Page 152 of Just One Little Bargain

“Evie—”

The power cuts, plunging the inn into sudden darkness.

Chapter 44

Evie

The house falls silent, leaving only the storm and a few surprised gasps.

“Everyone stay calm.” I step into the kitchen doorway and pitch my voice down the hall. “This is what I prepared for. Milo’s bringing the candles.”

He reaches the counter before I turn back, sweeping the matches into one hand and gathering an armful of candles against his chest. The beam from my phone catches him as he crosses the hallway, steadying each step with his fingertips along the wall. A moment later, amber light begins to spread through the sitting room, first across the mantel, then the side tables, until faces emerge from the dark and the guests settle again.

The outage might be nothing more than a tripped breaker, or the storm could have taken out the entire road. I glance through the kitchen window, but the rain has swallowed everything beyond the garden, leaving no neighboring porch lights to tell me which.

“I’m going to check the panel,” I say to Milo, keeping my voice low. “If it’s only the inn, I might be able to get the power back on.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to.” The answer is automatic, one I’ve been giving people my whole life.

Don’t worry about it.

I’ve got it.

I’m fine.

A vocabulary built to keep people at a distance where they can’t disappoint me.

Today, the words seem especially flimsy. One more thing goes wrong, and I may set the breaker box on fire despite the minor inconvenience of taking the inn with it.

I should’ve asked him to come.

“I know.” He’s already grabbing a flashlight. “But I’m coming anyway.”

My fingers loosen from the edge of the counter. “Thank you.”

The basement door sits tucked under the main staircase, camouflaged by the same cream paint as the surrounding walls. I’ve lived here long enough that I could find it blind, but guests usually walk past it without noticing.

I grab the brass knob and pull, but the door won’t budge. The frame has swollen in the rain again, and it takes the full weight of my shoulder to wrench it open. Its hinges groan as a rush of cold air spills into the hallway. I pull it shut behind us to keep the cold out of the hall.

Original to the house, the stairs are narrow, steep, and almost certainly illegal by modern standards. The railing shifts beneath my palm, earning itself a place on a repair list already three pages long and several thousand dollars beyond my reach.

Milo’s flashlight beam cuts through the darkness ahead of me, illuminating the descent. Cobwebs stretch across the corners where the walls meet the ceiling.

My foot lands on the third step, and it groans under my weight.

“Should I be worried?” Milo asks.

“Only if you weigh more than two hundred pounds.”

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re probably fine.”

“Probably?”

“I make no guarantees about structural integrity.”