Page 66 of Never Feed a Dragon

Maybe napping would take the edge off the tension in my lower belly that gathered after my last two conversations.

I climbed into my new bed, and tried to fall asleep.

Instead, I tossed and turned until I ended up staring at the ceiling. Eli had ordered a super-king, ignoring me when I told him I didn’t need a bed that big.

The size of it was nice, but also…

Empty.

Very empty.

After a month of sharing a bed with the dragon shifter, I wasn’t sure I knew how to sleep alone anymore. I’d only slept next to Gavin a few times, and had never really liked it, but Eli was different.

Warm.

Cuddly.

Comfortable.

But of course I’d be fine sleeping by myself. The difficulty falling asleep was probably just jet lag. Or dragon lag, considering my method of transportation.

That was fine, though.

I’d fall asleep eventually, right?

thirteen

VI

I didn’t fall asleep.

An hour and a half later, I walked my frustrated backside into the kitchen. Eli had put my cooking stuff away, so I opened up all the gorgeous cabinets and dug through the gigantic pantry to find everything I needed.

I’d texted Randa while I was packing to let her know I was back in Scale Ridge, and she promised to be there by the evening. She was off at Mate Mountain, so I still had a few hours until she got back to town.

I got all my ingredients out on the countertop and pulled out my hand mixer (the stand mixer would’ve been louder, and I didn’t want to wake up Eli). I was cracking eggs when I heard his light footsteps in the living room, and my stomach clenched.

I kept going, not wanting him to think I was stopping for his sake.

Even if I kind of itched to make a run for it.

There wasn’t anywhere to go, so my itch was pointless.

Eli sat down in one of the bar stools set up across the island from where I was working. He watched me for a few minutes before he finally said, “I could smell your frustration from across the house, Spaghetti. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” I bit out, grabbing my hand mixer and turning it on so I could pour my anger and stress into creaming butter, eggs, and sugar.

He didn’t look convinced.

I ignored him as thoroughly as possible.

“Is this about people trying to change your mind?”

His words were the trigger I couldn’t ignore, and my frustration exploded. “Why do they think they know better than me? Why would they get to decide how we live? Why would they even care?”

“You matter to them, so they’re offering advice that they think is helpful.”

“Well, they’re wrong.”

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