Something wasn’t quite right. Yes, the pot had been primed. The water level inside was correct. The brew time had been exact. And sure, she’d onlyjustpoured out her serving when Mr. Grimm’s voice had startled her with news that Ward had come to see her, obliging her to cover the cup with the saucer to keep the heat from escaping while she went and dealt with the situation. But that shouldn’t have affected the flavor.
No, no, there was something else. Something just on the edge of awareness.
“The dibble-dab,” she muttered, glaring down into her cup. “He skipped the dibble-dab.”
And he’d done it on purpose. Luna knew it. For a fact. Because Mr. Grimm had brewed her ever-so-many pots of tea only two nights ago, when she’d stayed over. And every one of those had beenpracticallyperfect. But this?
This was a luckless brew.
With a frustrated huff of air through her lips, Luna marched to the sink, upended her cup, then grabbed the teapot and poured out its second serving as well. Because, of course, Mr. Grimm had brewed up a double serving. He never made tea for himself, only for the two of them. Together. But he wasn’t sharing this pot with her.
For all she knew, they’d never share a spot of tea again. Not after what she’d made him do.
Her movements brisk and efficient, Luna set to work washing and rinsing both pot and cups and left both to dry on the draining board. She turned her attention then to the breakfast platter left by Mrs. Goddard. Her stomach turned over. There was no way she could eat. Not now.
“I suppose I’ll make up for it tonight,” she whispered. “Over dinner. At The King’s Crown.”
Biting her lip, Luna leaned against the counter. She felt so heavy. Inexplicably so. Heavy in body. Heavy in soul. That kind of sluggishness in the blood that afflicts one when the spirit is downcast. One of thosedeepheavinesses that makes one wonder if one will ever feel any other way, or if this is it now. This is life.
“You look like a girl in need of a good meal, a little wine, and a great deal of dancing,” Ward had said, grinning at her with both dimples at full charge. “What do you say we finally have that dinner tonight?”
Luna had felt her face smiling back, like it belonged to someone else. Her lips had moved, prepared to turn him down. After all, she had a perfectly valid reason, didn’t she?“Oh, I’m sorry, I can’t have dinner with you tonight, because my auntie died. Last month.”Only, no matter how she’d turned the words around in her head, they sounded more excuse-like than reasonable. If someone tried a line like that on her, she would think it was a put-off.
So, Luna had bitten her tongue and looked into Ward’s deep green eyes again. The truth was there, hidden just on the other side of his smile: if she turned him down again, this was it. He wasn’t going to keep chasing and chasing if she didn’t give him some sign that shewantedto be chased. It was too much to ask of a man. He had his pride, after all.
Butdidshe want to be chased? Well, maybe. Or maybe she was simply too heavy to run anymore. Either way, dinner with Ward was low stakes. He was leaving on assignment. She wouldn’t have to see him again for a couple of weeks. Plenty of time to figure out how she felt in the meantime. What was the worst that could happen?
“All right, Ward,” she’d said. “That sounds like fun.”
“And itwillbe fun,” she whispered to herself now, still gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. “Ward is nice. You’ll have a good time.”
True, true, and true.
So why couldn’t she find a way to make herself feel a little more excited about it all?
Not quite properly braced for the day without a cup of tea in her, Luna returned to the shop floor, flipped the sign to OPEN, and greeted her first wave of customers. They came and went in a steady stream, and she appreciated the busyness, which prevented her from dwelling too much on things. On Auntie Apolonia, lying in her grave. On Arabella and Aurora, alone in Tealeaf Cottage without their big sister to watch over them. On wondering where in the world she was going to get a dress appropriate for a date at a posh joint like The King’s Crown.
Most of all, Luna was glad to keep her mind too busy to think about what it felt like to snuggle into Nigel Grimm’s arms on a pile of quilts. To feel the warmth of his embrace, the beat of his heart, the sureness and security and safety of his presence. Allof which had been so rudely shattered by that image of whorling anti-glitter and sorcerous terror.
Nope. She didn’t want to think about those things.
So she stayed busy. Right up until 2 o’clock, at which time she once again turned the sign on the front door to CLOSED and set about brewing a fresh pot of tea for her break. Her solitary break, apparently. There was still no sign of Mr. Grimm.
“I don’t supposeyouwant a cuppa?” she inquired of Debbie.
The raven gave her a long look down her beak.
“Didn’t think so.” Luna sighed. She brewed up a pot of bitter taerel and drank it without milk or sugar, seated in the counter nook beside the little stove.
She was just finishing up and moving to carry her cup and pot back to the kitchen, when Garden’s door opened and closed. She listened to the sound of Mr. Grimm’s footsteps in the passage. Her stomach tied itself into a little knot. Debbie muttered and fluffed her wings, and all the flowers in the shop perked up their pretty heads and turned this way, like a bunch of gossipmongers, eager for fodder. Luna scowled around at the lot of them. “Mind your own business,” she muttered.
They waggled their leaves and fluttered their petals and showed no signs of shame whatsoever.
Luna faced the passage again. Of course it was going to be weird, interacting with Mr. Grimm after the events of yesterday morning. Any chance there ever was of the two of them getting back to a comfortable footing was now gone. And after witnessing his use of Dark Sorcery in such a shocking manner . . . Green Mother spare her, she should have cut and run!
But she couldn’t run now. Not when he’d sworn the Sovereign Troth, handing over command of his magic into her keeping. That was a responsibility she dared not take lightly.
She could hear him washing up in the kitchen. Any moment, he would appear, make a dash for the back stairs to hurry up to the bathroom, where he’d freshen himself up after hours of whatever-it-was-he-did out there in Garden all day. The strenuous activities which always left him such a mess of sweat and dirt and raw sexual appeal . . .
