Page 134 of Just One Little Bargain

Maddie makes a sound like she’s dying and has to turn away. “Limited edition,” she wheezes. “You’ll never see another.”

“I don’t know what any of you are talking about,” Rebecca says, laughing along anyway because the rest of us are. She smooths one hand over the pumpkin’s sequined grin, unbothered by being excluded from the joke, then swivels back to Milo. “I’ve watched Evie turn away every single man in this town. This is a girl who went to junior prom alone, by choice, and told everyone she was making a statement.”

“That was the point.”

“You had headgear, sweetheart. The statement was orthodontic.”

She pats my arm.

Maddie folds over laughing again, while Milo looks at me with such open interest that I already know he’ll ask for photographic evidence later.

“Braces up to here, this poor face full of it, wouldn’t smile in a single photo for two years. And now look. All grown up with a handsome man.” She sighs happily. “Honestly, I could cry. Imagine the wedding.”

“Rebecca, we’ve known each other for a few weeks!” I balk.

“Fall colors. Ceremony at the inn, obviously. I’d do peonies, but it’d be the wrong season, so dahlias.” She’s already planning it, gaze drifting toward the hill as though she can see the entire arrangement from here. “Maddie, you’d be her maid of honor, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” she says, straight-faced. She hooks an arm through mine before I can escape. “I’ve been ready for years.”

Beside me, Milo is bright red.

“Okay, we’re leaving,” I announce, seizing his sleeve. “Rebecca, always a joy, we’re going to look at literally anything else now.”

“I’ll send you dahlia options,” she calls after us. “Milo, you and I are going to be great friends!”

Maddie waves over her shoulder while I drag Milo away, and he trips trying to wave back.

I haul him three stalls down before I stop.

He’s laughing. “She seems nice.”

“Forget that the entire interaction happened,” I say. “All of it. The headgear, especially.”

“I don’t think I can. It was a delightful story.”

“Milo.”

“I’m just saying, dahlias are a strong choice.”

Maddie catches up, still grinning, and steers us toward a market stall.

She holds up a dried flower wreath and looks at Milo. “This or the pressed botanicals?”

He studies both with more seriousness than the question requires. “The wreath.”

Maddie buys it and hangs it off his arm before he can object. He carries it for the rest of the circuit without comment.

“Absolutely not,” I say when she starts pulling us toward the carnival games.

“Definitely yes.” Her wallet is already out, so apparently my objection is purely ceremonial. “I do this every year.”

“And then you lose five dollars and complain about rigged systems for weeks.”

“And it brings me joy.” She pays for three throws at the can-knockdown and steps up to the line. “Milo, have you ever thrown a ball at a stack of rigged cans for the false promise of a reward?”

“I have not.”

“You’re going to love it.”