Page 10 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

He lifted his face once more, blinking up at her blearily. Had he registered a single word she’d spoken? That severmist poison must have been much more potent than she’d guessed. She could only hope it wouldn’t cause him any lasting harm.

“Come on,” she said, gripping his elbow. She gave a firm tug, and he seemed to understand her intention. He braced his feet and rose again, more slowly than the previous attempt. He took a step, staggered, and she hastily tucked herself under his arm. His gaze dropped to her face with an expression of such lovesick longing that she would be quite tempted to ignore all other concerns and kiss him, only . . . Luna winced.

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Grimm,” she said, “but you don’t half stink!”

His expression crumpled, and he turned away quickly. A flush of pink stained his cheeks.

“Go on,” Luna urged, as he found his own footing. “Get upstairs, please. I’ll handle the flowers and get things ready for opening, all right?”

Nodding, Mr. Grimm carefully removed his arm from around her shoulders and made his way out from behind the counter. She watched him stagger to the stairs, where he gripped the doorframe and looked back at her, his eyes suddenly very wide and desperate. “You’ll be here, won’t you?” he asked, his ordinarily posh voice slurred. “When I get back? You won’t go away?”

A knot of sickness twisted her gut, but Luna forced a little smile on her face. “I’ll be here,” she said. “I’m just going to tidy up a bit then make a start on those commissions.”

He nodded. Turned to the stairwell, paused. Looked back at her again, as though afraid she might have already flickeredout of sight. Then, with a heavy sigh, he disappeared into the stairwell.

Luna listened to the sound of his footsteps ascending, to the creak of his apartment door opening and shutting in his wake. Not much after, the pipes by the trimming sink roared to life, testimony to the shower up above in action. Luna pressed her lips together in a tight line. She turned and caught Debbie looking at her just as a tear escaped through her lashes and trailed down her cheek. She hastily dashed it away, but not before the raven’s quick eye spotted it.

“Never mind?”Debbie ventured.

“No, don’t mind me,” Luna answered firmly. “I’m fine. It’s all going to be fine.”

But in her heart, she knew it wouldn’t be.

With a clatter of footsteps on stairs, Mr. Grimm burst from the stairwell a short while later, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his hair un-pomaded, still looking rather wild, truth be told. But a lot fresher and sweeter-smelling. He gripped the doorway of the stairwell with a white-knuckled hand, staring around the shop until his gaze landed on Luna. She stood behind the counter, going through order slips for the Governor’s Ball.

“You’re still here!” he gasped and sagged against the doorway.

Luna looked up at him blandly. “I am, Mr. Grimm,” she acknowledged. Then: “Where’s your tie?”

He looked down at his shirt, which wasn’t quite buttoned right. “Erm.”

Lifting the hinged portion of the counter, Luna stepped out and approached him, even as he sought to redo his buttons. His fingers were shaking, and while he could manage to get the buttons undone, doing them up again seemed to be quite beyond his powers. “Here, Mr. Grimm,” she said, reaching out. “Allow me.”

He froze as her hands took hold of his nice white shirt. She did not feel so much as a breath on her forehead, though the intensity of his stare was enough to leave scorch marks. His lovely sandalwood-and-cinnamon scent was back in full force, and she inhaled it deeply, hoping to commit it to memory. She found herself very aware of her proximity to his freshly-shaven jaw, aware of the way the muscles in his throat constricted. A strange urge came over her not to button his shirt, but rather to tear it away, exposing more of his torso in his tight-fitting undershirt. Then she might press her mouth against the lovely line of his sternum, currently presented to her view, and . . .

Luna blinked and shook her head. Where had such a scandalous notion come from? She hardly recognized herself! And what was this strange, new heat trickling from her stomach into lower regions of her body?

Drawing a sharp little breath, she hastily did up the last few buttons, then pulled his waistcoat together and did those as well. “There,” she said and took a step back, hoping he could not see how warm her cheeks had become. “You’re a bit more presentable now.” Her gaze fastened on his collar, unable or unwilling to rise any higher. “Did you bring a tie down with you?”

Mr. Grimm shook his head.

“Well, that’s all right.” Luna forced a little smile and a short glance up to his eyes. “Put on your apron, and I’m sure no one will notice.”

So saying, she turned on heel and returned to the stack of order forms. It wasn’t much use, however, because her boss merely followed her. That tiny space behind the counter had never before felt so claustrophobic. Luna’s fingers trembled as she shuffled the slips, and her own handwriting blurred before her eyes.

“Miss Talbot,” Mr. Grimm said, even as he pulled his apron over his head and secured the ties. “About last night—”

Luna plucked the topmost pink slip from the pile and held it up before her face like a barrier. “Mr. Grimm,” she said primly, “if these orders are going to be ready in time, we must focus. Now . . .” She frowned at the slip. She recognized her own scribbles, but the words were pretty much illegible. “Oh dear. What do you think Miss Peabody ordered?”

Mr. Grimm took the slip. He scanned it briefly, his brow puckered, then answered with confidence, “White peonies with purple anemones and corresponding satin ribbon.” He held the paper a little closer to his nose, frown line deepening. “There seems to be the word, ‘crystals’ here as well. Underlined a number of times.”

“Right. I remember now.” Luna reached under the counter for floral tape, wire, ribbon, a pot of glue, and a selection of glass crystals and rhinestone adornments they’d been collecting for just such a purpose. “Will you fetch me two large peonies and a handful of anemones, Mr. Grimm?”

He lingered a moment, watching her in troubled silence. But when she continued to concentrate solely on the task at hand, arranging her supplies across the lower portion of the counter, he moved off at last, returning moments later with the requested flowers. These delivered, he hung back, and she could feel the tension in him as he strove to find the right words to speak.

Only there were no right words. And she definitely did not want to talk right now.

“There’s a pot of dandelion and arnica tea in the nook,” she said, focusing on snipping peony stems and beginning to wrap them in floral tape. “It’ll help that nasty bruise on your jaw you know.”