Chapter 22
Mr. Grimm asked the cabbie to drop them off on the corner of Pembroke and Addle Street. Luna couldn’t guess why. It would have been just as easy to take them to the front door of The Arcane Bouquet. Perhaps, he was trying to give her time to think better of the situation.
She frowned, irritation bubbling up in her breast at the idea. She didn’t want to think about anything. She didn’t want time to consider or reconsider or reconsider again.
She just wanted to be home. With him.
He helped her out of the cab and onto the sidewalk.
For the first time since the turret at Bally Castle, he released her hand as he bent to pay the cabbie through the window.
The taxi peeled away from the curb, leaving the two of them behind in a puff of thaumatic exhaust, and Mr. Grimm turned to look at her.
His face was very pale under the glow of the streetlamp.
Luna stared at him for a moment. Then, turning abruptly on heel, she strode down the sidewalk at a quick clip.
She kept her hands free for the first several paces, but when he fell into step beside her, he did not reach for her.
Though he carried the carpet bag with the bundled-up dressing gown in one hand, his other hung empty at his side.
Irked, Luna shoved her cold fingers firmly into her pockets.
This in no way calmed the wild beating of her heart.
Without his grip on her hand to anchor her, she felt herself being pulled into a storm-tossed sea of anxiety.
And rising up out of the sea were barriers.
Barriers between her and this man. Barriers she did not want to allow, all that politeness and carefulness and soft-treading which they’d maintained for weeks now. For months, even.
But what if that’s all he wanted?
What if that moment on the Lover’s Tower was only that—a moment? Nothing more.
What if she’d blown this whole situation wildly out of proportion?
After all, Mr. Grimm did kiss girls. He’d kissed Bryony, and there was nothing particularly special going on between the two of them.
He might have kissed countless others between now and when she first met him.
He might have made love to any number of hands.
Luna’s fingers tightened into knots in her pockets. Oh gods. She should have stayed in that taxi, should have given the driver the address for Bootblack Alley, should have gotten out of this, this, this whatever it was while she had the chance.
They arrived at the awning under the yellow sign.
The sign on which Mr. Grimm’s careful handwriting proclaimed, “and teas.” The sign he would have to repaint by this weekend, once he realized she was gone.
Luna turned away, pretending to look up the street while her boss stepped forward to unlock the front door.
Somewhere in the darkness, she could hear the street fiddler playing.
But the sweet strings wouldn’t resolve into a melody in her ears. It was all just noise.
The little bells chimed cheerily as Mr. Grimm pushed the door open. He held it for her, murmuring a soft, “After you.”
She almost told him then and there that, actually, she’d changed her mind and needed to scurry along home.
Surely someone was up who could sneak her in past old Mrs. Boggs.
Or maybe she’d gotten Bryony’s work schedule wrong, and her roommate would be there after all.
Or maybe she’d just rather stay the night on the fire escape, wintry chill notwithstanding. Or maybe . . . maybe . . .
Swallowing hard, Luna stepped into the shop.
The warmth of the interior shocked her, along with the perfumes of several hundred flowers.
All those pretty, petaled faces turned to look at her, and she felt blushes erupting across her skin.
They couldn’t possibly know, could they?
They couldn’t possibly sense or guess that their master had .
. . kissed her? It felt so unreal, so not a part of this life.
Now that she was back in this familiar place, surrounded by all these sights and smells she knew so well, she kind of wondered if she’d invented the whole thing.
Stomping down the center aisle, Luna reached the shop counter and stopped there.
She placed her purse on it, then rested her hands, palms down, against the smooth surface, trying to steady herself even as the floor beneath her seemed to pitch.
She listened to the sounds of Mr. Grimm shutting and locking the door behind them.
He flicked on one of the thaumatic light bulbs, and it was too bright. Luna winced, closing her eyes.
Then his footsteps sounded behind her. Approaching.
Her heart slammed wildly against her breastbone.
What was he going to do? Would he take her in his arms then and there?
Grab her elbow the way he’d done under the mistletoe, yank her about?
That time he’d hesitated. She’d seen the look in his eye, but he’d held himself back. But this time . . . this time . . .
He stopped.
She listened to him drag in a long inhale.
She should turn. Look at him. Say something. Anything. Anything to break this strange tension. But what if she messed it all up? What if a word in the wrong tone or a look in the wrong moment was all it took to send him running for the hills? What if—
“How about I make us a spot of tea, Miss Talbot?”
“Yes!” Luna blurted the word in a little squeak. Hastily she cleared her throat and spoke again in a lower register. “Yes. Tea. Would be lovely.”
She caught a glimpse from the tail of her eye as her employer ducked away from her and fled down the passage to the kitchen. She listened to the sounds of his retreating footsteps, the swing of the door. Then quiet.
“Oh, Green Mother save me,” Luna whispered.
She stared down at her right hand. The one he had held. The one he had romanced.
Was it her imagination, or were all the places where his lips had pressed enflamed?
The atmosphere of the shop felt warm after the cold sidewalk.
Too warm. Swallowing hard, Luna opened the hinged portion of the counter, stepped through, removed her hat and coat.
She hung them on their peg, idly glancing around for Debbie as she did so.
There was no sign of the raven—she must have gone up to bed already.
Just as well. Luna had no doubt the old bird would take one look at the two of them and know immediately what had happened.
Only Luna herself didn’t know what had happened.
“He kissed you.” She whispered the words so the flowers wouldn’t overhear and be scandalized. “He kissed you, and then . . . and then invited you back to his place. And . . . and . . . oh gods. Are you really doing this?”
Her brow knotted. Doing what? Luna huffed out a little breath, shrugging her shoulders up to her ears. They hadn’t done anything.
Well, maybe he had done something.
And if what he had done to her hand was a promise of things he might do to other parts of her . . .
Luna squeezed her eyes tight. No, no! Mr. Grimm was a perfect gentleman. He was always a gentleman. She didn’t have to worry about that.
Perhaps his gentlemanliness was what worried her.
Because if he tried to be a gentleman at her tonight, she might just die.
The sound of a whistling kettle caught her ear. Luna realized it had been whistling for some while and was growing louder by the moment. How long had it been since her employer disappeared into the kitchen? Had he escaped out the back alley and fled, leaving the kettle to overboil?
Pushing the hinged portion of the counter up and out of her way, Luna stomped back down the passage. Irritation fortified her against other, more delicious terrors. She slammed the kitchen door open, stepped inside.
And there he was.
Pacing back and forth in front of the stove.
He’d removed his jacket and tossed it over the back of a kitchen chair, along with his tie.
His collar and the top buttons of his shirt were unfastened, as though he was trying to catch a breath, and he’d rolled up his sleeves to the elbows.
Even as she watched, he was in the act of running his fingers roughly through his hair, disheveling whatever remained of the pomade he’d put in it earlier that day and making it flop over his forehead.
It sounded like he might be cursing with every other step, and the whistling kettle did not seem to register with his awareness whatsoever.
Luna waited a moment, observing in silence. Then she cleared her throat. “Mr. Grimm?”
He startled as though by a gunshot, whirled on heel, and stared at her. His blue eyes were huge and haunted.
“Um.” She pointed limply. “The, um, the kettle.”
“Oh. Right.” Pivoting sharply, Mr. Grimm grabbed the kettle handle, heedless of the heat. Luna winced for him, but he did not seem to notice, simply moved it from the hot burner to a cold one, then stood there for some breaths, staring at it. As though he couldn’t remember what he was doing.
“Have you, um, picked a tea?” Luna asked.
He turned his head, but did not look at her over his shoulder. He addressed the pantry door instead. “I thought the vanilla-honeysuckle?”
“That sounds about right.” Luna moved into the kitchen, letting the door swing shut behind her. She approached the stash of tea tins she kept on the kitchen shelf and selected her vanilla-honeysuckle llarmi blend. “Will you prime the pot?” she asked.
“What?”
“The pot. Will you prime it?”
“Oh. Yes.” Mr. Grimm jerked into motion, fetching the Royal Bastian pot from its place of honor on the hutch. His hands shook so hard, she could hear the lid rattling. Oddly enough, the sound gave her confidence. Luna felt her heartrate leveling out, her breath easing ever so slightly.
Mr. Grimm grabbed the kettle, still without protecting his hand, and moved to pour a measure of hot water into the empty pot to prime it for the leaves. His spatial awareness was rather drastically off, however, and hot water slopped all over the countertop. “Damn,” he growled.