Page 65 of Just One Little Bargain

Milo’s lips part, but he doesn’t answer right away.

“So how do we . . .” I gesture vaguely. “Do demons shake on it?”

“Usually, a verbal agreement is sufficient.”

“Usually?”

His fading flush comes roaring back. “There are other, more traditional methods.”

“Such as?”

“It’s not . . . it doesn’t apply here.”

“Milo.”

“Some bargains are sealed with a kiss.”

Heat rushes into my cheeks.

“Not that this one . . . I’m not suggesting . . . verbal is fine. Verbal is completely adequate.”

“A kiss?”

“Please stop saying it.”

“You’re the one who brought it up.”

“You asked!”

“And you could’ve stopped at a verbal agreement!”

“I panicked!”

We stare at each other across the kitchen, both flushed, breathing harder than the conversation warrants. His eyes are wide behind his glasses, and for a moment the embarrassment gives way to unmistakable interest.

Milo’s eyes drop to my mouth, then lift again, his pupils blown wide.

“Don’t make me regret this,” I tell him.

“I won’t.”

He can’t outright lie. I know that now. Which means he meant that promise when he made it, and the relief I feel is a problem I’m not equipped to solve today. Because the most dangerous thing about Milo isn’t that he might be lying.

It’s that he might not be.

Chapter 18

Milo

Evie makes it three steps into her cottage before she starts barking orders at me.

“Shoes off.”

Not welcome to my home or make yourself comfortable. Just an immediate directive delivered over her shoulder as she limps down the hallway like a tiny, injured drill sergeant commanding a battalion of one.

Fine. I can follow instructions.

I toe off my boots and set them beside hers. Her shoes line the wall in a neat row, each pair spaced with what I suspect is an exact, measured gap. The corridor stretches ahead, hardwood floors gleaming beneath our feet. Glass decorations hanging along the walls catch the light and scatter little prisms across the paint as we pass.