Chapter 16 #2
She wished she could even pretend to enjoy them.
But she just didn’t. Which meant she probably needed to figure out a way to let Ward down gently.
Only he was so happy to see her, and what was she supposed to say?
“I’m sorry, Ward, but I scarcely thought about you these last four weeks, and seeing you now makes me feel more uncomfortable than anything.
Please take your dimples and your kisses and apply them to a more deserving individual. ”
Actually, that’s exactly what she should have said. Or some variation thereof.
“Well, this is unfortunate.”
Mr. Grimm’s voice broke through Luna’s thoughts, drawing her back to the moment. She blinked, and found herself facing the doors of the restaurant. A CLOSED sign was posted prominently in the glass. Below it were the listed hours—which included a “closed on Mondays” notice.
Grimacing, Mr. Grimm rubbed a hand down the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Miss Talbot. It would seem our dining efforts are thwarted once again.”
“That’s all right.” Luna smiled. “There are other eateries to be had, after all.”
“Of course,” he answered hastily. “I’m afraid I don’t know somewhere close by, but I’d be happy to take you to—”
“Wait a second.” Luna held up a finger and delicately sniffed the air. “Oh, I think I’m on the trail of something. Come along, Mr. Grimm! Follow me.”
Resisting yet again the impulse to take his hand, she instead plunged both hands deep into the pockets of her coat and strode swiftly down the sidewalk.
Her employer followed after, and they took the crosswalk and another two turns before coming in sight of the Bally Park gates once more.
There, just outside the gate, Luna found what she sought.
“Behold, Mr. Grimm!” she declared with a sweep of one hand. “Your luncheon awaits!”
He peered around her, saw what she indicated. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Oh, gods, Miss Talbot. Have you no pity on your kidnapped victims?”
“None whatsoever.” Looking both ways, she darted across the busy street during a momentary lull, trusting Mr. Grimm to follow at her heels.
He did, despite his extreme reluctance, and together they approached the little silver cart from which ensued a mouthwateringly savory aroma.
The sign overhead, framed by colorful balloons, declared, “Street Eats Sausage-Inna-Bun. HOT.”
“Why is the hot stated in all caps?” Mr. Grimm muttered as he and Luna took their place in line behind several children, a harried-looking mother, and some tired-eyed businessman on his lunch break.
“Would you want to eat these cold?” Luna inquired.
“I wouldn’t want to eat these dead.” He leaned down to speak into her ear, perhaps so as not to offend the mustachioed gentleman hard at work sizzling his sausages on an open burner.
“Do you realize there are no official regulations on sausage production? They could put anything in those abominations!”
Luna tilted an eyebrow at him. “The enigma is part of the thrill, Mr. Grimm.”
He looked down at her, his expression somewhere between horror and amusement. “You are a dangerous woman.”
“I’ve been told as much. Upon occasion.”
The line moved quickly, and Luna soon gave her order for two spicy sausages-inna-bun, complete with relish and mustard. Mr. Grimm muttered what sounded like a prayer (quite a devout utterance, considering the man was a consummate heathen) before stepping forward to pay for their food.
Paper sausage boats in hand, they strolled together through the gates into Bally Park, under the shade of spreading chestnut trees.
The branches were winter-bare, but the air was mild with Fool’s Spring cheer, so the effect was less stark than it might be.
They made their way to the nearest unoccupied park bench and took a seat across from a lovely little vista of a snow-patchy lawn and a stone fountain in the shape of swans.
It wasn’t as spectacular of a scene as it would become a few months from now, when proper spring set in.
But Luna was surprised to note how many of the trees were putting out delicate buds.
“The Love Medlar is in bloom,” she said, pointing out the short, twisty trees with nearly-black bark, which contrasted brilliantly with the delicate purple flowers sprouting from its branches.
She shook her head, tsking softly. “It always worries me, seeing the trees bud so early. What happens when the frost inevitably hits again?”
“I wouldn’t be too concerned,” Mr. Grimm said, leaning back easily on the bench and crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “There have been Fool’s Springs every year since I’ve come to Ballycastle, and yet the Medlar trees always endure.”
Luna lifted her sausage-inna-bun from its boat and held it aloft. “To endurance!” she said.
Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Mr. Grimm raised his sausage as well and lightly bumped the end of it to hers in salute.
“Endurance,” he echoed dismally. Then, with a rolled-eyed glance to the heavens, he took a bite.
Luna watched him chew, noting when his expression changed from dour aversion to begrudging appreciation.
He even nodded a little as he swallowed.
“Good, right?” Luna said, nudging his elbow.
“There’s something frighteningly delicious about suspiciously-sourced meat goods stuffed into intestinal casings.”