Chapter 13
Luna’s heart pounded against her breastbone as she scrambled out from under the table.
Her knees caught and pulled at the end of her long green apron, but she yanked it out of the way, taking care not to crush the violets hastily stuffed into her pockets, and continued crawling as fast as she could, right across the parquet floor to the far wall.
There she sat upright and leaned her back against the wainscoting.
Mr. Grimm followed in her wake. But she wouldn’t look at him.
Her gaze focused absolutely anywhere else.
On Mrs. Lambert, seated at a nearby table, raising a wine flute and loudly demanding a refill.
On her mousy husband, diving to intercept the oncoming waiter.
On Tom Doorhandler, who’d apparently decided not to pass up the opportunity of a free luncheon, and sat glumly consoling himself over a sumptuous plate of lambchops.
And on the spurned Duke of Woolfwood, who even now danced with Miss Tuttlemouse in her purple bridesmaid’s dress, both of them looking rather pleased with the situation.
And all the while, the crooner sang on:
“If only you’d see, beneath layers of time,
The love that I carry, a bittersweet rhyme.
But dreams slip away as night turns to dawn,
And I’m left here to mourn what was never my song.”
Luna swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe there was a time she’d actually liked that stupid song.
Mr. Grimm leaned against the wall beside her.
She cast him a swift sideways glance, taking note of the violets stuffed in his pockets, others cradled in one hand, and one tucked behind his ear.
He caught her gaze but did not hold it, facing forward again swiftly and blinking several times. “Shall we go?” he suggested.
Luna nodded.
They both got cautiously to their feet. Keeping their backs to the wall, they sidled around the edges of the room, and absolutely no one paid them any attention, not even the harried wait staff.
Really, Luna considered, there was no reason why they should have spent any amount of time hidden under the table.
It was just foolishness really. Ducking her head, she followed Mr. Grimm to the exit and stepped with him into the passage outside the banquet hall.
It was still fairly noisy, but there was at least some reprieve from all the voices and the band.
It felt oddly cold, somehow. Almost as jarring as stepping out of time into that bubble-wrap reality. As though the reality they’d enjoyed together under the table in close proximity was somehow fuller, richer. Now, with the distance between them resumed once more, everything felt not quite right.
But this was how it had to be. And there was no use in pretending otherwise.
Mr. Grimm led the way to the service stairs and held the door for Luna, ever the gentleman.
Luna stepped through, and they descended together in sustained silence.
All the while, Luna tried to pretend she wasn’t burningly aware of the place on her waist where he had gripped her, drawing her into him.
And she told herself she did not still smell his sandalwood-and-cinnamon scent in her nostrils.
She’d spent these last four weeks fighting the urge to remember what it felt like to be sheltered in his arms, to feel his strength and protection wrapped around her.
She’d spent these last four weeks preparing for the inevitability of this coming Wednesday and that one-way, nonrefundable train ticket.
Four weeks of careful, concentrated distancing.
Was it all undone now?
Still silent, they returned to the parking garage and the van waiting in its designated place. Mr. Grimm unlocked it, opened the passenger door, holding it politely for Luna. She hesitated. Then, with a quick step forward, she scooped violets out of her pockets and placed them on the van seat.
“What are you doing, Miss Talbot?” Mr. Grimm asked, his brow puckered.
“I’m going to walk to King Kybald Row,” she said, not looking at him. “I’ll catch the trolley home. No need for you to take me.”
She felt the intensity of his confused gaze fixed upon her. “I can drop you off—”
“No, no!” She shook her head, settling the last of the violets in the seat. “You’ve got to take these fellows home right away. Get them into some water.”
“I’m sure they’ll be all right,” he protested. “They’ve lasted this long.”
But Luna plucked up her coat, which she’d left folded inside the van, stepped back, and firmly shut the door.
Slipping into her coat, she shoved her hands deep into the pockets, turned to face Mr. Grimm, and forced herself to meet his gaze quite steadily.
“They’ve been out of their vases for quite some time now,” she said.
“Don’t want them to get all wilty, do we?
” She forced a smile onto her lips. A perfectly pleasant, perfectly professional smile.
“It was a good day’s work, I think. Here’s hoping we see a nice review in the paper tomorrow! ”
Mr. Grimm’s eyes met hers, sad and searching. Luna kept her face schooled into an expression of careful blankness, allowing no cracks. Nothing through which he might read any untoward emotion. His gaze lingered, and she began to fear she wouldn’t be able to maintain the facade.
Finally, he released his breath in a little sigh. “Thank you for your efforts today, Miss Talbot.”
She nodded. “Any time, Mr. Grimm.”
With that, she turned and walked away. After a bit, she heard the van door shut again, followed by the engine turning over.
Just as she strode past the parking attendant, nodding as she went, Mr. Grimm’s rented vehicle trundled by.
She looked up, caught a glimpse of him through the windshield.
But he didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed on the road ahead.
He pulled out into Coronet Street and drove off.
Luna watched him take the turn out of sight.
A blustering sigh on her lips, Luna turned the opposite direction and strode up the sidewalk, making for King Kybald Row.
It was a few blocks over, but she didn’t mind the walk.
It was good to stretch her legs, good to work out some of the nervous, jumping tension in her body.
Everything inside her felt strangely prickling and sick, but movement helped.
She concentrated on navigating the busy city streets, weaving in and out from among fellow pedestrians.
The noise and traffic of a busy Ballycastle afternoon enveloped her: the beep of automagic mobile horns, the puffs of thaumatic exhaust. All very natural, normal, everyday things.
Grounding. She reached King Kybald sooner than expected and approached the trolley stop shelter.
It was empty. Which was a relief. She felt she could use a little privacy. Slipping inside, she took a seat.
Only now that she wasn’t moving anymore, her thoughts had time to catch up with her.
“Green Mother save me!” she whispered and squeezed her eyes shut. Her hands knotted into fists, and she dug her nails deep into her palms. It hurt. But she wanted it to hurt. She wanted to concentrate on that hurt and not on the roiling sickness in her middle.
A featherlight touch brushed the skin of her wrist. Luna blinked her eyes open and looked down to see a little violet in her lap.
“Oh dear,” Luna said. “What are you doing here?” She must have missed this one when scooping its fellows out of her apron pocket.
It turned its several little purple faces up to her and fluttered its petals, expectant and sweet.
Luna smiled back and pressed the tip of her finger to one green stem.
Suddenly, she drew a ragged breath and dashed a tear from her cheek. “I really did think he was going to . . .” She paused, uncertain if she dared finish the sentence, then dropped her voice and spoke the last two words in a whisper: “ . . . kiss me.”
The violet tilted its faces at her, concern and curiosity radiating in equal parts.
Luna shook her head, struggling to swallow the lump in her throat. “I was probably imagining it. After all, if Mr. Grimm was going to kiss me, he would have done so a long time ago.” She peered down at the violet, her brows lifting. “Wouldn’t he?”
The violet shrugged.
“Well, he’s not shy to kiss girls if he wants to!”
A leaf stroked the back of her hand soothingly.
“I know, I know.” Luna shrugged and expelled another short breath.
“He can kiss whomever he likes. It’s not my business.
It’s just . . . I thought perhaps he wasn’t kissing me because of .
. . because of Janet. Because of his broken heart.
” She bit her lip, sniffing again. “A broken heart didn’t stop him from kissing Bryony. ”
Three little purple faces nuzzled her thumb and forefinger.
Luna breathed out a slow sigh. “Sometimes I think I see something. In his eyes, you know. Something so sweet. And painful. And I think maybe . . . maybe . . .” She dashed another tear from her cheek and turned her gaze to look up the road.
“Where is that blasted trolley? It seems to be taking its time, doesn’t it? ”
The violet fluttered its petals against her skin, present and eager to please.
Luna smiled sadly down at it, grateful for the company.
They were silent for a little while, and the traffic on King Kybald Row zipped back and forth, and the busy city went about its doings, utterly unconcerned with the plight of one tea witch and her bruised heart.
Luna leaned her head back against the wall. “I can’t kiss him,” she murmured, as though to convince herself. “I can’t. I’m leaving on Wednesday.”
The violet looked up at her questioningly.