Chapter 18: Put It on the Ledger

He opened the door before I knocked, again, and this time he was holding a spatula.

"You said bring nothing," he said. "So I made something."

"What is it?"

"I don't know yet."

The apartment smelled of burnt butter, and there was a pan in the sink with water running into it.

I set the green ledger on his kitchen counter and opened it to a clean page.

He watched me do it.

"Is that for the night?" he said.

"It's for the night."

"I thought rule three was nothing personal on the books."

"Rule three is retired." I uncapped my pen. "I'm writing the first entry now, while I can still spell."

I wrote: Thursday, 8:04 p.m. One apartment. One man holding a spatula.

He read it over my shoulder.

"That's not a price."

"It's an opening balance."

He put the spatula down on the stove.

He put both hands on the counter on either side of me, and I felt the heat of him all down my back.

"Tell me the terms," he said, close to my ear.

"I lead."

"Yes."

"You don't talk about the stairwell."

"No."

"And you don't say sorry. I'll know if you mean it. You can show me."

"Understood."

I turned around in the circle of his arms and put the pen down on the page, uncapped, and the ink bled a small blue dot.

He kissed me before I could stop him.

It was slow, and it was not careful at all.

I hauled him in by the shirt, and he lifted me onto the counter beside the ledger.

I pulled him between my knees with my heels at the backs of his thighs.

"This is the other counter," I said against his mouth.

"The first one wasn't mine."

"This one's allowed."

He laughed and pushed my skirt up to my hips with both hands.