Page 97 of Power of the Mind

23

Tallus

By the time Diem returned, I had accumulated limited information. I still had three calls to make, but it wasn’t looking good. Two family members had hung up on me, and two more hadn’t answered their phones.

“Otherwise, I spoke with the mother of Mr. Withdrawal and our diabetic neuropathy patient’s son. Which do you want to hear first?”

Diem unpacked the Mexican food onto the coffee table. The mixture of spices smelled divine, and my stomach growled loud enough to draw attention.

“Eat first. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got everything.”

He wasn’t kidding. The stack of food was enough to feed an army. I wasn’t complaining, especially when he surprised me with a bonus treat in the form of a carefully wrapped peanut butter cookie.

“It’s for dessert. No latte because I didn’t know how much caffeine you’ve had today, and I don’t want you to get a migraine.”

“You’re so thoughtful, D.”

“Shut up. It’s a fucking cookie.”

When I peeked inside the paper bag, Diem snatched it from my hand and pointed at the spread on the coffee table. “Food first.”

“Yeah, I know. For the record, you’re the best nonboyfriend ever.”

I chuckled when Diem growled under his breath, “It’s a stupid fucking cookie, not a proposal. Why do you do that?”

“Because it’s sweet.”

“I’m never buying you one again.”

“You lie.”

He set the cookie on his opposite side, far out of reach.

But seriously, the guy was too much. He had gone out of his way to stop at a fancy bakery, knowing my weakness for sugary treats. Didn’t he know actions like that canceled all his attempts to push me away?

I stole a glance at the surly man as he filled a plate, wondering how a smile might change his countenance. Did the guy know how to smile? When was the last time it had happened? When Diem looked in the mirror, what did he see? Somehow, I got the sense that he didn’t see the same person I saw, which was sad. The troubled, softhearted man who lived beneath the scars interested me most, but gaining access to Diem’s heart would not be easy.

In fact, I was starting to wonder if it was downright impossible.

When Diem caught me staring and scowled, I grabbed a plate and loaded it with some of everything. Satiated by a few bites, Idragged my notes closer to explain what I’d discovered while he was gone.

“Ezra Berlusconi. Twenty-two-years-old. He was one of our overdose victims. According to the Hilty/Rowena file, he became his/her/their patient/client four months ago. He was struggling with withdrawal symptoms and didn’t want to land back in rehab, so he decided to try attending the Academy of Magic Treehouse Nutcases instead.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m having fun with this. Smile for once, and don’t interrupt.”

Diem glowered.

“Close, sweetie, but your lips should turn the other way. Like this.” I demonstrated with a cheeky grin.

He scowled harder.

Chuckling, I blew him an air-kiss. “We’ll get there.”

Diem shifted his attention to his food as color raced up his neck.

“Can I keep going?”

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