Page 85 of Just One Little Bargain

“So the offensive line completely collapsed in the third quarter, right, and the pocket evaporated. They had maybe two seconds before . . .”

Milo sits across from him, nodding at intervals that don’t quite align with the natural rhythm of the story. His brow is furrowed.

“The pocket,” he repeats. “And whose trousers does that belong to?”

“No, man, it’s the protected area behind the offensive line where the quarterback stands to throw. It’s like a safety zone.”

“A safety zone.” Milo nods again, slower this time. “And it collapsed.”

“Completely.”

“Was anyone injured in the collapse?”

Caleb stares at him. Then he breaks into a grin, dimples appearing in both cheeks. “Dude. I can’t tell if you’re messing with me.”

“I am genuinely asking about the structural integrity of this pocket.”

Caleb turns in his chair toward Ivy and me, delighted by whatever he’s discovered and in need of witnesses. “Babe. He thinks the pocket is a real thing.”

“Leave him alone.” Ivy flicks a cinnamon stick at him. “Not everyone likes football.”

“I’m not making fun of him! I love this!” Caleb swivels back to Milo with renewed enthusiasm. “Okay, starting from scratch. Football is a game with an oval ball, and twenty-two players across both teams.”

Milo’s glasses fog from the cider steam. He blinks behind the clouded lenses, mildly affronted, then takes them off and wipes the lenses on his flannel hem. A brown curl slips across his forehead and he doesn’t push it back. When his gaze drifts toward me, I look away fast enough to give myself vertigo.

“How long have you two been together?” Ivy’s voice is casual.

I choke on my cider. “We’re not.”

“Oh.” Her blue eyes widen. “I’m sorry. I just assumed.”

“He works here. He’s helping me out while my ankle heals.”

“Right. No, of course.” She takes a sip of her cider. “It’s the way you two orbit each other. I figured . . .”

“You figured wrong.”

“Totally. My mistake.” She smiles into her mug, her nose crinkling.

I busy myself with the throw pile. The trouble with Ivy is that she isn’t wrong. Milo makes it hard not to notice him. I’ve seen him get emotional over a vending machine, gasp at a self-checkout, and treat the discovery of curly straws like breaking news. Things I stopped seeing years ago become fascinating again because he’s looking at them for the first time, and I keep slowing down on purpose so I don’t miss it.

And yes, fine, I feel him doing the same thing back. All day. Studying me like I’m the interesting one, which is objectively insane.

Ben and Holly settle into chairs. They’re quiet together, like long-married couples sometimes are, the silence comfortable and full, rather than empty.

“Top up?” I hold the cider ladle toward Holly.

“Please. This is wonderful, Evie.” She extends her mug. “We almost didn’t come out. Ben was at a good chapter.” She catches my eye over the rim. “He’s been reading it for three days.”

He shrugs. “It’s a long chapter.”

Somewhere up in the eaves of the inn, Marmalade appears in a lit window, watching us with the disdain of a landlord surveying tenants. A moth loops the nearest string light.

Nadia drains the rest of her drink in a single swallow and sets the cup down with purpose. Cropped red hair falls into her eyes as she leans forward.

“We should play a game.”

Five heads turn.