.
It was too much to ask of a man. He had his pride, after all.
But did she want to be chased? Well, maybe.
Or maybe she was simply too heavy to run anymore.
Either way, dinner with Ward was low stakes.
He was leaving on assignment. She wouldn’t have to see him again for a couple of weeks.
Plenty of time to figure out how she felt in the meantime. What was the worst that could happen?
“All right, Ward,” she’d said. “That sounds like fun.”
“And it will be fun,” she whispered to herself now, still gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “Ward is nice. You’ll have a good time.”
True, true, and true.
So why couldn’t she find a way to make herself feel a little more excited about it all?
Not quite properly braced for the day without a cup of tea in her, Luna returned to the shop floor, flipped the sign to OPEN, and greeted her first wave of customers.
They came and went in a steady stream, and she appreciated the busyness, which prevented her from dwelling too much on things.
On Auntie Apolonia, lying in her grave. On Arabella and Aurora, alone in Tealeaf Cottage without their big sister to watch over them.
On wondering where in the world she was going to get a dress appropriate for a date at a posh joint like The King’s Crown.
Most of all, Luna was glad to keep her mind too busy to think about what it felt like to snuggle into Nigel Grimm’s arms on a pile of quilts.
To feel the warmth of his embrace, the beat of his heart, the sureness and security and safety of his presence.
All of which had been so rudely shattered by that image of whorling anti-glitter and sorcerous terror.
Nope. She didn’t want to think about those things.
So she stayed busy. Right up until 2 o’clock, at which time she once again turned the sign on the front door to CLOSED and set about brewing a fresh pot of tea for her break. Her solitary break, apparently. There was still no sign of Mr. Grimm.
“I don’t suppose you want a cuppa?” she inquired of Debbie.
The raven gave her a long look down her beak.
“Didn’t think so.” Luna sighed. She brewed up a pot of bitter taerel and drank it without milk or sugar, seated in the counter nook beside the little stove.
She was just finishing up and moving to carry her cup and pot back to the kitchen, when Garden’s door opened and closed.
She listened to the sound of Mr. Grimm’s footsteps in the passage.
Her stomach tied itself into a little knot.
Debbie muttered and fluffed her wings, and all the flowers in the shop perked up their pretty heads and turned this way, like a bunch of gossipmongers, eager for fodder.
Luna scowled around at the lot of them. “Mind your own business,” she muttered.
They waggled their leaves and fluttered their petals and showed no signs of shame whatsoever.
Luna faced the passage again. Of course it was going to be weird, interacting with Mr. Grimm after the events of yesterday morning.
Any chance there ever was of the two of them getting back to a comfortable footing was now gone.
And after witnessing his use of Dark Sorcery in such a shocking manner .
. . Green Mother spare her, she should have cut and run!
But she couldn’t run now. Not when he’d sworn the Sovereign Troth, handing over command of his magic into her keeping. That was a responsibility she dared not take lightly.
She could hear him washing up in the kitchen.
Any moment, he would appear, make a dash for the back stairs to hurry up to the bathroom, where he’d freshen himself up after hours of whatever-it-was-he-did out there in Garden all day.
The strenuous activities which always left him such a mess of sweat and dirt and raw sexual appeal . . .
Luna closed her eyes and bit down hard on both lips.
Footsteps again. The opening and closing of the kitchen door.
He was coming. Luna drew her shoulders back, schooled her face into serene lines, and waited for her employer to appear.
He did the next moment—head down, sweaty shirt unbuttoned, hair falling over his eyes.
He didn’t look her way, but darted for the stairwell, just as she’d known he would.
“Mr. Grimm?” Luna called out crisply.
He stopped. She could almost swear she heard a very softly muttered, “Damn.” Then he turned to face her, his own expression a mirror of hers. Blank.
“I was wondering,” she continued, “if . . . if I might take the rest of the day off?”
Her employer’s brow puckered. He glanced swiftly at the clock. It wasn’t quite 2:15.
“Only,” Luna continued in a rush, “I have a dinner date with John Ward at five. He’s off on assignment, and he’s got to catch the nine o’clock express tonight.
He’s not sure how long he’ll be away, so it’s an early dinner or .
. . or nothing.” She stopped. After all, Mr. Grimm didn’t need the whole rundown, did he?
His eyes flashed to meet hers, then darted away again almost immediately.
As though he really could not bear the sight of her, which, well, how could she blame him?
She’d put him in such an embarrassing and ridiculous position the other night.
Asking him to hold her in the dark like that.
Then all but begging him to kiss her, to .
. . to possibly more than kiss her. Since when had she lost all sense of decorum?
And on the night she’d learned of Auntie Apolonia’s passing too!
He must think her a wanton flirt without heart or conscience.
But at least now he knew she wasn’t seriously throwing herself at him. Because she had a beau. Of sorts. Whatever Ward was.
“Of course, Miss Talbot,” Mr. Grimm answered at last. He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck and cleared his throat rather aggressively. “Will you, erm. Will you wait until I’ve had a chance to freshen up?”
“Naturally,” she assented.
And she did not watch him as he slipped away.
Nor did she let her mind linger on the sight of him, all messy and disheveled, which always seemed to do something so strange to her innards.
She wouldn’t think about him, she wouldn’t look at him, and she absolutely wouldn’t let her mind go back to that moment behind the counter.
To the feeling of his chest pressed against hers.
Of his hand in her hair, the sudden clenching of his fingers, the delirious pain and expectation and heat.
The latent smolder in his voice when he’d growled, “What kind of villain would I have to be to . . .”
Nope.
She wasn’t thinking about any of that.
Luna flipped the sign back to OPEN and smiled brightly at the first customer who stepped through. “Welcome to The Arcane Bouquet! Is there anything I can help you with this afternoon?”
Mr. Grimm returned before she’d quite finished seeing to this customer’s needs.
He appeared from the stairwell, his hair perfectly coiffed, his suit neat and fitted, cufflinks glinting at his wrists.
He stepped behind the counter where Luna was wrapping up a bouquet, and her nostrils filled with a scent of sandalwood and cinnamon, which made her knees feel like rubber.
“Has this gentleman ordered a tea-scrying?” Mr. Grimm asked quietly, murmuring the words close to her ear.
Her skin prickled. Luna shook her head, not quite trusting her voice. She swallowed and managed a low, “No, just this bundle of peonies and ranunculus.”
He nodded. “I can take over. If you want to get going.”
“It’s all right, I’ll finish.”
“Really, it’s no trouble.”
He reached out, hand trembling, and took the floral shears from her.
His fingers brushed hers, and she hoped to all the gods he didn’t feel the little shock of heat which roared up her skin at that fleeting instant of contact.
He looked her in the eye, and his gaze was steady, firm.
“Go on,” he said. “Have a nice time with Officer Ward tonight.”
Luna found herself searching for something in those sad blue eyes. She couldn’t even say what it was she sought, just . . . something. But he was so closed off, so distant. He stood as near to her as he ever had, and yet he might as well be a thousand miles away.
Realizing she needed to say something, Luna cleared her throat and blurted, “You too.” Then she frowned. “Um. That is, not with Officer Ward. Have a good night, I mean. With, um, Debbie.”
Before she could make herself any more ridiculous, she whirled about-face, yanked off her apron, grabbed her coat and hat, and didn’t even bother to don them before fleeing the shop.
She hastened across Addle Street and down the far sidewalk, around the bend onto Nettleton Lane.
Only there did she stop, lean her back against the brick wall, hit the heel of her hand against her forehead, and snarl, “Gods blighting drat it!”
She remained like so for some little while, oblivious to the cold or to the curious gazes of passersby. In the end, however, she pulled on her coat, fingers shivering so hard, she struggled to do up the buttons. Then, turning up her collar, Luna set out for the long, long walk home.