Page 24 of A Breath of Life
“Dinner. What do you want for dinner?”
“Conversation with a side of respect and acceptance for my opinions.”
Diem stormed out the door without saying another word, leaving me to lock up.
Bastard.
***
When we got home, Diem didn’t join me upstairs, declaring Echo needed to use the bathroom. “Figure out dinner,” he barked as he took off, shoulders near his ears.
Weren’t we a clashing pair. Surly and snarly. Diem’s bear was loose, and I had my cat claws and teeth out, ready to fight back. It happened far too frequently. When we loved each other, we loved each other, but when things soured, they grew volatile fast.
I slammed through cupboards, seeking ingredients for a simple meal. I was not a chef. I hated cooking, but we didn’t have the money to eat out all the time. Diem’s kitchen skills outweighed mine, but his recipe repertoire started and ended with his macro-friendly chicken, broccoli, and rice. Plain, bland, boring, no-spices-included chicken, steamed broccoli with no butter or salt, and white rice. Disgusting.
My go-to meals before moving in with Diem consisted of ramen noodles, cereal, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I wasn’t opposed to eating a box of crackers for dinner on occasion. It was why I never shared Kitty’s lunch offerings, greedily and shamelessly gobbling them up. It was why I visited my mother for dinner weekly and stole every ounce of leftovers.
Feeling like I had to prove myself that evening—Diem was clearly in a mood and thought me utterly incompetent—I heated a pot of water for pasta, tossed a pound of frozen ground beef into the microwave to defrost, and checked the expiration date on a can of sauce that had been around since the dawn of time. Spaghetti wasn’t hard, right?
As I waited for the microwave to beep and the pot of water to boil, I found the half-empty jar of peanut butter that lived beside the boxes of teas neither of us liked and dug in.
Diem caught me spooning great wads of it directly into my mouth as he and Echo entered the apartment. He glared, but I couldn’t tell if it was a normal glare or if he was still pissed off. “What the fuck do you have against crackers?”
“Nothing. I love those tiny, happy peanut butter vehicles. Especially Ritz, but we don’t have any. I’m making spaghetti.” I gestured tothe dried pasta and sauce waiting beside the pot on the stove. “It’s not gourmet, and it’s not frozen pizza, but it should fill us up.”
Diem grunted and let Echo off her leash. She trotted to her toy basket, finding her favorite stuffed animal, and lying down to have herself a good chew. The poor thing had no filling left, and the squeaker had long since been destroyed, but she loved it.
My extra-surly boyfriend watched me shovel peanut butter into my mouth without comment. Tension radiated between us. Since I’d been forbidden from discussing the two things that were likely irritating him, I made a show of uncaringly eating out of the jar.
I had a knack for getting under Diem’s skin. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it was in a good way. Not today. Today, my sass riled him up. When I should have backed down, I didn’t.
“What?” I asked when he wouldn’t stop glaring. “I’m hungry. It’s a pre-dinner snack. Problem?”
“You’ll spoil your dinner.”
“That’s never happened.”
“Other people eat out of that jar.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Do my cooties bother you?”
Diem’s storm-cloud eyes narrowed. His jaw ticked. “I’m not trying to upset you, Tallus.”
“Great, because I’m not upset.”
“You’re acting like a petulant brat.”
My brows kissed my hairline. “I’m sorry. A brat? Did you just—”
“You’ll get better jobs when I think you can handle them. Surveillance and sneaking around to gather information requires the art of subtlety. Sometimes, it’s dangerous, and—”
“Are you saying I can’t be subtle?”
“I’m saying you have a bold personality and tend to fly on instinct. You don’t think. I don’t want to put you in danger.”
I balked. “Excuse me? I donotfly on instinct.”
Diem deadpanned. “Remember the cabin?”
