Grimoires and Where to Find Them Raconteur, Honor (read along books TXT) 📖

you work up a schedule for like…growing and planting and all that? With so few seeds to work with, I imagine it will take time to get this up to a real distribution number.”

“You’re not wrong, but I don’t think it will take as long as you fear. And I’ll always keep this patch here in the greenhouse safely protected, just in case a blight of some sort hits it. I don’t imagine much trouble on that front, but better safe than sorry.”

“Amen to that. I’m mid-case right now, but I’ll try and swing by sometime this weekend to properly talk it all over with you.”

“Do that, please.”

I gave her a nod, meaning the promise. Even if I had to fake my own death for an hour to get that meeting squeezed in.

Then I bounced out, singing the strawberry song and maybe skipping my way through the door.

YOU try living a deprived life of no strawberries and see how YOU react when you finally get some.

Also, three of the berries were on the verge of expiration so I had to eat those on the way home. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

I did stop long enough to pick up some chocolate—the type you could melt—because I had every intention of blowing Henri’s mind. And chocolate-covered strawberries were a good way to do that.

With all the madness of today, I went to my apartment first and took a quick shower, changing into something more casual. Then, I melted some chocolate and whipped up several coated strawberries. When they were set out and cooling, only then did I go back down to his apartment and knock on the door.

There was a light thump, then the door creaked open by degrees. I poked my head around and inside, finding that Phil had opened the door for me.

“Hey, Phil. He’s still asleep?”

“Yes,” Phil answered, whiskers bristling with worry. “Should we wake him?”

“Yeah, he’s not going to sleep tonight at this rate. Don’t worry, I’ve got a treat ready to entice him out of bed.”

I know Henri has this whole thing about being in a lady’s bedroom, but I had no issue walking straight into his.

Henri’s room was very much a reflection of the man himself. It was mostly plain, no patterns, dark wood furniture with blue curtains and a comforter to match. His nightstands on either side were stacked high with books. The man himself was flat on his back, snoring, truly dead to the world. Clint was curled up at his side, watching with alert eyes.

Man, he really must have been pushing himself this morning. I’ve rarely seen him this exhausted. Only other time that came to mind was during that charms pandemic.

I sat on the edge of the bed and gave Clint a pet hello, which got a purr from him, then patted Henri’s chest with a gentle tap. “Henri. Henri?”

He grunted, stopped snoring, then his head turned towards me. Neither eye opened, though.

“Henri. Come on, baby, I’ve got a treat waiting for you. You need to wakey wakey.”

One eye pried itself up to half-mast. He looked very bleary and out of focus. “Treat?”

“The strawberries are finally ripe,” I informed him, the happiness obvious in my voice. “And they are absolutely perfect. I’ve got both plain and chocolate-covered ones, all waiting upstairs for you.”

That got the second eye open. “Upstairs? In your flat?”

“Yup. How about you come up? We can eat them, and I’ll order delivery from Christopher’s. I can tell you about the interesting offer I got from Pam Pousson.”

“Ooh. Mmm. Yes, I can get up.”

See? Food bribes totally worked on Henri. I got off the bed, giving him a hand and pulling him upright. He sat there for a second, obviously orienting himself.

“Usual order for you?” I checked.

“Huh? Oh, yes, splendid.”

“I’ll give you twenty minutes to come up, and then I will come back down here to drag you,” I warned him.

He nodded, still not entirely with it. Well, I trusted Phil or Clint to report to me if there was a problem.

I went back up to my apartment, called Christopher’s—one of the few restaurants I knew that had a phone—and placed an order for delivery. Then I cleaned off the island so we’d have a place to eat. As I cleaned, I got to singing The Beatles’ “Strawberry Fields Forever” because, hey, most appropriate soundtrack I could think of. My berries were all washed and ready for my culinary delight. Shame the cats couldn’t try them, but they weren’t made for food.

Come to think of it, I was short on furballs. I had to wonder where Tasha was. Chasing rats, maybe?

Henri’s tread sounded heavy with fatigue as he came up the stairs, followed by the lighter patter of Phil’s paws on the wood floor. He came in looking only slightly more awake than he had twenty minutes ago. It’s not often that I see him in only trousers and a shirt, sleeves rolled up. He even had slippers on, no socks. Downright scandalous, for Henri.

I wasn’t sure if it was a statement of how comfortable he’d gotten with me or more a point of how exhausted he was. I had the feeling Henri didn’t have a lot of spoons to work with right at the moment.

He didn’t even glance my direction, just zeroed in on the red yumminess on display, artfully arranged on two different plates. “Strawberry.”

“Your detective skills are improving,” I deadpanned. “Try one, go on.”

He picked up one of the smaller berries, about the size of his thumb, and gingerly bit into it. Ever seen someone’s brain actually log in and power on? I swear, berry power did that to Henri. He went from zombie-shuffle to more like the man I knew.

“Oh,” he intoned with true pleasure. “Oh, that’s delightful. I now understand why you missed it so keenly. My mouth can’t equate it to any flavor it’s tried before.”

He bit into the rest of the berry, a smile lingering on his mouth.

“It’s not sure