Page 161 of Just One Little Bargain

“Not that one. It tastes like wet socks.” She takes it from me and puts it back. “Do you have dessert?”

“Not yet.”

“Flowers?”

“No.”

“Music?”

“I hadn’t reached that section of the list.”

Within five minutes, half the store knows my plan. The residents of Brindlewood possess a terrifying, predatory level of investment in my business. Still, as recommendations begin arriving from every direction, I can’t bring myself to mind. Being folded into the town’s concern is unexpectedly comforting, even if it comes with an alarming disregard for privacy.

When we finally reach the register, Suzanna scans the absurd mountain of relaxation supplies, the register beeping with each item.

I pull a crumpled paper envelope from my jacket pocket. Evie shoved it into my hands last week, thick with dollar bills, and declared that she refused to let me keep working without wages. I’d reminded her that she feeds me, lets me stay with her, and has already done far more than necessary. She wouldn’t take the money back, and claimed she’d deducted a cut for room and board. I’m fairly certain that was a blatant lie, though my understanding of human labor laws remains too poor to prove it.

At least now I get to spend her money on her.

I smooth the bills against the counter and begin counting them out.

Suzanna pauses with the chocolate truffles in her hand. “Absolutely not.”

My fingers stop over a ten-dollar bill. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes. You’re paying full price.”

“I thought that was customary.”

She lifts the box of copper-foiled truffles and turns toward the register. “Not for promotional samples.”

“They’re sealed.”

“So are most things given away for people to try.”

She scans them, presses several keys, then removes something from the total with a decisive tap.

“You’ve taken off too much.”

“I applied my employee discount.”

“Are you permitted to do that?”

Suzanna gives me a level look. “Do you want to argue with me or successfully woo Evie?”

“I wasn’t aware those were the available choices.”

“They are now.” She reaches beneath the counter, adds two miniature chocolate hearts to the bag, and sighs as though my love life has become an exhausting personal responsibility. “Honestly, this is painfully romantic.”

Behind me, the paper handles of a shopping bag rustle. An elderly woman in a lavender coat leans over my shoulder, her silver curls tucked neatly beneath a rain bonnet.

“It is.” She beams up at me. “The younger generation doesn’t court each other properly anymore. All those little messages and whatever else they do on their phones.” Her gaze settles on me. “A fine young man who puts in this kind of effort is rare.”

“Thank you.” The crumpled envelope crackles in my grip. “But I’m not entirely certain I qualify as—”

“You do,” Suzanna says, dropping the receipt into the bag. “Don’t ruin it.”

The woman pats my arm. “She’ll love it.”