Page 2 of Just One Little Bargain

“I like my life.”

“You like your lists,” she counters.

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not.” Daisy kicks her heels against the cabinet in a rhythm that would drive me insane if I hadn’t spent years learning to tune it out. “You need help around here, Evie.”

“I have help. It’s called compartmentalization and denial.”

“I meant actual help.” Daisy sighs. “The kind that doesn’t come in a spray bottle or a color-coded spreadsheet.”

“With what money?” I turn off the faucet. “Between the mortgage and keeping Foxglove running, I’m barely breaking even most months. Adding payroll isn’t happening.”

“Then let me help. I could come by a few mornings, handle breakfast service while you do other things.”

“You have a job.”

“A flexible one at the Visitor Center where I basically tell tourists where to eat lunch.” She grabs my hand. “I want to help you, Evie.”

The words land harder than they should because she means them. She always does. But accepting help is the same as proving everyone right when they said buying this place was too much for one person.

I don’t answer right away. Daisy takes my silence as an opening, which is never a good sign. “You know, when you bought the inn three years ago—”

“Don’t.”

“I thought you’d eventually let yourself enjoy it, instead of just surviving it.”

“I have to do it myself. The loan is in my name, and so is the commitment. This is my responsibility.”

“You say that as if I wasn’t there.” Daisy hops down and stands beside me. “We stripped paint until your hands bled. I replanted the garden with you after that first winter killed everything. I know how hard you worked. That’s why I’m worried.”

I bristle. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you’ll let me help. Or that you’re coming to Mom’s dinner on Monday, so she stops asking me if you’re okay.”

“Can’t. I have guests checking in Tuesday morning.”

“You always have guests checking in.”

“That’s how businesses work.”

“Monday is three days away. You could prep on Sunday.”

“I also need to fix the loose porch step before someone sues me into oblivion. And organize the pantry. And deep-clean the Clover Room. And order new linens, because the ones in the Honeysuckle Room are starting to look threadbare.”

“You’re making excuses.”

“I’m listing legitimate responsibilities.”

“There’s always a task that needs doing, and you never have time.” Daisy’s expression turns serious. “You’re not busy, Evie. You’re hiding.”

The word stings more than I expect. I grab the dish towel and focus on drying my hands with more attention than the task requires.

“I’m not hiding.”