Page 19 of Offside Rules

"It’s magnetic," she says, crossing to the fridge and pressing it against the door.

"That wasn’t the part I was asking about." It sticks, and she adjusts it until it sits straight. Apparently, I have a whiteboard now. "How many rules are we talking?"

She goes back to her bag and pulls out a glass jar, setting it on the counter beside the fridge.

"A swear jar? You’re going to make a goddamn fortune." I look from the jar to her. "Invite the guys over. "You’ll have your retirement funded by the end of the season."

"It’s not a swear jar. It’s a fine jar for breaking the rules."

"You’re going to fine me in my own kitchen?"

"Twenty dollars every time you break a rule." She taps the jar with the marker. "I’m not trying to make money off you. It’s supposed to be a deterrent. How much you pay depends on how difficult you make this."

I could tell her this isn’t going to work—her baking here with rules and a fine jar. Instead, I’m standing here letting a woman who smells like sugar and vanilla threaten me with fines in my own apartment. Apparently, I’d rather follow her rules than give her a reason to leave.

The shrink my grandmother talked my dad into sending me to after Mom left when I was six would have plenty to say about that. Good thing I stopped seeing him years ago.

"You know I get paid to break rules, right?"

"Then you can afford it. Maybe I’ll be out of your hair sooner than I thought."

"How would that get you out of here sooner?"

"The money goes toward the deposit on my cakery. There’s a space two doors down from Serendipity’s that I want to lease." She moves the jar beside the backsplash. "Right now, I have the food truck Ellie gave me when she upgraded last year. I want a shop with a bigger kitchen so I can take on larger events."

"Why don’t you ask your brother for the money?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because he’s your brother," I say. "Shit, I’ll cover it if that gets you back to work."

She rolls her eyes and tightens her grip on the marker. "I don’t want Beau’s help. I especially don’t want yours. I wouldn’t even be in your kitchen if I had a better option that didn’t cost my best friend her baking time. I want to earn this myself."

I hold up a hand. I’ve just offered her more money when she came here to work for her own. No wonder she’s looking at me like that. "How many rules would you like me to break a day?"

"None would be ideal. Follow the rules. If you break them, at least I get something out of it. Deal?"

"Deal."

She uncaps the marker, writes twenty dollars per violation along the bottom of the board, then puts a one at the top and points the marker at me. "Can you not wear that when I’m here?"

"Not wear what?" I glance down at my sweats. "You don’t want me wearing sweatpants in my own home? If I remember right, you were wearing something pretty close to these when you came up to yell at me about the music."

"Yeah, but it’s…" She gestures at me with the marker. "Distracting."

I can’t help the grin. "I can take them off if that’s too distracting."

"No! A shirt would suffice. And maybe blue jeans." She turns back to the fridge, but I catch the color in her cheeks before she does. I’ve spent the last day being told she can’t stand me. Distracting is a better word. I’m not pointing that out unless I want her to take her board and leave.

"I don’t own too many pairs of jeans. My ass doesn't fit well in them, but I think I might have a pair in the back of my closet. I wouldn’t want to distract you. How about that?"

She writes Fully dressed during baking hours, then looks back at the ice pack. "When are you done with that?"

"I’ve got another fifteen minutes," I tell her. "When does the dress code start?"

"Tomorrow. And once I’m baking here, I’ll be in before you’re awake most days."

She adds Shirt and pants beneath the first rule before moving the marker to the next line.