Page 74 of Diamond In The Rough

“Humans need to drink water to live, too. Doesn’t mean you hold a man down and waterboard him. Jesus.”

“Micah!”

“I’m keeping this plant.” I crush the pot to my ribs and use my free hand to push her face away. It’s a little violent, I suppose. Some might say abusive. But she murders plants for fun, and now she won’t let me help it. So I shove her back and spin out of the bathroom. “You’re banned from buying any living green thing ever again.”

“You are rude!” She stomps after me, heavy-footed and angry, as I move along the hall. “You sneak around my home and snoop on my things, and now you’re stealing from me!”

“I’m saving you from bad karma and a guilty conscience.”

I charge into the kitchen to find our dinner still cluttering one end of the counter, and Tiia’s knife, still laying on the floor. Our history, laid out as a stark reminder of who we were just a few hours ago.

Of course, I knew our recent state wouldn’t last. We argue; it’s what we do. Beneath the sex and shine and raging hormones, we don’t actually like each other all that much.

Passing the oven, I snatch the hand towel from where it hangs over the handle and toss it to the counter, then I set the monstera on top to drain the excess water still dribbling from its tray. “You’re a terrible plant owner, Tiia Hale.”

“Bullshit!” She comes up to the other side of the counter, her nose wrinkling and her lips folding like a cute little bulldog’s. “I’ve owned that plant for a year already. A year! If I was bad at it, it would have died already.”

“A year! And it hasn’t grown a single fucking inch, has it?”

I open drawers one after another in search of paper towels. I find knives and forks. Scissors. Bottle stoppers. Oven mitts. A spatula, and measuring cups. I push the current drawer closed, no concern for the neighbors sleeping downstairs, then open the next.

“Your pot is way too big for a plant this size, but,” I strike gold when I find a full roll of paper towels in the cupboard by the sink. Tearing off a half-dozen squares, I dab at the top of the soil to collect more of the water. “This plant should be big enough to fill this pot. You’ve completely starved the poor thing of nutrients, and probably let the roots rot.”

I shake my head when the wad of paper instantly sucks up enough moisture that it’s dripping, and I have to toss the lot in the trash and tear more from the roll. “You’re pretty, Tiia. And you know antiques.” I purse my lips and meet her gaze. “Stay in your lane, and leave what you don’t know to those who do.”

Her gaze turns fiery in an instant. “Listen here, you elitist jackass. It’s a plant! You water it, it grows and looks pretty for you. I put it in a room that gets high humidity, I water it once a day, and it lives—a whole year so far, so don’t tell me I’m no good at this.”

“You water it once a day?” I press another thick wad of towel to the top of the soil and soak up more of the excess. “Once a day! Tiia, you should be watering it once a week at most. Once every two weeks would be fine. And what about sunlight?”

Her eyes narrow.

“It needs sunlight!”

“It gets light from the…” She moves to her back foot and folds her arms. “From the lights. The bathroom even comes with a heater in them. That’s plenty.”

“I should flog you.” Growling, I cast a look around the apartment in search of more victims.

I didn’t notice any earlier—though, in my defense, I was all about keeping myself alive and making apologies to the one I owed them to. But that was yesterday. That was a whole lifetime ago, when she and I were different people, and earning her forgiveness was my only objective.

Today, I’m ready to piss her off all over again. Because when my eyes lock on a dead palm by the television, rage spears through my blood. “You fucked that one up too!”

“What?” She follows my gaze, and frowns when she understands. “That’s my cordyline. It’s supposed to look like that. The first picture that pops up on Google even shows them with bright red leaves.”

“It’s a lady palm. It’s supposed to be green. And that’s not ‘red,’” I glare at the side of her face. “It’s dead.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You’re a neglectful and bad plant owner.” I toss my paper towels aside and set my hands on the counter. “I’m taking the monstera home. You’ve lost custody.”

“You have a tendency to steal, and you’re not even man enough to be discreet about it.”

“It’s not stealing. It’s being humane. The plant did nothing to deserve this kind of treatment.” I leave the monstera behind, having done all I can until I get it home and set up beside its ivy friend, then I circle the counter and stop only when my chest touches Tiia’s.

She folds her neck back, afraid, and yet, completely and fearlessly challenging.

“Please stop buying plants,” I grit out. “You can’t take care of them the way they deserve.”

“Please stop being condescending.” She pops a brow high on her forehead. “It’s not sexy. And it’s three in the morning! I don’t appreciate being woken at such a god-awful hour to find a man fleecing my bathroom.”

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