He’d felt this way about Paige Swanson, a sweet girl he’d dated in high school. Back then, his every waking thought had been about the perky brunette cheerleader with a heart of gold. They’d dated their entire senior year, trying the whole long-distance thing when Paige went off to attend college at UCLA and Mitch had stayed in the bay area to go to a junior college while he sorted out his future. They’d exchanged promise rings and confessions of everlasting love, but quickly realized their young relationship couldn’t survive the distance. Or in Paige’scase, the temptation. Mitch had been heartbroken at the time, but even then, he’d always chalked it up to puppy love.
He couldn’t pinpoint the difference with Faith, but he knew there was one.
This time, when he ascended the stairs leading to his apartment, he kept his eyes forward, even though they wanted to veer in the direction of her place across the way. He’d gotten caught looking once. Mitch wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
But the blaring music didn’t help the situation. It was hard to ignore bass so loud it made your teeth rattle. Was it actually coming from Faith’s apartment? The landlord had explicitly said the complex was a quiet one, with relatively few noise complaints and a population of residents that mostly kept to themselves. But the further up the stairs Mitch got, the louder the music grew.
Faith’s front door was wide open. It explained the blaring tunes, but it didn’t make it any easier for Mitch to divert his gaze when he stuck his key into his door and turned the lock. And the sight of her dancing past her open door in his periphery was the final straw. He turned his head to glimpse her fully clad in her baker’s getup: apron, chef’s hat, and bright purple oven mitts that had tiny hearts printed all over them. She had a tray of cookies in her hands and flour dusted on her cheeks.
“Mitch!” Faith startled in place, her death grip on the tray the only thing to keep the cookies from clattering to the floor. “Goodness. You scared me!”
“I’m just letting myself into my own apartment.” He waved a hand over his open door, showcasing the innocent act. “Trying my best not to be scary.”
She suddenly disappeared into her place. The earsplitting music cut off with a click.
Mitch lingered, unsure if that was the end of their interaction. But then Faith reappeared in the doorway, sans hat, mitts, and cookies.
“Sorry.” She gave him a toothy grin. “I like to bake with music on.”
“And with the door wide open?” He slipped his keys into his pocket but stayed on his side of the landing while they spoke.
“It can get really hot in here when I’ve got the oven cranked up.”
“I’m honestly surprised you like to bake in your free time,” Mitch observed. “You’d think you’d get your fill of it at the bakery.”
Faith lifted a single shoulder and tilted her head. “This is one of those ‘bringing my work home with me things’. The stuff I’m making will head to the bakery with me tomorrow.”
“You’re making items to sell at the bakery out of your apartment?” He rotated fully toward her. “Is that something you do often?”
“Not often, but it is something I do on occasion.”
“Do you have a permit for that?”
Faith’s eyes expanded to the size of silver dollars. “Are you serious?”
“I am. It’s a thing. It’s called a cottage permit and it allows you to sell certain baked goods that are made out of your home,” he elaborated. “Do you have one?”
“No, Mitch.” Faith’s lips bunched into a pout, her jaw pulsing in frustration. She looked just shy of stomping her foot. “I do not have a cottage permit. But I do haveallof the necessary permits and certifications for my bakery, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s not what I’m asking. I asked if you have a cottage permit that allows you to bake out of your home for resale purposes.”
Hand flying to her hairline, a justifiable look of confusion married with irritation scrunched Faith’s features. “Do you workfor the county, Mitch? Or for the Grinch or someone equally opposed to happiness and cheer?”
“You know I work at the firehouse.”
“Right, so I’m having a hard time understanding why you’re giving me the third degree when it comes to baking out of my own home.”
Mitch could feel his pulse in his ears. His heart was working overtime, the tense interaction making him start to sweat. “I just like to follow the rules. That’s all.”
“You like to make sure everyoneelseis following the rules.”
“I mean, rules are there for a reason.”
“Some are.” She banded her arms over her chest. “But sometimes they’re just there because someone is on a major power trip.”
Mitch wasn’t on any power trip here. He didn’t have any skin in the game when it came to Faith’s baked goods, where she made them, or how she sold them. Still, he was of the mindset that rules existed to keep people safe, and that wasn’t an area where he was willing to budge. He saw firsthand what happened when rules were bent, and when exceptions were made. It wasn’t pretty.
“It’s your bakery,” he said. “You can—”
