“No.”
Ward looked concerned. “What time does she start?”
“Eight-thirty.”
“It’s eight forty-five.”
Nigel frowned. He pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat, flicked it open. Then turned to look at the clock on the back wall.
Sure enough: 8:45.
Luna was never late. She was often early. Never late.
“I’m sure she’ll be along soon,” Nigel said, turning to the wardsman once more. “You can . . .” He hesitated but forced the words out from his suddenly-tightened throat. “You can wait for her. If you like.”
Ward’s mouth twisted ruefully. “Can’t wait, I’m afraid. It’s Green Yule’s Eve. I’m off for home on the next train. Got to go see the old mam and all. But I hoped to speak to Luna before I left. You see . . .” He ran a hand down the back of his neck, looking unexpectedly chagrinned. “She stood me up last night.”
A wash of heat rolled through Nigel’s veins, followed by a rush of ice. “She what?”
“Yeah. I was taking her out for dinner. We were supposed to meet at Huck ‘n Clover’s. I wandered up and down the aisles for a good two hours, but she never showed.”
“That . . . doesn’t sound like her.”
“That’s what I thought. I mean, a girl’s got a right to break a date if she wants to. But I would have thought she’d at least send a note or something.” Ward’s brow wrinkled, and he pushed his cap back so that his dark curl was free to bob as it liked. He looked properly concerned. “You haven’t heard anything, have you?”
Nigel shook his head.
“Well.” Ward shrugged. “I won’t chase after her if she doesn’t like it. But if you see her, tell her I’ll stop by when I get back. Just to make sure she’s all right. You’ll do that for me, won’t you? There’s a chum.”
“Yes,” Nigel agreed. “Yes, I’ll . . . I’ll tell her.”
Ward took a last look back into the shop, as though he expected to see Luna hidden somewhere behind pots and plants. Then he shrugged again. “See you around, mate.” With that, he strolled down the snowy sidewalk, hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind, the picture of dejection.
Nigel closed the door. Locked it.
Stood a long moment, staring at the latch.
Debbie, murmuring, finally nipped his ear and succeeded in startling him back to the present. “Do you think she’s avoiding us?” Nigel asked, turning to look at the bird.
She ruffled her feathers.
“She wouldn’t just disappear.”
“Never mind?”
“No. No, I’m sure she wouldn’t. She’d give notice at least.” He forced out a little huff of air, like a laugh. “It’s fifteen minutes. That’s all. Anything might have happened to keep her.”
But the fact that she’d broken her date with Ward . . . without any excuse, without a note . . .
Deep in thought, Nigel drifted back across the shop floor, bypassing the poinsettias, who waved their leaves at him, wondering where the rest of their morning drink was. Leaving the watering can abandoned, he made his way to the counter nook. There he took a seat in the cane chair.
And watched the clock.
It ticked on.
To 8:50.
8:55.
