Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
Harry’s Fungi Haven was a very unique shop.
The room was circular, not very bright, but filled with an earthy, pleasant smell that reminded Holly of rain-soaked forests during Canadian summers.
Dozens of transparent cylindrical habitats rose from floor to ceiling throughout the space, each one home to a different variety of fungus, in various stages of growth.
The cylinders were illuminated differently depending on what each species required.
Some glowed with bright white light. Others pulsed with soft blues or warm ambers or deep violets.
The effect was almost otherworldly, like walking through a vibrant, bioluminescent forest.
The habitats varied wildly in size. Some were narrow enough to wrap your arms around.
Others were as wide as the two-hundred-year-old oak trees in the station’s forest. Inside each one, mushrooms sprouted from different substrates.
Beds of dark soil. Logs of decomposing wood.
Nutrient-rich gels that Holly couldn’t identify.
Some of the fungi were small and delicate, clusters of tiny white caps no bigger than her thumbnail.
Others were enormous, their shelflike brackets jutting from the sides of their containers like stairs.
Some alien varieties undulated in brilliant colors like undersea corals.
In the center of the shop stood a circular lift that Holly knew from a previous visit led up to Harry’s living quarters above.
Harry himself had clearly been in the middle of some kind of work, as evidenced by his green jumpsuit sporting a vivid mushroom print, a pair of goggles perched atop his wild white hair, and a compact respirator hanging around his neck from straps.
Holly took in the whole package and winced.
“Oh, no. We disturbed you from your work.” She gestured to the respirator.
“Do you need to deal with spores or something?”
“Not at all, not at all.” Harry whipped a hand through the air.
“I was about to harvest a particularly, ah, spicy mushroom, but that can wait. Guests cannot,” Harry said, rubbing his hands together.
“Now. What brings you to my humble establishment with a baking dish and matching expressions of distress?”
Holly lifted the pot pie slightly. “Um, the oven in the hotel lounge unexpectedly quit. I made this for the guests, but I have no way to cook it. Rasker says you have heating units for your mushrooms and I was wondering if you could—”
“Bake it?” Harry’s bushy eyebrows rose. “Absolutely. Only one of my four units is in use right now. Mostly they’re for dehydrating, but they can most certainly bake pies.” He waved a hand. “Follow me, friends.”
He led them through the maze of glowing cylinders, weaving between the habitats with the ease of long familiarity. Holly followed more carefully, with Rasker close behind her, both of them trying not to bump into anything.
The back of the shop opened into a workspace with a curved counter lined with several stools.
Behind the counter was a larger area filled with devices and equipment that Holly peered at curiously.
Tubes and valves and tented off areas, all dedicated to the cultivation of Harry’s beloved fungi.
Among the unfamiliar machinery stood four heating units of various sizes.
Harry took the pot pie from Holly’s hands and examined it with an approving eye.
“This looks marvelous. Absolutely marvelous.” He selected one of the heating units and placed the dish inside with care.
“Don’t worry, my dear. These units are sterilized after every use. Your pie will be perfectly safe.”
Holly told him the temperature and time required from the recipe, and added, “until the crust is golden.”
Harry nodded and inputted the setting. “Consider it done.” He turned to them with a bright smile and whipped off both the goggles and the respirator.
He tossed them into a decontamination bin and placed both hands on the counter.
“Now, sit down, both of you. You’ll have some mushroom tea while we wait. ”
Holly and Rasker exchanged a glance as Harry bustled about behind the workspace, humming to himself. There was no refusing their host, and Holly didn’t really want to. He was just gracious and friendly, and they settled onto two of the stools at the curved counter.
Harry emerged moments later with an ornate silver teapot and three delicate teacups balanced on a tray. The teapot was beautiful, etched with a pattern of curling vines and tiny mushroom caps that caught the colored light from the nearby habitats.
“This blend,” Harry announced as he poured, “is wonderful for the skin and promotes healthy hair growth.” He set a cup in front of Rasker and gave him an appraising look.
“Not that you need to worry about that. Lovely hair. Very thick and shiny. Is that natural, or do Nakrians have some kind of secret?”
Rasker accepted the cup with a slight curve to his lips. “Natural.”
“Figures.” Harry poured Holly’s tea next, then his own. He settled onto a stool across from them and cradled his cup in both hands. His eyes sparkled with barely contained curiosity.
“So,” he said, leaning forward. “What were you two talking about outside my door?”
Holly felt heat rise to her cheeks. She wrapped her hands around her teacup and avoided Harry’s gaze.
“Nothing important,” Rasker said smoothly. “Business stuff.”
“Lies.” Harry waved a dismissive hand. “I may not be able to read lips, but I can read body language. That was not a ‘nothing important’ conversation.” He looked between them as a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“The two of you are adorable. Don’t you worry—your ‘business stuff’ is your private matter.
” He winked at Holly. “I’m not one to pry. ”
The tension in her shoulders eased. Harry was teasing them, not interrogating them. She took a sip of her tea and winked at him. “Now who lies?”
He waggled a finger at her. “I like you,” he said. “You’re a breath of fresh air here, on the outpost.”
Rasker snorted. “Fresh air is in short supply under this dome,” he muttered, slanting a grin toward Holly as he took a sip of tea.
She scowled back, but before she could inform him that the air was soon to change with the arrival of a new turbine, Rasker made a noise of surprise and lifted his teacup. “Harry, this is surprisingly good.”
“What do you mean, ‘surprisingly?’” Harry said, raising one bushy white eyebrow. “I know my fungi blends.”
Holly hummed in agreement. Earthy and warm, the tea had a subtle sweetness that lingered on her tongue. “It’s delicious. Have you thought of opening a tea shop?”
“Hah! Believe it or not, running this shop takes enough of my time.” He leaned back on his stool behind the counter.
“I am at an age where I enjoy some leisure. But, if you wish, I could come up with a signature blend for the hotel lounge.” He waggled his brows.
“If edible food is going to be served there again, a custom beverage or two won’t be amiss. ”
Holly brightened. “That’s a wonderful idea. Perhaps something sweet, for desserts, and something for the morning? The powder you gave me helps, but that stimulant drink tastes like battery acid.”
“I shall see what I can conjure, my dear. I have several species of fungi that can put a pep in your step, if you know what I mean.”
She wasn’t sure she did. “Not too much of a pep. You’re not growing anything dangerous in here, are you?”
Harry chuckled into his tea. “My dear, everything is dangerous to someone. That’s why you must know the people you deal with.”
Holly rested her chin in her palm. “It takes a long time to truly get to know a person.” She raised a brow. “Surely you don’t have intimate knowledge of everyone you sell mushrooms to.”
“It’s a skill one develops over time,” Harry said thoughtfully.
“I don’t sell my fungi to just anyone, especially the varieties that are, eh, medicinal.
It’s an art form, weeding out the good eggs from the bad.
You’d be surprised at how much people reveal about themselves without even realizing it.
” He slanted an amused look between Rasker and Holly. “You two really are adorable.”
The conversation moved on—thankfully. Harry graciously let the matter of Holly and Rasker’s adorability drop, though his knowing looks made it clear he had drawn his own conclusions.
Instead, Harry told them about Violet, his favorite niece on Earth, and stories of some fungal mishaps, including the time in his less-experienced mushroom-growing days, when he tried out a new alien species, unaware of its mature size.
It grew so big, so fast, it burst from its enclosure and threatened to overtake the shop until Oliver Moone arrived with an axe and chopped the thing to pieces.
Holly’s side hurt from laughing so hard, and even Rasker had been unable to catch his breath.
An hour later, Holly pushed open the door to the hotel lounge with her perfectly baked pot pie cradled carefully in her hands.
It had emerged from Harry’s heating unit perfectly golden, with a flaky crust and a filling bubbling with savory goodness.
Harry had finagled a slice out of the pie before she left, and his reaction had been everything Holly could have hoped for.
He had closed his eyes, savored each bite, and declared it the finest pot pie he had eaten in decades.
“You may bake in my shop anytime you need to,” he had told her, pressing the dish back into her hands. “For the low, low cost of a sample of whatever you’re making.” He had winked. “I accept payment in pastries, pies, and anything else that comes out of an oven.”
Her mood was lighter, despite the oven issue weighing on her mind. The visit to Harry’s shop had been exactly the mood lifter she’d needed. Harry promised to bring some tea samples for Holly to try in about a week and Holly was looking forward to that.
Now, back in the lounge, Holly set the pot pie on the counter and fetched plates from the cupboard. Above her, she could hear the hotel guests stirring in their rooms. Footsteps on the floor. The murmur of conversation. They would be down soon, hungry for lunch.
Rasker stood near the door, watching her work. He had been quieter than usual on the walk back from Harry’s shop. Thoughtful.
“I should go,” he said.
Holly paused with a stack of plates in her hands. “Right. Of course.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. The conversation outside Harry’s door hung in the air, unfinished.
Rasker took a step toward her, then stopped. His gray eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“Holly.” His voice was softer than she had ever heard it. “I meant what I said earlier.”
She set the plates down carefully. “Which part?”
He moved close enough that she could see the slits of his gills, and the subtle blue color that rose like a flush beneath his skin.
“I see how special this place is.” He reached out and placed his hand over hers where it rested on the counter.
His palm was warm. “And with you running it, it’s magical. ”
Holly’s heart stuttered. Not even a meteor strike could tear her gaze from his. “Um.”
“This makes what I’m supposed to do here a thousand times harder,” he continued, his jaw tightening. “You should know that.”
“I know.” Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
He was silent for a moment. Then, “I’m going to do some discreet observing. Ask around. See if I can find out who might have been in the kitchen last night, or who might have a reason to sabotage you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed across her knuckles. “I want to. If you notice anything else has been tampered with, let me know.”
Holly turned her hand over beneath his and let her fingers curl around his palm. Holding his hand properly. The gesture felt significant. A small acknowledgment of the attraction neither of them saw the point in denying.
“I will. Thank you,” she said.
“And I’d lock up the lounge at night,” he added. “Just to be on the safe side.”
They stood like that for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Then Holly pulled her hand away and reached for a knife.
“Here.” She cut a slice of pot pie and slid it onto a plate. “You should try some. Quality control.”
Rasker accepted the plate with a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Quality control.”
“Professional opinion.” She handed him a fork. “I value your feedback.”
He took a bite, and his expression shifted into something she hadn’t seen before. Genuine pleasure. “This is excellent.”
“Better than burnt muffins?”
“Significantly.” He took another bite, then moved toward the exit. “I should go before your guests arrive. I’m keeping this, though,” he said, gesturing toward the slice with his fork.
“Of course. I can’t serve it with a bite taken out of it.”
He smiled. “Goodbye, Holly.”
“I hope to see you soon,” Holly said in a rush of words that came out a touch more sincere than she intended.
Rasker’s gaze held hers for a beat longer. “You will.”
He slipped out the door just as footsteps sounded in the hallway. The hotel guests entered the lounge, their faces brightening as the scent of fresh-baked pot pie reached them.
“Are you serving a meal?” the young man with tired eyes asked hopefully.
Holly smiled and picked up the knife. “I am. Please, have a seat.”