Page 151 of Just One Little Bargain

Six to eight thousand makes Krell’s bargain sound more appealing than it did at the festival.

“You the new boyfriend?”

My head snaps up. Martin drags a rag across his palms, attention settling over my shoulder.

“Oh. Um . . .” Milo’s hand rises to the back of his neck, his fingers disappearing into the curls at his nape.

“Helper,” I correct automatically. “Temporary helper.”

His shoulders shift under the word, and then he’s very interested in the hallway runner.

“The way Rebecca tells it, you two were about ready to tie the knot.” Martin’s grin widens.

“Rebecca needs a hobby that isn’t gossiping about my life.”

“She’s got one. It’s me.” He winks, and I actively consider shoving him down the stairs. “I’ll get started. Should take about an hour, hour and a half tops.”

Martin gets to work, whistling something aggressively cheerful, and I’m left standing there while my bank account weeps.

The windows rattle, and I glance outside as the afternoon dims in a single sweep. Storm clouds crowd the western sky, pressing the light flat while the trees thrash against the wind and loose leaves race across the drive. Another gust strikes the house broadside, making the old glass shiver in its frame.

My phone vibrates. This time, it’s a weather alert: Severe thunderstorm warning for Brindlewood and surrounding areas. Expected heavy rain, strong winds, and possible power outages. Seek shelter and avoid unnecessary travel.

Of course. Apparently today’s theme is listing every force in existence I don’t control.

“Storm’s coming.” I pull up the extended forecast, and it’s worse than I thought. The slow-moving system has settled over New England, which means hours of rain and hard wind instead of the quick squall that usually tears through the mountains and moves on.

Milo peers over my shoulder at the screen, one hand settling at my waist as he leans closer. The warmth of his palm seeps through my shirt. I lose my place halfway down the forecast.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not ideal. Old houses and storms don’t always get along.”

The lights flicker once, briefly, then steady.

“I should prep the guests.” I lean into his touch. “Let them know what’s happening before they panic.”

“I’ll help.” His thumb moves once against my side.

When the last guest files into the dining room, rain is hammering the windows in solid sheets. Wind claws around the corners of the house, pulling low groans from the old beams. I take my spot at the head of the table, my most reassuring smile firmly in place.

“So, as you’ve probably noticed, we’re in for some weather tonight.”

The guests exchange nervous glances. Mrs. Wilmot reaches for her husband’s hand beneath the table, their matching reading glasses perched low on their noses. Across from them, Mr. Parker keeps checking his wife’s expression, gauging her mood before he speaks. When they checked in, I decided they were on some kind of apology vacation.

“The forecast says it should clear by the morning,” I continue, which is technically true even if I don’t entirely believe it. “In the meantime, I’ve got board games in the sitting room, plenty of books, and we’ll keep the coffee and snacks coming.”

“What about the electricity?” Mr. Wilmot asks. “That alert mentioned possible outages.”

“If we lose power, I’ve got flashlights and candles ready.” I keep my voice calm and confident. “This house has weathered storms for over a century. We’ll be fine.”

I head straight for the kitchen and yank open the utility drawer, lining things on the countertop. Flashlights. Candles, labeled by burn time. Matches. Batteries, in a clear container marked Emergency.

“You’re terrifyingly prepared,” Milo says, his tone careful as he tests whether I’ll tease him back.

“Keep laughing.” I glance over at him, letting the corner of my mouth lift. “You’ll be glad I’m prepared when the lights go out.”

They flicker again, longer this time. I grab the nearest flashlight.