Ward laughed, dimples flashing. “It’s fine by me! Heck, I’ll even carry your grocery bags for you, if you’ll let me.”
She grinned back, the first real grin of this whole exchange. He really was such a nice man, after all. And those dimples . . . there really ought to be special licensing for those things. “Huck ‘n Clover’s then,” she said. “Seven o’clock.”
“Until seven, Luna Talbot,” Ward said.
Then, to her tremendous surprise, he leaned across the counter like he was about to kiss her. She yelped and jumped back, one hand on her heart. “Ward! I . . . I . . . I’m atwork.”
He chuckled again and backed off. “There’s my fresh little daisy. What, is old Grimm such a stickler for standards?”
Luna felt the pressure of Mr. Grimm’s hand as though it was still latched to her arm. She cleared her throat roughly. “Something like that.” Then promptly erupted in another fit of coughing.
Ward watched her with some concern. “If I were a tea witch,” he said when the fit subsided, “I’d tell you to drink some ginger tea for that cough.”
Luna huffed out a little breath and touched two fingers to her throat. “I’ll take that under advisement.”
He pushed back from the counter and settled his hat back, covering up the stray curl. “Later,” he said.
“Goodbye,” Luna replied and watched him exit the shop. As he passed down the aisles, the white and red Green Yule roses sighed, and several of the poinsettias reached out theirred leaves just to brush his calves in passing. They were quite shameless, but he did not seem to notice.
Then he was gone. And Luna was left standing behind the counter.
She continued standing there for some moments. Hoping against hope that a new passel of customers would come in. That she’d be busy. Too busy. Far too busy to . . . to . . . to do what she knew she must.
Mr. Grimm was somewhere in the storage room. She could hear him rummaging about, busy with Green Mother knew what. At least he’d not fled into Garden. That was something, wasn’t it?
She blew out a long breath, placing both hands on her fluttering belly. Whichwouldkeep on looping and dipping, despite every effort to bring it back into order.
“It wasn’t a kiss,” she whispered urgently. “It wasn’t anything. Really. Just a . . . a . . .”
She couldn’t finish. There simply wasn’t a word to describe whateverthatwas.
“Come on, Luna,” she added more firmly. “Get a grip!”
Straightening her shoulders, she marched out from behind the counter, forcing one footstep after the other, all the way to the storage room door. It was half-open. She pushed it a little farther, peering inside.
Mr. Grimm seemed to be in the midst of a massive reorganization project. He’d hauled everything off the center shelf—pots, bags of Mama Morgana’s, stacks of tissue paper, floral wire, all the vases. They were scattered across the floor with no rhyme or reason that Luna could discern. He was just in the midst of pulling the largest, heaviest of the empty pots off a middle shelf, when his eye suddenly caught on Luna.
He stopped. Turned to face her. She could see his arms straining beneath his rolled-up sleeves.
“Mr. Grimm,” Luna began in her primmest voice, “I think we must—”
“So, Wardsman Ward is back from assignment, is he?”
The single thaumatic bulb dangling from the ceiling cast his face into harsh lines and shadows, making it impossible to read his expression.
“Um. Yes.” Luna realized she was twisting her fingers and quickly clenched them into fists. “He got in last night, apparently.”
“And you’re going to dinner with him tonight.”
Mr. Grimm spoke the words with a frank conclusiveness. Not a question at all.
Luna pinched her lips tight. He must have overheard. Was he eavesdropping? No, surely not. He wouldn’t do something so ungentlemanly. But it wasn’t as though either she or Ward had made any effort to lower their voices. It wasn’t a big shop. And it washisshop. And she was supposed to be working, not flirting with customers. Not that she was flirting with John Ward exactly, but . . .
“Yes,” she answered a little shakily. “At The King’s Crown.”
Mr. Grimm nodded. “That’s a nice place.” He crouched, set down the heavy pot, then straightened. Hands on hips, he surveyed his newly-emptied shelves as though deeply invested in his rearrangement efforts. “You’ll enjoy yourself.”
“Yes. Um. I hope so. I’ve never been. But I’ve heard good things.” Luna looked down at her feet. The toes of her scuffed and battered boots seemed to stare back at her, and it occurred to her suddenly that it was a good thing Mr. Grimm had given her new shoes, as these certainly wouldn’t be appropriate to wear to a swanky joint like The King’s Crown.
