“You know,” Luna said after a moment, “Garden has ducks.”
Nigel nodded, resting his elbows on the bridge rail beside her. “This is true.”
“I’m just saying, you could get some duck feed of your own.”
His brow wrinkled as he considered this. “The ducks of Garden aren’ttameducks, you know. My father never liked birds, so while he was alive, he had wards set up to keep them out.”
“Oh, so they’re a recent addition?” Luna asked curiously, scattering another handful to the waterfowl below.
“They migrated in on their own, a year or so after his passing. And started breeding and propagating, and now there’s no getting rid of them.”
She smiled softly. “You must have nurtured a welcoming atmosphere, Mr. Grimm.”
He flushed, unreasonably pleased by the compliment. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do. Ducks don’t settle unless they feel safe. You’ve done something right if ducks chose to move in and start raising families. And if you started feeding them?” Luna raised the little bag of pellets and rattled it temptingly. “Think of it! You could enjoy this very thrill in your own back yard!”
“Yes, but it won’t be theselife-changingducks.”
She giggled and scattered more pellets. “Do you know what I used to love? Cormorants. They would stop in the Crimble Mountain lakes on their migration path. They’re such odd-looking creatures and would stand up on the shore rocks, spreading their wings to the sun and looking quite ominous, like they were performing a summoning or something! But I always loved the sight of them. Their arrival meant spring was at hand. Whenever the cormorants showed up, the bluebonnets weren’t far behind.”
“Bluebonnets?” Nigel queried. He let his gaze slide sideways, studying the subtle play of reflected sunlight off the lake against her pale skin. Her cheeks were pinked by the breeze, and it made each freckle stand out delightfully.
“My favorite flower,” she said, sprinkling another handful of pellets. “Though the aunties would despair to hear me say it! Bluebonnet tea is bland as paper and has no useful properties whatsoever. But the blossoms are so very pretty!”
Nigel made a mental note to ask Garden to produce these blossoms at the first possible opportunity. How pleased would Luna be to step through the boiler room door and find herself greeted by swaths of her favorites?
“I don’t suppose cormorants would be very happy in Garden,” she continued, gripping the bridge rail and leaning in an arch to stretch out her back. Even bundled up in her green coat as she was, it was a surprisingly lithe, sensual sort of maneuver.Nigel quickly looked away, concentrating his attention on the feathery bottoms upturned below him. “They’re ocean birds,” she finished. “Maybe swans though? Someday?”
“Swans,” Nigel agreed, his voice a bit thick. “Yes. Swans would be nice.”
She turned to him then, holding up the bag of duck feed. “Your turn, Mr. Grimm.”
“Oh, that’s quite all right.”
“You can’t have come all this way not to fulfill this moment of life’s peak enjoyment!” Luna tossed him a cheeky grin. “It issucha pleasure!”
“No, really. My pleasure is in helping you achieve your pleasure, Miss Talbot.”
He heard the words only after they were spoken. They hadn’t sounded like that in his head. But now they were out there, suspended in a sudden silence, while he and his employee stared out at the lake and the ducks and the clouds and the Fool’s Spring. The air was suddenly very full of quacking.
And Nigel thought to himself:She didn’t take itthatway.
Did she?
Surely not.
She wouldn’t.
She’s too innocent.
But somehow he knew. She’d heard it. And she’d taken it exactlythatway.
His ears burned.
Abruptly, Luna shoved the bag at him. “Just feed the ducks, Mr. Grimm.”
“Right.” He silently held out his hand, and she plunked the bag into it. It was mostly empty, so he simply upturned it over the water and watched the last of the pellets spatter below. Ducks swarmed in feathery mass, churning the water.
