He knew—heknew,damn it—that she was hurt. And he was the one who’d hurt her. What’s worse? He’d done it on purpose. She was the last person in the world whom he ever wanted to cause pain, and he’d done it anyway.
“Don’t you . . . have plans for today?” he asked, forcing the words out with difficulty.
She blinked. Then her gaze skittered sideways to study a bucket of colorful bouquets she’d arranged only yesterday. “No,” she said with a little shrug. “Not as such.”
“Surely you meant to go to the Saint Jollify Fair?”
“Well, my roommate and I . . . we talked about it.”
Nigel’s stomach knotted. So she wasn’t going to tell him about Ward. Somehow, that was the worst. That she would hide the truth from him. That he was such a jealous bastard, she felt the need to pretend she’d not accepted a date with the handsome wardsman.
He must set things right. Now.
“You should go,” he said, firmly. “Take the day. Call it a paid holiday.”
Her brow knotted. She looked away then at him again. Her lips parted for a moment, then closed in a thin line. She tipped her head a little to one side. “Are you sure, Mr. Grimm?”
“Yes.”
“What about the shop?”
“I’ll manage.”
“What about the teas?”
He hesitated. He hadn’t considered all their tea-drinking customers, coming in eager for their favorite brews and their daily readings. “Don’t worry about it,” he said and moved to fetch her coat and hat from the peg, her purse from the alcove. He offered them over the counter. “I’ll be fine on my own, Miss Talbot.”
That frown of hers didn’t lift. He wanted it to lift. He wanted her to smile. But there was no sudden burst of delight, no beaming sunrise on the horizon of her visage. She simply removed her apron, draped it over the counter, and accepted her things from him. “If you say so, Mr. Grimm.”
“I do say so,” he answered firmly, averting his eyes as she shrugged into her coat. He opened the logbook again and pretended to be absorbed in the columns. “Have a good time with Officer Ward,” he added in what he hoped was a sincere inflection.
Luna froze, midway through doing up her buttons. He could feel her gaze on him.
Then: “I’m not going with Officer Ward.”
His stomach dropped.
“I’m going with my roommate. Like I told you.”
Nigel lifted his gaze from the dancing figures on the page, looked at her from under his brow. She was frowning at him, even as her fingers finished sliding the last buttons into place. For a moment, they held each other’s gaze. Silent. Uncertain.
Then Luna took a quick step up to the counter, leaned her elbows on the edge, reached over.
And placed her hand on top of his.
Nigel couldn’t say if his blood turned to ice or fire at that point of contact. Possibly both. Simultaneously.
“You shouldn’t stay here in the shop all day, Mr. Grimm,” she said, earnestly. “You should come out. See the fair. Have a little fun.”
He opened his mouth to speak. No words came, and she didn’t wait for him to make a second attempt. Her hand pulled away from his. She turned, trotted down the center aisle, her dilapidated boot heels clicking smartly across the floor. The door opened and shut with a tinkle of bells, and she was gone.
Nigel remained where he stood. Painfully aware of that place on the back of his hand where hers had rested.
If he moved, he might displace the sensation, never to be reclaimed.
So he held very still.
“Never mind.”
