Page 149 of Just One Little Bargain

“Last-minute cancellation.” I set the phone down. “So that’s three rooms instead of four for tonight.”

He crosses the kitchen and stops beside me. His hand lifts toward my waist, then closes into a fist before it reaches me.

“That’s still good though, right?”

“It’s fine.” The word tastes sharp. “It happens.”

Except it’s happening more lately. Broken appliances, repairs, unexpected expenses that chip away at the careful budget I’ve maintained.

“Evie, three rooms is still good. And one cancellation doesn’t change what you’ve built here.” His knuckles graze the counter beside my hand. I move mine away.

“I’m going to strip the empty rooms.”

In the Garden Room, I crouch to check the nightstand for abandoned belongings. The drawer resists when I pull. I yank harder, and physics decides to teach me a lesson about excessive force.

It rips free, the brass handle separating from the wood with a crack that echoes through the room. Pens and notepads scatter across the hardwood, and the TV remote skitters under the bed.

“Are you kidding me right now?”

Another thing I’ll fix myself, or pay someone to repair, or leave broken and hope no guest notices.

Milo’s name rises instinctively, ready to carry down the hall. I close my mouth around it and remain crouched on the floor, the broken drawer pressing awkwardly across my knees. For the past few weeks, reaching for him has become easier than remembering I’m supposed to manage alone. Soon there’ll be no one to answer. I look down at the broken drawer and hate how much that scares me.

Only me, after I’d begun to want it to be us.

In the Sunrise Room, the lamp decides to have a complete electrical breakdown.

I flip the switch, and instead of light, I get a strobing effect that should come with a seizure warning.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Milo asks from the doorway.

I flip it again. Off. On. Off. The flickering continues.

“Oh, the irony,” I mutter.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I unplug the lamp, and blessed darkness returns. “Wiring issue. Can’t touch it myself without risking death by electrocution.”

“I read about electrical work once—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Right.” A tentative smile pulls at his mouth as he nods toward the lamp. “Probably wise. Me experimenting with live wiring seems like an opening paragraph of an insurance claim.”

I coil the unplugged cord around the base, keeping my eyes on my hands. When I straighten, his smile is gone. The warmth he’d tried to coax in goes with it.

But the Clover Room sink is what finally breaks me. I turn on the hot water, and an icy stream runs over my hands. I let it run, counting under my breath, waiting for the temperature shift that should come.

Thirty. Forty. Sixty.

Still freezing.

My fingers go numb, and I shut off the water and grip the vanity edge. Dark circles shadow my eyes in the mirror, and my ponytail is coming apart in pieces.

“Let me guess,” Milo says. “No hot water.”

“Stellar detective work.”