Chapter 1 #2
Nick tapped one of the paper bags. ‘I bought a little farm outside Mill Plain recently. It backs onto the forest, so there’s no shortage of fungi. And believe me, it takes one to know one.’
Ah. A fun guy. Handsome and goofy, and with a cute dog. If he were intelligent as well, Zoey, despite all her big words about never falling in love again, was doomed.
Wait, was that a ratty paperback sitting over there on the camp chair behind the table? Was he a reader? Did he have a Powell’s loyalty card?
‘Isn’t this the honey guy’s spot?’ she managed. Oh good, and she’d managed it in a tone that sounded like she was accusing him of murdering said honey guy.
Zoey Kaban, queen of small talk.
‘Right, Evan. He’s upgraded to store distribution instead. Hung up his tent and called it a day.’
‘Fair. It has to be a seriously good pop-up if I’m going to wrestle with a tent.’
Now it was mushroom guy’s turn to be curious. Those luminous dark eyes regarded her. ‘You’re a vendor?’
‘Sort of. I have a smoothie shop on Southeast Belmont, on the corner near the retro arcade and the zine shop. Opposite the coworking space with the rock-climbing wall.’
‘Near Laurelhurst Park, right? I take this good girl there sometimes.’ He gave Alice a gentle nudge with his toe.
‘Don’t let her sloth-like attitude fool you.
She loves any excuse to chase a squirrel.
She made it halfway up a tree once. Until she got scared off by some guy playing the bagpipes. Naked.’
‘That will do it.’ Zoey had encountered the bagpipes guy several times at the shop. He’d precipitated the pants mandatory sign in the window (a policy she only relaxed during the city’s annual Naked Bike Ride, when pants were in short supply citywide).
‘So, what’s your poison?’ Nick gestured at the display of mushrooms. ‘The morels are always a hit. And the chanterelles. The cauliflower one might be great for texture or a garnish.’
Zoey had zeroed in on a weird orange-looking variety she’d never seen before. ‘What about that one?’
‘That’s … a cordyceps.’
Zoey had heard that name before: it was from that post-apocalyptic computer-game-turned-TV-show. Her roommate Winslow was obsessed. ‘The Last of Us one?’
Nick chuckled. ‘I mean, sure, but no. It’s been used widely in herbal medicine for centuries. The gym bros are heavily into it at the moment. And the yoga set as well.’
‘Cross-sectional appeal,’ said Zoey thoughtfully. And with the early-adopter groups specifically. ‘I’ll try some.’
Nick hesitated. ‘I mean, sure. I just have this with me, but I can probably rustle up some more if you like it. It has kind of a limited distribution.’
Zoey unfolded the top of the brown paper bag he’d passed her, peeping inside. The mushrooms resembled the forgotten baby carrots she’d once found at the bottom of her crisper drawer, all shrivelled and skinny, like depressed French fries.
‘Dirt’s hard to find out here, huh?’ She raised a teasing eyebrow.
‘These guys are particular about their dirt.’ Nick’s dark eyes danced as he reached forward to point out the features of the weird Cheeto-lookalike mushrooms in the bag.
He was leaning over her in a way that was technically breaking some personal space norms …
but for some reason Zoey’s innate prickliness was failing to present itself.
Fuck it, her inner cactus was saying: with those strong features and thick-lashed eyes, he could tower all he wanted.
Not to mention that he smelled good for someone who spent his mornings digging around for mushrooms and his afternoon selling said mushrooms at a farmers’ market.
Like pine needles and sunscreen and fresh sweat.
She took a step back. Oh shit, had she—
‘Did you just … ?’ He looked bemused, but not unhappily so.
She had. She’d sniffed him. Zoey prided herself on keeping her intrusive thoughts from interfering too much in her daily life, although she did avoid walking too close to the edge of the Hawthorne Bridge just in case, but today was apparently the day they’d decided to prevail.
‘Allergies,’ she lied, although they were past the sneezy months of May and June, when the entire city managed to coat itself in a carpet of yellow pollen, like the yellow brick road from Oz had decided to take an extensive, itchy detour.
Nick was clearly biting back a grin. He wasn’t buying her excuse. But at least he hadn’t called her out: apparently her state of evident mortification was penance enough. Even Alice was thumping her tail in amusement.
‘Here, let’s get you rung up. Cash, card, phone … I do it all. Especially big jars of change, because I have a neighbour embarking upon a serious penny-tiling job.’
Zoey made a show of patting her jeans pockets. ‘I left my piggy bank at home.’
She passed him her work credit card instead.
‘Phone number or email for the receipt?’ he asked, handing his phone to her. ‘Not a 503 area code, huh?’ he asked, peering over the screen as she typed.
A small thrill ran down her spine.
No. She mustn’t let herself be swayed by the fact that he was paying such close attention. Just because he was a handsome small-business owner with a cute dog didn’t mean he wasn’t going to break her heart. Not that she was imagining them in a situation where heartbreak could even be an option.
‘I grew up in the California desert,’ she admitted, passing the phone back to him. ‘But I’ve been out here since college. I’m trying to catch up on the rain I missed during my childhood.’
‘It takes a while to grow those webbed feet, but you’ll get there.’
‘I’m working on it. I’ve been very vocal about refusing to carry an umbrella.’
‘Look at you – you’re practically a local. All you need is a rainproof jacket and you’re set.’ Nick pulled a card from a stack rubber-banded together, then stapled it to Zoey’s bag. ‘Here. In case you want to place another order. Or, you know.’ He shrugged.
Zoey cocked her head. She did not in fact know.
Or rather, she suspected she knew, and was afraid she was correct.
There was a reason Zoey kept her distance from astonishingly handsome men.
That way lay heartbreak, debt, late-night realisations about secret texting and work trips that were definitely more of the pleasure variety.
‘In case I have mushroom questions?’ she asked, feigning stupidity.
‘Sure.’ He scribbled something down on a notepad. ‘Or if you want to tour the farm.’
‘Mushrooms in situ, huh?’ Zoey hoisted her paper bag, then gave Alice a last pat. ‘I’ll let you know how the smoothies turn out.’
‘You have my number.’ He said it with a grin – the sort of kind, slightly crooked grin that did things to your knees and affected your ability to walk.
‘I’ll send pics. Not nudes,’ she clarified over her shoulder, as she strode off down the waterfront, not sure whether she should be proud of the quip or dismayed at herself for falling prey to her intrusive thoughts twice in one day.
Probably the latter given that she’d just bashed into a balloon-animal stand and sent a balloon giraffe flying.
But a quick glance back showed that Nick was watching her go – even if it was over the shoulder of a double-denim-clad dude wobbling under the weight of a towering man bun and brandishing a bag of champignons.
All right, so she hadn’t had an instant crush on a mushroom farmer on this year’s bingo card, but as she’d found out playing bingo at the Palm Desert Community Center with Gran during high school, bingo was full of surprises. And surprising amounts of swearing.
Bingo could get you hot under the collar. And so too could browsing for produce.
Dammit, she hated when that happened.
She’d have to add it to her list of pet peeves.