Page 44 of Just One Little Bargain

“Milo.” Evie’s voice cuts through. She’s already by the tomatoes, three in her hand, evaluating the fourth with a critical squeeze. “The basket is supposed to follow me. That’s the whole point of you being here.”

“Sorry.” I catch up. She deposits the fruit without glancing at me, then a bundle of carrots with their feathery tops still intact, then two zucchini. Each one gets tested, turned, and assessed. The rejects go straight back on the pile, no hesitation.

She turns away and starts sorting potatoes. I hold the basket at what I hope is a convenient angle.

I shouldn’t find grocery shopping riveting. But the sureness of her hands gets me. Evie moves through the aisle with such confidence that I start questioning whether I’ve ever been truly good at anything in my life. She’s so absorbed in the task that she’s forgotten to maintain the wall between us, and the version of her on the other side is someone I could watch sort produce for a genuinely unreasonable amount of time.

An older woman restocking a display of leafy greens nearby leans forward on her elbows. She’s been watching us since we walked in. Or rather, watching me trail Evie through the aisles.

“Evie, sweetheart! I was starting to think you’d switched to the big box store in Millfield.” Her gaze slides to me and parks there with interest. “Who’s your friend?”

“Never,” Evie inspects a bunch of kale, lifting it up to the light. “And he’s not anyone. He’s just holding things.”

“Voluntarily?”

“Debatably,” Evie mutters.

“Enthusiastically,” I correct.

The woman laughs and turns to me. “Well, aren’t you helpful? I’m Mindy.” She plants her hands on her hips, her chin jutting upwards to account for the height difference.

“Milo.” I shift the basket to one arm and extend my hand. “This market is really something.”

“Oh, you sweet thing.” The crow’s feet fanning from the corners of her brown eyes deepen with her smile. “First time in a small town?”

“First time in a lot of places.”

“Well, you need to try Ruth’s honey before you leave this store. She keeps bees north of town. Best stuff in the county.” She ducks behind the display and resurfaces with a jar of golden liquid and a small wooden tasting spoon. “This is the clover. Go ahead.”

I’m aware of Evie beside me, arms crossed, letting the exchange play out with bored patience like she could recite the sales pitch from memory.

The honey touches my tongue . . . and rewires entire regions of my brain.

Everything I thought I knew about sweetness was wrong. This is layered and textured, sunlit at the front and gently smoky at the back, with a floral note blooming in between. My eyes fall shut, and a moan slips out that is, in retrospect, deeply embarrassing.

When I open them, Mindy is glowing.

But it’s Evie my attention snags on. Her arms have unfolded, her lips slightly parted. A peach-pink flush has crept up her throat, spreading toward her jaw. She’s staring at my mouth. Then she blinks and looks away, the color deepening.

“Oh,” I manage. “That’s extraordinary.”

“Ruth is going to love you.” Mindy folds her freckled arms across her chest, one gray braid slipping forward over her shoulder, and gives me the approving once-over.

“Could you set a jar aside for me?” I ask, with Evie still at the edge of my vision.

She’s examining a head of lettuce with too much intensity. “Actually, two?” I have zero dollars to my name, but I refuse to let that stand between me and this honey.

“You don’t need two jars of it.” Evie turns to Mindy, composure restored so quickly it’s impressive. “The usual for me.”

Her teeth catch her bottom lip while she considers it. She looks at me, then back at Mindy with a resigned exhale.

“Add a jar of the clover.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Mindy bags it, slides it across the counter, and winks at me. “You come back when Ruth’s here next week. She loves a new fan.”

I grin so wide my cheeks ache.

“Wipe that look off your face. I’m only getting it because it keeps you from moaning in public again,” she says, averting her gaze.