Page 37 of Just One Little Bargain

“So anyway, different vibe. A really cute guy came into the bar last night.”

“Okay . . .”

“I think you’d like him.”

I glance up. “Maddie, I’m not interested in being set up.”

“I’m only telling you about someone interesting.” She’s trying to look innocent and failing. “He was adorable. Awkward, but in that endearing puppy way where you want to help him figure out how the world works.”

“That’s not a selling point.”

“It absolutely is.”

“Maddie, I really don’t—”

“He was tall, with very nice brown curls. And his eyes . . .” She tilts her head. “Pale violet-blue. I’ve never seen that color before.”

No.

My brain is still trying to deny it, but the rest of me has already hit abort mission.

“You’re looking a bit pale.” Maddie’s smile fades. “Are you going to be sick? I love you, but last time I held your hair you threw up on my wrist and—”

The door chimes.

Maddie’s hand shoots up, waving. “Milo! Hey!”

He freezes before shuffling toward us. My grip tightens around the cup until the plastic lid pops off, splashing coffee onto my wrist.

This can’t be happening.

Milo hovers at the edge of our table, worrying the hem of a brown jacket that hangs loosely from his shoulders. Beneath it, a faded band logo stretches across his chest. The jeans sit awkwardly on his hips, cinched tight with a belt that’s been punched with an extra hole. When he pushes his curls back from his forehead, his fingers tremble. He looks straight at me, nervous, hopeful, and sorry all at once.

The universe hates me. That’s the only explanation.

Chapter 12

Milo

Being summoned by a mortal leaves a trace, a spectral fingerprint that lingers in the ether long after the magic itself is gone.

Finding Evie was never going to be the problem. The summoning created a thread between us, thin and persistent, tugging at the base of my sternum every time I move in a direction that isn’t toward her. The longer I spend away from her, the tighter it winds, leaving me sluggish. I rub at the ache beneath my ribs and start for town. The thread steadies at once, pointing me back to her with the certainty of a compass needle.

I stayed by the river all night. There’s a bench along the walking path, tucked between two old willows, and I claimed it. Demon physiology doesn’t operate on the same punishing schedule that humans submit to. We require rest, but sparingly. A few hours of deep rest every handful of days is enough for the body to reset itself. I spent that time staring at the water and contemplating all the possible versions of what I’d say to Evie this morning. By the time the sky started to lighten, I had stiff shoulders, no plan, and the growing suspicion that I wasn’t remotely prepared for any of this.

I’ve been standing across the road long enough that a woman walking a corgi has glanced at me three times.

I should go in. I need to go in. The reason I tracked Evie down is because we need to talk.

The bell overhead chimes twice when I push through the door. Fresh coffee and baked goods fill the air around me.

Maddie spots me straight away and her hand shoots up, waving energetically. “Milo! Hey!”

Evie’s face falls the instant she sees me. Her eyes widen, then narrow as she schools her expression into guarded neutrality.

Every thought in my head evacuates. The speech I prepared on the walk over, the calm, rational points I was going to make, the apology I rehearsed in front of a shop window while a woman watched me argue with my reflection. Gone.

I shuffle toward their table like I’m walking to my sentencing.