“When your neighbor brings by a large fruitcake, be sure to accept it. It’s better than it looks.”
“Yes, there’s going to be a little ring box under the Winter’s Heart Tree on Green Yule morning, so best have an answer prepared.”
Little things. All sweet. Nothing ominous.
Nothing involving cake in the face.
Luna caught herself wondering, not for the first time, what had become of Mr. Grimm’s brother. Had he met his predictedfate? Had Mr. Grimm, in fact, been the one to shove that glorious dessert into that offensive visage? She longed to ask, but Mr. Grimm was so closed-mouthed about the whole affair. When she questioned him discreetly on the subject, he only admitted that he met his brother for dinner three nights ago and insisted that Fabian Grimm would not be visiting the shop again anytime soon. Which was good news as far as Luna was concerned.
Still, it was the sorry fate of a tea witch to rarely have a chance to see her predictions come true. In this instance, she would have taken great satisfaction in witnessing the vision’s fulfillment.
Halfway through the day, when a lull in customers gave her a free moment, Luna returned to the Winter’s Heart Tree to finish her decorating. As she stood on the stepstool to tuck poinsettias in among the higher branches, the mistletoe descended suddenly on its vine, dropping close to her shoulder.
“Don’t let Mr. Grimm catch you,” Luna whispered. She paused to cough into her elbow before continuing. “He’s quite determined to put an end to your shenanigans.”
The mistletoe fluttered its leaves at her.
“Oh, I know! You mean well.” Luna reached out and touched the tip of her finger to one white berry reassuringly. “It’s all in good fun, and folks are quite enjoying it. But you’ve caused him heartache in the past. Unless you find a way to make up for it, I don’t think he’s forgiving you anytime soon.”
The little plant ball seemed to consider this. Then it ascended its vine once more, vanishing among the pipework. Seeking new unwary souls in which to ignite sudden romance, no doubt. Luna wished it well in its endeavors. She’d quite enjoyed watching more than one happy pair of strangers leave arm-in-arm with an unexpected warmth sprung between them. The idea of love-at-first-sight had always appealed to her, and she was ready tobelieve a true connection might be struck into existence by a single mistletoe-kiss.
“It’s a lovely thought, anyway,” she murmured.
Another cough stopped her short, and a poinsettia fell from her hands to the floor. When the fit had passed, she stepped down from the ladder to retrieve the blossom, but paused. Was that a brown paper parcel, tucked under the Winter’s Heart Tree? When had it gotten there? Kneeling, Luna reached underneath the low-hung boughs and withdrew the little box, which was tied with a bit of floral string. There was a card attached. She flipped it over and read:To Miss Luna Talbot.
It was signed:From the Green Mother.
Her frown smoothed into an expression of surprise. Did the aunties send her something? She had, rather impulsively, sent them the mailing address of The Arcane Bouquet a few months back, on the off-chance they might want to contact her. It was risky, of course, and she knew they were very unlikely to do anything that could put her in danger, but . . . the idea that they would ship her a Green Yule gift made her feel all warm inside.
But she looked at the card again, more closely. That handwriting didn’t belong to any of the aunties. No: she knew it all too well. Those elegant, slanted, close-written characters. Very precise. Very neat.
She leaned to one side, peering out from behind the evergreen. There were no customers in The Arcane Bouquet at the moment. Mr. Grimm was on the other side of the shop, sweeping up by the holly wreath display.
Luna looked down at the package in her lap. She ought not to open it, of course. But she already knew what was inside, and . . .
“Fine!” she whispered. Still kneeling under the Winter’s Heart Tree, she tore the brown paper away, revealing a simple white shoebox. She lifted the lid, and there they were. A brand new pair of waterproof, black-button boots. Size seven.
Luna expelled a little breath of air. It was too much. They must have been expensive. She’d seen shoes like these in the windows of department stores like Sangster’s or Dandridge and Bakes. They certainly didn’t come from a chantry house donation barrel! She ran her fingers down a line of shiny black buttons. So bright. So cheerful. And socomfortable-looking. Her poor, cold, suffering toes practically begged to be shod in such lovely, lovely boots.
Abandoning the tree, she carried the box back behind the counter and set it down. There she stood a moment, drumming her fingernails. Mr. Grimm, apparently unaware, finished sweeping and carried the tray of debris over to dispose of in the waste basket underneath the counter.
“Mr. Grimm,” Luna said.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. His gaze moved from her to the shoebox, stayed there for a moment, then back to her again. “What do you have there?” he asked innocently.
“It would seem a package was left. Under the Winter’s Heart Tree.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
“Never mind!”
“Are you sure it wasn’t for Debbie?”
