Page 192 of Just One Little Bargain

“But he was here for your soul, right? That’s what demons do?”

“Yes.”

“And he lived with you.”

“He couldn’t go back to Hell without a bargain. I summoned him, so he was stuck.”

“And you let him stay?”

“It was a moment of poor judgment. But it felt right.” I glance down at my empty glass.

Maddie leans back. “So you’re telling me you fell in love with a demon that was sent to take your soul.”

“He didn’t take it. He never even tried.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It is! He could’ve, but he didn’t, because he cared about me more than he cared about himself.”

She studies me, then reaches for her beer and takes a drink. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I don’t know if I believe all of it. But I believe that you believe it.” She sets the bottle down.

We stay until Rick kicks us out. By the time we leave, I’ve cried twice and laughed once, and talking about Milo has made missing him worse instead of better.

On Friday afternoon my email pings while I’m updating the booking calendar.

Subject: Feature Opportunity–The Hidden Getaway Magazine

I stare at the subject line before opening it.

Dear Ms. Feywin,

We are thrilled to extend an invitation to The Foxglove Inn for our upcoming winter issue of The Hidden Getaway. Your property has been selected as one of New England’s most charming independent stays, and we would love to schedule a photographer and interview at your earliest convenience.

Please let us know your availability within the next few weeks.

I read it three times before checking the sender and confirming the email domain is legitimate. That only makes it more confusing, because Krell’s version of the feature disappeared with him. As far as everyone else was concerned, it had never happened.

So why am I getting this email now?

I grab my phone and call the magazine’s main office. A receptionist answers on the third ring.

“Hi, I just received an email about a feature opportunity? For the Foxglove Inn?”

“Oh, yes! We’re so excited to work with you. Let me transfer you to our editorial team.”

I’m put on hold while smooth jazz plays through the speaker.

A woman picks up. “Ms. Feywin? This is Miranda from editorial. We’ve been trying to reach you for a few weeks now.”

“You have?”

“Yes, we sent an initial inquiry in August but never heard back. We assumed you weren’t interested, but your property kept coming up in our research, so we thought we’d try one more time.”

“Can I ask who submitted the nomination?”