Page 73 of Just One Little Bargain

“I know. But you look like you’re about to pass out, and I promise I won’t break anything.” I carry our plates to the sink and turn on the water.

She huffs a quiet laugh but doesn’t argue, which tells me exactly how tired she is.

The dish soap smells of lemon and herbs. I wash the first plate and set it on the drying rack.

“That goes on the left side.”

I rearrange without comment. She watches closely as I wash the second plate.

“Rinse it again. You left soap on the rim.”

I do, running my thumb along the edge to check. She nods once. I wash the rest of it her way. Bowls in back. Utensils in the small compartment on the side. By the time I reach the cups, I already know they go upside down because that’s how they were sitting in the rack when I first saw the kitchen.

Behind me, the cat flap in the door bangs open and Marmalade trots in looking pleased with himself, his orange face covered in dirt and bits of grass.

Evie straightens. “What did you do?”

The cat trills at her, utterly shameless.

“You’re filthy. Were you digging in my garden beds again?” She leans forward, squinting at him. “You know you’re not supposed to do that.”

Marmalade headbutts her ankle in response, leaving a smudge of dirt on her pants.

“Perfect. Thank you so much for that.” But she’s reaching down to pet him, scratching under his chin.

He abandons her and walks over to his food bowl, sitting beside it and staring up at her with huge green eyes.

“Unbelievable.” She pushes herself up, hobbling over to the cabinet where the cat food lives. She scoops a small amount into his bowl and he attacks it.

I lean against the counter, drying my hands on a towel, and when she catches me watching, some of the irritation leaves her face.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just . . . thanks. For doing the dishes.”

“It’s not exactly heroic.”

“It is to me.” The words are quiet, almost reluctant.

I don’t know how to respond to that, so I nod.

Marmalade finishes inhaling his food and starts grooming his dirt-covered face, swiping one paw over his whiskers.

“Just so you’re aware,” Evie says, watching him, “he’s going to bring you a dead mouse at some point. Probably while you’re sleeping. It’s his way of showing affection.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Her head whips toward me. “It doesn’t . . . are you serious?”

“Yeah, it’s a gift. Why?”

“It’s a corpse. On your pillow. While you’re unconscious.”

I shrug. “I’ve woken up to worse.”

“I genuinely don’t want to know what’s worse than a dead rodent in your bed.”

“In Hell, someone once left a severed—”