Page 42 of Shroom for Improvement

John looked up from his scribbles, beamed when he saw Sonny, and flicked his gaze between us. “It’s romance, actually,” he corrected, despite the impossibility of human ears having heard our whispers.

I motioned for Sonny and myself to sit at the table farthest away from John and his unsettlingly acute hearing.

“Shall we sit together?” Sonny asked, just as my ass was hovering a couple of inches from the seat of the chair, and just as I realised I’d chosen the only table in the entire dining room with a tablecloth, a vase of fresh tulips, and a fucking candle twinkling in the centre.

Dammit, I hope he didn’t think I’d done it on purpose. What if he thought I thought we were on a date?

Damn, damn, damn.

Too late to change my mind—because I’d look like an idiot—I sat all the way down, and Sonny pulled out the chair opposite me.

Gods, this was going to be awkward.

We heard the scrape of chair legs. John turned his entire body towards us, a smile stretched across his cheeks and a notepad poised on his knee. He held out his palm, making the universal gesture ofas you were.

Despite Oggy telling me on my first day that the kitchens would be available for me to cook my own food in the evenings, both she and Willow had insisted on waiting on me every night. And supper had been just as good as breakfast, if not better, because it was always a mystery.

Usually I hated surprises—and change—but those two sentry fae seemed to produce the exact thing I’d been craving. Whatever I’d been craving.

“Evening, lads,” said Willow, appearing beside us. Today they wore a long green tunic with gilt embroidered birds around the collar. At least, I think it was Willow. “This is real cosy, no?” Yup, definitely Willow. “Get you something to drink?”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Please may I have—” Sonny began, but Willow had already turned on their tail and headed back to the kitchen.

“You don’t need to tell them what you want.” I placed my hand on Sonny’s wrist and immediately withdrew it. “They just know, somehow. Or the house knows. I’m not entirely sure.”

A few moments later, Willow returned with a dandelion and burdock for me and something pale yellow and sparkling in an elegant highball for Sonny. “I’ll be back in a moment with your food.”

“Thank you so much,” Sonny said, sipping his drink, his eyes going as round as saucers. “Um, what are we having? If it’s not too rude to ask. It’s just... I’m vegetar—”

“You must trust the process,” Willow replied before leaving us again.

Sonny’s brow furrowed. He bit his bottom lip.

“Try not to worry. It’s never been wrong for me before,” I said, and I resisted reaching across to grope him again.

“Did you learn much from my articles?” he asked.

My gaze dropped to his hands. One still cradled the base of his drink, the other rested atop his napkin. His fingertips idly traced the outer stitching.

Oh.

I had... reactions to them. To the gentleness of his movements.

Okay, sure, I was into dirty fingernails.

“What do you do again?” I asked, having semi-forgotten his original question.

“I’m a mycologist. I teach mushroomy things at Remy University.”

“But... why the seeds, and the plants, and the muddy hands?”

Sonny lifted his hands up, turned them over, examined his palms. Mine began sweating again, so I tucked them under my thighs.

“I’m obsessed with growing things, and using science to help grow those things. Natural science though, not chemicals. Who needs chemicals when nature and glamour do so much? Like fungi for example. Fungi is the thread that holds the natural world together. Did you know fungi can communicate with trees?”

“You mentioned it.”

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