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, runningthisshop 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. “Nottoomuch of a pep. You’re not growing anything dangerous in here, are you?”
Harry chuckled into his tea. “My dear,everythingis dangerous to someone. That’s why you mustknowthe people you deal with.”
Holly rested her chin in her palm. “It takes a long time totrulyget 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 reallyareadorable.”
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.”
