Page 26 of Offside Rules

"I’ll get it." He reaches for the mixer with his right hand, then slides his left underneath the base before lifting it. "This one’s heavy too."

You wouldn’t know it from how easily he carries it. His biceps tighten beneath his sleeves, and I spend a second looking before remembering I’m supposed to be clearing a spot on the counter.

"That’s the point. It has to stay put while it’s mixing." I move a container of cupcake liners out of his way, and he lowers it onto the counter. "How’s your shoulder?"

"Still attached."

"I meant after the game."

"I know what you meant. It’s sore." He takes his hand off the mixer and looks at the remaining bins. "Does anything else need to come up?"

"Not right now." I open the box on the island and pull out a roll of blue painter’s tape. His eyebrows rise, but he moves out of my way as I start marking the edge of the counter beside the oven.

"You weren’t kidding."

"About what?"

"Dividing the kitchen."

"I told you I was bringing tape." I smooth down the end, then move to the island. "It’s just a reminder. I can’t have you setting your breakfast on a counter I’ve sanitized or reaching over cupcakes while I’m decorating them."

"What if I need something from that cupboard?" He points above the mixer.

I look up, then back at him. "What’s in it?"

"No idea."

I open it. Empty. He owns a kitchen this big and doesn’t even use half of it. Meanwhile, I’ve been storing cake boxes under my bed because I ran out of cupboard space in October.

"I think you’ll survive," I say, closing the door.

"You can put your stuff in there."

"I’ll see how much room I need." Most of it can stay in the bins. I have to move everything back downstairs eventually, and I’d rather not spread it through his entire kitchen. I tear off another strip of tape, marking the edge of the island nearest him. "And this side is mine."

He looks down at the narrow strip of counter I’ve left him. "Generous."

"You have the entire other side of the kitchen."

"I’m aware." He steps back, and I finish pressing the tape flat. "Coffee?"

"Please," I practically beg. I’m tired, I have a headache, and there’s no coffee maker downstairs unless someone wants to dig mine out from under a wet cabinet. "If you’re making some anyway."

"I am." He takes two mugs from the cupboard beside the sink, staying on his side of the kitchen. I go back to unloading, stacking the bins underneath my counter and putting the liners beside the mixer. It feels better getting everything off the cart. At least I can see what I have now.

He sets my coffee on the little patch of island I left him, then puts the milk beside it. "When’s your first delivery?"

"Six." I pour a little milk into the mug and take a sip. It’s hot enough that I have to put it down again. "I need to get moving. I still have to load the truck, and the orders aren’t sorted."

"Sorted how?"

"Each café has different flavors and quantities. Usually, I box everything by stop before I leave, but I needed to get out of Ellie’s kitchen last night. They had their own orders to start, so I packed the cupcakes together. Now I have to sort them when I get there." I glance at the clock on the oven. "Which takes longer than handing someone their boxes and leaving. And Sprinkles has decided she needs several attempts to start lately, so there’s that."

"Your truck?"

I nod, reaching into the last bin for the measuring cups. "Once she’s running, she’s mostly fine. She just sounds a little rough when I’m stopped."

"How long has that been happening?"