Luna set to work tossing her clothes over the line and spreading them out to best benefit from the radiating heat. She hesitated a little over her hose and girdle. What would Auntie Arabella have to say about her displaying her underthings before the eyes of a strange man? But there wouldn’t be much use in drying her suit if she was only going to put on wet things underneath. She’d catch a chill, and dear Auntie Arabella wouldn’t want her to risk that, surely.
“Milk?”
Luna looked around at Mr. Grimm. He held a milk bottle up invitingly. She’d not had milk in her tea in ages; another luxury she hadn’t been able to afford. “Please,” she said, delightedly, “and sugar if you have it.”
He froze, milk poised over the less-battered of the two mugs. His gaze flicked sideways to meet hers.
“But no worries if you don’t,” she hastily added. “My Auntie Apolonia says it’s a crime to ruin good tea with sweeteners of any kind, but I’ve always had such a terrible sweet tooth. She would be quite pleased to see me take mine without.” Which is exactly how she’d been taking it for years now, since fleeing home in the dead of night. But she didn’t feel the need to mention that.
She finished arranging her clothes on the line, while Mr. Grimm stirred the contents of the mugs with such vigor, he might well be generating foam. “Have a seat,” he said politely, indicating the cane chair.
It wasn’t the most comfortable thing on which she’d ever planted her posterior, but Luna sank onto it nonetheless, and crossed her ankles, taking care the dressing gown didn’t part inappropriately. Mr. Grimm handed her the cup, turning it so she could grasp the handle. “I’m afraid the milk might be a little sour,” he cautioned.
“Not to worry!” Luna answered cheerfully and took a sip. Immediately, she wished she hadn’t, and burst into a gulping, choking, coughing fit, eyes watering. The milk was most definitely sour, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She’d been around tea long enough to learn a thing or two, and a terrible suspicion bloomed in her heart. Somehow she managed to force the mouthful down her throat rather than spew it all over Mr. Grimm’s nice waistcoat.
“Too hot?” he asked anxiously.
“No.” She shook her head and looked down at the frothy liquid. “No, it’s a lovely temperature, only . . . Did you . . . I’m just curious, but did you, perchance, brew the tea directly in the kettle?”
“Yes?”
“Do you not have a pot?”
Mr. Grimm waved vaguely toward the stove where the unsightly black kettle sat fat and menacing. “Isn’t that a pot?”
“It’s a kettle.”
“Yes. And . . . ?”
Luna somehow managed a smile, despite the way her mouth, tongue, throat, and stomach all cried out in simultaneous protest against such ill treatment. “It doesn’t matter.” To prove her words, she pretended to take another sip, but could only bear to wet her upper lip before removing the cup again as quickly as possible.
Mr. Grimm, meanwhile, perched himself on the stepping stool—very elegantly, considering it was more of a size for a small child than a grown man. He struck Luna as the sort of person who would do everything elegantly. Despite the damp patches on his suit, including the seat of his trousers, he was every inch the gentleman. When she’d met him at the door, he was in his waistcoat and shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, but he’d straightened his cuffs and donned his jacketwhile she was upstairs. This disappointed Luna—she’d rather liked the sight of his unexpectedly hairy forearms. But the jacket was so well-tailored, and it did emphasize the nice frame of his shoulders and the taper to his trim waist. He wore a waistcoat of a slightly darker gray than the suit cloth, and a little blue striped tie. His hair was ashy pale, which, at first glance, made him look older than he was, but now, as she studied him through the steam rising from her cup, she guessed him to be no more than thirty-four or thirty-five. There was no sign of thinning in the thick locks which flopped with unexpected boyishness across his forehead. Of course, that might be thanks to the enchanted shampoo she’d found in his shower.
She narrowed her gaze slightly. Though she couldn’t explain why, neither could she shake the impression that a beard would set off that square jaw of his just right and bring out the blue in his sad eyes. But he was quite clean-shaven, almost rigidly so.
He perched on that stool, attempting to cross his legs, but thinking better of it when he nearly over-tilted, and slopped tea on the floor. “Oh dear,” he murmured, and reached for one of the mushroom tea towels. As he did so, he caught sight of a bundle of white fabric lying on the floor near the stove. He plucked it up, holding it to the light before realizing what he held. “Oh . . . dear . . .”
Luna’s face erupted with blushes. Her brassiere! Green Mother preserve her, she must have dropped it while hanging up the rest of her things.
“I’ll get that!” she cried, springing up from the chair and setting down her mug before making a dart for her undergarment. Her fingers brushed his, and she tried not to notice the little spark of electricity which jumped up her arm. It must be all the static in the air from the storm. Because she simply had no business feeling sparks with strange men alonein shop nooks while wearing nothing but a dressing gown and waving her own brassiere about.
Putting her back to Mr. Grimm, she hastily flung the garment over the end of the drying line and made a point of half-hiding it under her girdle. “So,” she said brightly to cover her embarrassment, “how long has this shop been open?”
Mr. Grimm cleared his throat loudly before answering. “This is day four.”
“Oh, so you’re new then? How exciting!” Luna turned from the drying line to fetch her abandoned mug of tea before reclaiming her seat. She took another sip, only to be reminded just how awful it was, and struggled to hide a wince. “Did you have a Grand Opening and everything?”
“Well,” Mr. Grimm looked down into his cup, brow slightly puckered behind that lock of pale hair, “notgrandas such.”
Luna tutted sympathetically. “Bad luck with this storm blowing through, right when you’re just getting started. Not many customers out flower shopping in this weather. I’m surprised you were able to get any fresh blooms shipped in! Or are these yesterday’s lot?”
“No, no, they’re fresh. The freshest flowers in Eastside Ballycastle.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen, Eastside Ballycastle can certainly use some freshness.”
They lapsed into silence. More for something to do than with any real hope, Luna tried her tea again. Perhaps a third time would prove the charm? It did not. Mr. Grimm adjusted his seat on his stool and blew at his own tea but did not taste it. Luna suspected he knew just how bad it was, but didn’t know what to do about it. She felt for the poor man; what could be worse for a host than to discover one had served bad tea?
Searching for some way to fill the awkward silence, Luna cast about for inspiration. She caught the raven’s eye. It ruffled its feathers at her and clacked its beak aggressively.“Never mind!”
