Hastily, Luna moved to wipe it away. Drat that sausage-vendor for not providing napkins. Who didn’t provide napkins with street food? “Gracious,” she muttered, “it’s a challenge to eat a sausage-inna-bun in a ladylike manner. Did I get it?”
“Here,” Mr. Grimm said, and, in lieu of napkins, fetched a handkerchief from his pocket. Luna caught a flashing glimpse of whimsical mushrooms just before he gently applied the corner to her face, his expression one of stern concentration for such a simple maneuver. For just a moment, Luna’s mind flashed back to a few weeks ago, when she had similarly brushed frosting from his lip. A breach of personal space which, at the time, had embarrassed her keenly. Who was she to go pawing at her employer’s face like that?
Strange that she didn’t mind being on the receiving end of such a gesture.
Mr. Grimm’s stern eyes lifted suddenly to meet hers. And there was something there . . . something oddly searching in his gaze as his sad blue eyes took her in. Was it possible that moment from all those weeks ago was seared into his memory as it was in hers?
His hand, still holding the handkerchief against her cheek, shifted, and his thumb stretched out. Very softly, very gently, he brushed the corner of her mouth. “There, Miss Talbot,” he murmured. “I’ve got it.”
Then his thumb trailed across the plumpness of her lower lip.
It wasn’t a gesture of helpfulness.
It wasn’t for any purpose other than what it was: a tentative exploration. Brief. Chaste even.
But it set alight a thousand sensitive nerve endings which ran prickling through Luna’s system, causing her to catch a breath. And the thought flashed through her mind before she could stop it:Why does this feel so much better than a kiss?
Ward’s kisses never sent such eruptions of sparks tumbling through her chest and gut. His mouth couldn’t do what Mr. Grimm’s thumb accomplished in that most delicate swipe.
And Luna, sitting there on a park bench, a sausage-inna-bun cradled in her hand, gazed through fluttering lashes into theserious lines of her employer’s face and wondered:If his thumb works so well, what might his lips do?
The rattling clatter of a bicycle bell burst the moment into a thousand little pieces just as a shrieking child barreled past them, peddling fast. His nanny’s voice bellowed in hot pursuit, “Barnabus Sneed, don’t make me count to five!” as she flew by in a flurry of uniform crispness. It was startling enough that Mr. Grimm jumped in his seat and withdrew his hand, and Luna turned away from him, her face flooded with heat. Her heart performed a series of somersaults from chest to gut as she stared down at the remains of her sausage, appetite abruptly vanished. What was she to do now? How did one move on from a . . . from amomentlike that? If it even was amomentlikethat.And did she actually want to move on?
Mr. Grimm’s voice spoke smoothly beside her, breaking through the tension. “Are you finished with yours, Miss Talbot?”
“Oh, um. Yes.” He held out his hand, and Luna relinquished the paper boat and the last of her sausage to him. “Thank you.”
“I saw a wastebin by the entrance,” he said. “Wait here.”
She nodded, not quite meeting his gaze. Instead, she stared down at her hands, fingers twisting in her lap, and listened to the sound of his retreating footsteps. And when he returned what would she do? Look him in the eye, smile brightly, say something cute and clever? Let the moment fade to obscurity, along with all the other little moments they’d shared over the last few months? What other option did she have?
Well, you could . . . when he returns, you could . . .
She bit her lip.
You could wrap your arms around his neck and press your mouth to his and—
“No!” Luna hissed through her teeth. Then, with a firm shake of her head, she added firmly, “You taste of mustard, anyway!”
This, at least, was grounding enough to plant her feet back in reality. By the time Mr. Grimm strolled back along the path toward her, brushing his hands off, his face a perfect mask of politeness, Luna was prepared to greet him with a demure little smile.
“Shall we find those ducks then?” she asked.
“Doesn’t tuppence for a bag of breadcrumbs strike you as criminal price-gouging?”
Luna laughed brightly as Nigel returned from the little kiosk from which he’d made his purchase and placed a paper bag labeled “Duck Food” into her hands. “They aren’t breadcrumbs, Mr. Grimm,” she said and opened the top of the bag to reveal the contents. “See? They’re nutritious protein pellets. Much healthier. Breadcrumbs aren’t good for ducks.”
“Any ducks?” Nigel inquired, falling into pace beside her as they strode toward the water. “Or just these rare and majestic Bally Park specimens?”
“Any ducks,” she answered firmly. “Though no doubt the Bally Park ducks are fed a diet of special magnificence. Which is why it costs tuppence for the honor of feeding them.”
The large and lopsided central lake of Bally Park sparkled before them. Paths looped its banks, trailing along shaded walkways, and a pretty little bridge spanned one narrow neck. There were people strolling about, enjoying the Fool’s Spring weather, but it wasn’t crowded in the middle of a Mondayafternoon. Nigel was glad. He didn’t particularly want to share the beautiful day with anyone but Luna.
Granted, the delights of Bally Park were nothing compared to Garden’s glory. They might have just as easily passed their day wandering the flowering paths on the other side of the boiler room door. But for some reason, Luna had been so keen to drag him out of the shop and away from everything. He wasn’t going to question it. He was simply glad to be here.
Luna led the way to the bridge, a darling little thing, all white and curlicues. Ducks swarmed beneath it, quacking noisily. To Nigel’s untrained eye, they looked like . . . ducks. White ones. Brown ones. Those kind of flashy-looking fellows with the green heads. But still just ducks.
Luna opened her bag of duck feed and dropped a handful of pellets into the water. The ducks put on a great fuss of excitement. Nigel watched his companion’s lovely mouth burst into a smile, and he thought,Yeah. Feeding the ducks. This is pretty great, actually.
