Page 179 of Offside Rules

I look up from the little table by the window. Olsen has the other end, although he’s doing most of the lifting.

"You said you wanted more room by the door," I tell her.

"I did. But that was yesterday and now I think it works here. I also didn’t want you to do it."

Olsen sets his end down. "I’m leaving it here until you two agree on a floor plan."

"Fine, an inch toward the window. That should give enough room for people to move around better," Baylor tells him.

He looks at me. "Are we sure this is what she wants?"

"Move the table, Bozeman."

Baylor presses her hands to her hips and tilts her head, as if that will give her a different angle to see the position of the table while we slide it into place. I wouldn;t have cared as much if this weren’t the third location we’ve tried, but I moved it anyway because I want it perfect for her. She’s put a lot into this.

"There. That works. Thank you." She looks at me. "You’re supposed to be directing, not moving. JP and Trey are outside putting up balloons. One of them could have taken the other side of the table."

"I can move a simple table, Bay."

Olsen glances over at her. "I tried to stop him too. He wouldn’t listen. Is there anything heavy I can move without him?"

"Ellie has a box of drinks in serendipity’s walk-in fridge for the event. Can you grab those from her?" She asks him.

"Excellent. A different building. On my way."

He heads for the door, leaving me with my girlfriend, who’s now looking at my shirt.

"What?"

"Nothing." She reaches up to smooth the fabric over my chest. "I didn’t think you’d actually wear it."

I look down at her business name embroidered on the black polo.

"You gave me a uniform. I assumed attendance was mandatory."

"It’s a little tight."

"Want me to take it off?" I wink. "We could sneak into the tasting room and do a little tasting before everyone gets here."

Her fingers pause against my chest before she lets go.

"Tempting," she smirks. "But we open in ten minutes. Please behave until we get home."

"Until we get home," I repeat. "I can work with that."

She points at me before heading behind the counter. I watch her go, then turn toward the front window, where JP is holding a bunch of balloons while Trey argues with a strip of tape.

A breeze comes through the open door, lifting the edge of the banner above them. It’s the end of June, and Seattle has given her sunshine for the occasion. People are already slowing on the sidewalk to look inside.

Baylor notices too. She checks the clock, then bends to straighten something in the display.

My last appointment in Boston was three weeks ago. The surgeon cleared me to return to Seattle, where Theo has been spending his own time making my life unpleasant. My contract is up, and the season’s over, but apparently neither gets me out of doing my exercises.

He thinks I can make it back if I keep putting in the work. Between our sessions and the physical therapist Kendall has me seeing every week, I’m getting plenty of opportunities.

I’ve been skating a little with a few of the guys who live here year-round. Nothing crazy. Kendall has been very specific about what I’m allowed to do, and for once, I’m listening. Penelope and my agent have been in constant communication. I still don’t know whether the Hawkeyes will offer me another contract. My agent calls, I answer, and we have variations of the same conversation.

On weekday mornings, I’m Baylor’s getaway driver while she delivers the orders. Then she heads back to the shop, and I go find out which part of rehab I’m going to hate that day.