In that moment, Luna became acutely aware of Mr. Grimm’s approach, two funnel cakes in hand. Did he hear that bit? About her going on and on about Officer Ward? Oh gods, and she’d told him quite plainly that shewasn’tseeing the fair with the wardsman, and . . . and . . . what must he think of her now?
A big fat liar,she thought, her stomach churning.That’s what he thinks of you.
But she turned to Mr. Grimm and murmured a demure “thank you,” as she accepted the funnel cake he offered. She was positioned halfway between him and Ward, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the strangest feeling that she stood at some sort of a crossroads. Only she had no idea what she was supposed to do about it. “Um, you know Officer Ward, don’t you Mr. Grimm?”
“Just Ward,” the wardsman said again. “And yes, we’ve met a few times now. Looks good,” he added, eyeing the funnel cake in Mr. Grimm’s hand.
Mr. Grimm said nothing. His face was very still, save for his eyes, which moved from Ward to Luna and back again.
“Well!” Bryony said brightly, peeling herself from Luna’s grasp. She slipped to Mr. Grimm’s side and tucked her hand under his arm. “What do you gents say to us all having a bit of fun today?”
“I’m game,” Ward says, smiling down at Luna.
Luna found her voice with some difficulty. “Yes,” she managed, her lips curling in the way she seemed to remember smiles working. “Fun.”
And she took a too-large bite of funnel cake and coughed on the puff of powdered sugar which shot to the back of her throat.
In Nigel’s humble opinion, the chaos of the fairgrounds in full, swinging, holiday mode was his own personal definition of hell. So many shouts and sounds and colors, and far too much motion and goings-on. He’d spent the better part of his adult life cloistered in the quiet confines of academia, and he simply wasn’t prepared for quite so muchhumanity.
Though he had to admit, he would probably enjoy it a lot more if Luna—not her roommate—hung on his arm. And if he didn’t have to watch Luna strolling ahead of him beside Officer Ward.
So what was this? A lie? A trick? Or had they only met by chance? No, not by chance . . . Nigel’s jaw hardened. Ward didn’t justhappento bump into Luna. No doubt he was scanning the crowds for her all this while. A task made easier by virtue of his lofty height. Nigel had spent the better part of the last several hours searching for her himself, though he had been on the lookout for her green wool suit.
He wasn’t prepared for her to have gone home and changed.
He wasn’t prepared for the sight of her in that cherry-print dress with the little cardigan.
The fabric moved lightly with her lithe figure, the flared skirt swaying and fluttering around her shapely calves. She’d changed from her dilapidated boots into a pair of simple, well-worn black pumps, which showed off the delicate bones of her ankles. Catching himself staring, Nigel hastily drew his gaze back up, but lingered a moment to admire the gentle sway of her hips, and—
“Oh,thisis one of my favorite games, Mr. Grimm!” Bryony’s voice exclaimed suddenly, very close to his ear. She gave his arm a ferocious tug, and Nigel found himself pivoted on heel and redirected toward a games booth with a garishly painted sign. THE BAD APPLE, it declared in bold, gothic typeface above a picture of a mean-looking, personified red fruit, thaumatically-animated to stick its tongue out at passersby. It was—in Nigel’s considered opinion—grotesque.
He turned to inspect the booth itself, and beheld a full-bodied individual, naked save for a pair of very tight little pants, painted a brilliant red all over. He wore a hat with a large brown stem and green leaf sticking out of it. The Bad Apple himself, presumably, in the flesh. He stood on a plank above a tank of water, cavorting and making faces and shaking his bum. Gamers paid for handfuls of rather bruised-looking apples, which they flung at a target over the man’s head, trying to dunk him. None succeeded, for he caught apples out of midair and sent them hurtling back with some violence. This was all part of the fun, apparently, based on the laughter, curses, and applause of the gathered audience.
Nigel cast about for an escape. The booth stood opposite a dancing platform, which was currently empty, as it was too early in the day for the dancing to begin. He thought perhaps he could dart across it and vanish into the crowd on the far side—
“Go on, Mr. Grimm!” Bryony said, smiling winsomely up at him.
He looked down, struggling valiantly to keep his gaze fixed upon his companion’s face, despite the rather significant amount ofherdisplayed prominently just below his nose and pressed against his arm. “Oh, no,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m not much of a one for . . . projectiles.”
She giggled. “You can’t do any worse than these poor fools. Come on. Win me a prize!” She pointed to a display full of cheap little trinkets: costume jewelry, pillboxes, pen knives, pocket watches, and garish lace garters.
Nigel again sought for escape . . . only for his gaze to land on Luna. It would seem Ward had angled her back to The Bad Apple as well and even now, while she laughingly protested, pressed an apple into her hands. With a bob of her dark curls, she squared off in front of the red-painted man, who winked and made kissy faces at her, much to the amusement of the onlookers. Luna set her teeth, drew her arm back, and threw. Her apple splashed harmlessly in the water tank. She looked up at Ward, shrugging apologetically. The wardsman grinned, passed her another apple, and this time—Nigel’s face went hot—placed his hands on her waist and angled her a little sideways. Then he bent his handsome head, murmuring something close to her ear.
Luna flushed a pretty shade of pink, then drew her arm back a second time, and took her shot. This one got a lot closer. The Bad Apple snatched it from the air and took a large bite from it, winking broadly at Luna. She laughed, shaking her head. “See? That was better! You’ve got a strong arm, Miss Talbot,” Ward declared, and her face lit up with pleasure.
Nigel let out a slow breath.
Then he turned to the vendor. “Give me an apple,” he said, plunging his hand into his pocket for coin. “Give me three.”
“There you go, Mr. Grimm!” Bryony cheered. “I could use me a pretty new pair of garters. You can help me slip them on later!”
Nigel felt his face go as red as the apple in his hand. Conscious of Luna’s observing gaze, he faced the dunking tank. The Bad Apple stuck his thumbs in his ears and waggled his tongue noisily. Nigel didn’t aim for the target. He aimed for the apple-man’s face.
His first toss landed in the tank.
His second and third did as well.
“Three more!” he growled, and the vendor handed over the missiles. He prepared to hurtle the first one, only Bryony stepped in close. “Here, Mr. Grimm,” she purred. “Let me help you.”
