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"Please don’t book a flight over an omelet."

"I’m serious."

"I know you are. I’m fine, and I only need the kitchen for five more weeks."

Wolf takes his coffee and leaves the room. I watch him go, wondering how much he heard. My answers probably filled in the rest.

"I’ll cover the deposit," Beau says. "Hell, I’ll pay the rent for a year."

"Mom and Dad already paid for college, and I’m not even using my degree. I don’t need anybody paying for anything else."

"You’ve always wanted to bake. That doesn’t mean you threw college away."

"I appreciate it, Beau. But the deposit is only part of it. There’s equipment, whatever changes the kitchen needs, and enough money to keep it running once I’m in there. Let me try this first."

"Okay."

I pick up another box before he can reconsider. "How’s the knee?"

"Stiff after the flight. They want me in early so the therapist can work on it before practice."

"Did something happen?"

"No. I got twelve minutes last game. Coach wants to see how I recover before he adds more."

"Twelve is good."

"Yeah. I just need him to keep giving them to me. I’m tired of watching from the bench."

I’ve watched him finish games and struggle to get down the stairs afterward. Heard him pretend he was fine until Mom left the room. Twelve minutes should be something we can celebrate without worrying about his knee the next morning. Instead, I’m baking in Wolf’s kitchen and hoping he didn’t hear my brother threaten to beat his ass.

"Call me after practice," I tell him.

"I will. Oh, Mom’s looking at flights for the Seattle game. She wants to do dinner as a family."

"Are they staying at your hotel?"

"I think so. Dad wants to come to morning skate."

He asks about the birthday order I finished last week, and I tell him the mother sent me a picture of the little girl wearing a party hat with frosting all over her face. He tells me about a kid at their last home game who wanted his stick more than a photo. By the time we hang up, I’ve finished three boxes.

I set my phone beside the mixer and look at the jar by the fridge. Four hundred and eighty dollars in fines. Apparently, fully dressed needed more explanation than I thought. Once, he came out in a towel. Another morning, he wore a shirt and boxers and argued that both halves of him were covered.

The rest were mostly for crossing the blue line. He needed a spatula. His coffee was on my side. He thought he’d heard me ask for something. I hadn’t, but he stayed long enough to eat a cupcake, which cost him another twenty.

The jar was supposed to give him a reason to follow the rules. So far, it’s just made him carry cash.

With another couple hundred from my customer tips, I’m getting closer. What I really need is one big event that pushes me over the top.

Wolf comes back.

His coffee in one hand. "Finished?"

"Yes. You didn’t have to leave."

"You were on the phone," he says. "My presence wasn’t helping."

"I can be on the phone while you eat."