Page 69 of Offside Rules

"Everyone says that. Then they put the tabs on the outside."

"Give me a quick tutorial, then I can handle it from there."

She sets the bag back in its mug and reaches for a flat box. I watch her fold it, then take the next one. The first tab tries to go somewhere it shouldn’t. I get it out before she comments.

"Like that?"

She looks inside. "Yes."

"See? I’m easy to train."

"Let’s get through the second one before we decide."

I sit on the clear stool and start folding. She moves between the cooling racks and the island, counting out a row before touching the frosting. At the rink, I know what every drill is supposed to accomplish. Here, I’m only sure she has a reason for doing one tray before another. I ask which boxes need inserts before I ruin an order she’s been working on since before I woke up.

By noon, the birthday cupcakes are gone, we’ve both eaten breakfast, and Baylor has told me twice that folded boxes are not finished boxes until the inserts are in them. I put the inserts in. She lets me choose the music after rejecting my first three choices. I have the afternoon free once I’ve done the shoulder exercises Kendall sent home with me. The team’s recovery check was handled before we left the rink last night.

"How many of these do you have left?" I ask.

"To frost? A hundred and eighty. Then decorations and packing." She twists the top of the bag tighter, but her fingers slip. "Fuck."

"Put it down for a minute."

"I don’t have a minute."

"You have help coming at four."

"Ellie. I know."

"And Olsen, Hunter, Peyton, Natalia, and Cammy."

Her hands stop. "What?"

"I texted them yesterday after you told me about the order. They’re coming to decorate and pack. You’ll have to tell them what to do."

"You arranged that yesterday?"

"I had my phone. It wasn’t especially difficult."

"Wolf."

"If Hunter eats anything, fine him. I’ve warned him."

She laughs, then looks down at the piping bag. "I’ll pay them for their time."

"You don’t have to. They want to help."

She looks up at me, eyebrows knitting together. "Why? Most of them barely know me."

"The Hawkeyes are a family. If something matters to one of us, the others show up."

"And my cupcake order matters to you?" she asks, smiling.

"You matter to me, Baylor. And getting that shop matters to you."

Her smile softens, and she looks down at the bag in her hands. I’ve apparently found something she doesn’t have an immediate answer for.

"Thank you," she says.