Page 136 of Just One Little Bargain

A faint violet shimmer retreats from his eyes. “Thank you.”

I catch the front of his jacket and pull him down. The first press of his mouth is hot and startled, but the surprise vanishes almost instantly. Then he kisses me back hard enough that whatever accusation I had ready disappears. One hand drags me flush to the hard line of his body while the other settles at my jaw, holding me where he wants me.

The carnie clears his throat, and I reluctantly loosen my grip. We pull apart just enough to acknowledge him. Milo’s curls are sticking up where my fingers caught in them, his lips reddened, and his grin equal parts dazed and smug.

“I believe you won something,” he says, making no effort to smooth himself down.

The prize is a giant stuffed ginger cat the size of a carry-on suitcase. It looks like Marmalade. Milo’s smugness breaks into delighted laughter as the carnie lowers it from the shelf.

It’s horrifying and wonderful, and I accept it with both arms because it won’t fit any other way.

“He’s our lucky charm.” Maddie grabs my arm and hauls me toward the nearest booth. “I want the wolf, Evie. The big, gray one. Milo, you’re standing next to me.”

After that, we hit every booth on the south row, and Milo somehow turns our terrible aim into a winning streak. A dart that should miss takes out a balloon at the edge of the board. Maddie’s basketball circles the rim twice before dropping. The ladder steadies beneath us at exactly the right moment. Maddie lands all three rings at the bottle toss and screams loud enough to make the operator flinch.

By the end, Maddie has the gray wolf wedged under one arm and both flamingos hooked through the other, their legs bouncing against her knees as she walks. I’m carrying the giant ginger cat against my chest with the stuffed banana trapped beneath my elbow, while four rubber ducks jut from every available pocket. Plastic beads hang in tangled loops around our necks, novelty sunglasses sit crooked on both our faces, and Milo carries the tiny ring-toss trophy between two fingers as though it’s a legitimate sporting achievement.

“People are staring at us.”

“They envy us,” Maddie corrects. “We just dismantled the entire carnival economy.”

Milo walks beside me carrying the single rubber duck he claimed for himself, looking so profoundly satisfied that I want to push him behind a tent and kiss him again.

“Donation stall.” Maddie surveys her haul with obvious regret. “We each get to keep one prize. Everything else goes to the kids.”

We offload the surplus, and Maddie turns back to us, arms empty now except for her wolf. I think we’re finished. Then she looks past my shoulder toward the south field and grins.

I don’t even have to turn around to know what she’s thinking.

Chapter 39

Evie

The Ferris wheel towers over the field like a brightly lit threat.

“It’s tradition,” Maddie points out.

“It’s a death trap on a rotating arm.”

“You said this year.” She squares her shoulders. “And I was going to ride it with you, but honestly?” She looks at Milo. “I think he should.”

His head turns toward the wheel. The structure dominates the far end of the fairground, its iron spokes revolving above the rooftops while the gondolas rise in a slow procession, chains creaking whenever the wind catches them. Milo follows one carriage from the loading platform to the highest point, where it hangs over Brindlewood with nothing beneath it but distance. His mouth parts slightly, the violet in his eyes deepening as he watches. All I can see is how badly he wants something he never believed would be his to experience.

“Can we . . .” He glances my way, hope still plain on his face until he reads mine. “Never mind.”

“You want to ride it?”

“I do. But I can look at it from here. It’s probably not that impressive once you’re up there.” He gives a careless little shrug that doesn’t fool me for a second. “We could do something else. There were caramel apples back there, or the hayride.”

Of course he’d make himself content with watching. Milo came to Brindlewood with one purpose: to take my soul. Instead, he’s spent every day finding reasons not to. He wanted an evening at the festival and to ride the Ferris wheel.

If he pushed, I could say no. If he wheedled or teased or made it a challenge, I’d plant my feet and refuse with complete conviction. But he doesn’t. He starts dismantling his own excitement instead.

That quiet surrender hurts more than persuasion ever could.

I glance up. The ride is tall, creaking and lit with bulbs that are starting to glow as the sky dims. Its metal frame cuts black lines through the evening, each carriage rocking as it clears the treetops. Even from the ground, the height makes my stomach contract and leaves a cold film across my palms.

Then I turn to Milo.