Page 78 of Just One Little Bargain

“I asked, so clearly I do.”

“There are communal feeding halls. Cafeteria-style, though calling them cafeterias is generous. More like troughs with ambiance. The standard fare is insects. Roasted beetles, fried crickets, various larvae preparations.”

My stomach clenches. “Stop.”

“Some of the market stalls sell rodents. Skewered, mostly.”

“Stop talking.”

“It’s efficient protein.”

“That is the most upsetting sentence anyone has ever spoken in this kitchen.”

He grins, and it pulls a dimple out of his left cheek.

“Would you . . .” I clear my throat. “Would you rather have that? The bug situation? If it’s what you’re used to, I can figure something out. I’m not cooking you beetles, but I could probably find crickets online . . . and I can’t believe I’m offering to purchase insects for you.”

His lips part.

“No. Everything here is better. I don’t understand half of it yet, and Nora nearly killed me with that coffee, but even the unfamiliar things taste like something worth learning.”

He goes back to the eggs.

I set the knife down, and the realization settles with it. Talking to Milo is easy. Worse, I want to keep asking him things. I want to know what else he’s never tasted, what his favorite thing has been so far, whether demons dream, what his world looks like, and why any mention of it makes him retreat into himself. Another morning in this kitchen with him fumbling, checking his notes, flinching at grease splatter, and looking to me for approval, should not sound appealing.

He told me twenty minutes ago that keeping me comfortable serves his professional interests. And I’m sitting on my kitchen counter, wondering how quiet tomorrow morning will feel if he’s not in it.

Chapter 21

Milo

Isnatch a chocolate chip cookie from the cooling rack while Evie’s back is turned.

“Don’t even think about it.”

I freeze with the cookie halfway to my mouth. “How did you know?”

She’s at the sink, running water over the teacups from this morning, and she hasn’t looked in my direction once. This woman has some kind of radar that activates within a ten-foot radius of her baked goods.

“You breathe louder when you’re being sneaky. It’s the opposite of stealth.”

Damn.

“They’re good cookies, you can’t expect me not to eat them.”

“Flattery doesn’t work on me.” She still doesn’t turn around, but I can tell from the angle of her head that she’s considering violence.

“Everything works on everyone if you find the right angle.”

“That’s the most demonic thing you’ve ever said, and you’re still not getting a cookie. Those are for guests.”

“I count as a guest.”

“You sleep on my couch without paying. That makes you a squatter, not a guest. Put it down.”

I eat half the cookie in one bite. Her shoulders rise and fall once.

“I’m going to let that go because I have things to do today, and committing a crime would set me behind schedule.”