As soon as she reached the kitchen, she whirled on him, making the ties twitch. “You had no right to get rid of my food!”

“You had no right to get rid of my furniture, and you shouldn’t be eating that crap.” His mood grew darker as he once again noted the clean counters, now missing, among other things, the ceramic pig dressed like a French waiter.

“Blueberries and lettuce aren’t crap,” she said.

“They weren’t organic.”

“You threw them out because they weren’t organic?”

She was really pissed. Good. As long as he kept her pissed at him, she wouldn’t try to suck him into one of those cozy little chats he used to pretend to hate. He splayed his hand on the counter. Her hair was so black it looked dead, the ratty purple dreadlocks were ridiculous, and her heavily mascaraed eyelashes looked like caterpillars had expired on them. A silver ring pierced one eyebrow; another pierced her nostril. He hoped like hell they were both fakes. And smearing that delicate mouth with ugly brown lipstick was a crime against humanity. But the tattoos bothered him most. That long, slender neck had no business being strangled by a fire-breathing dragon, and the thorns on her upper arm were an abomination, although a few of the blood drops had mercifully flaked off.

“Do you really want to pollute your body with pesticides and chemical fertilizers?” he said.

“Yes!” She jabbed a finger toward the pantry door. “And hand over that key.”

“Not going to happen. She’d bully you into giving it to her.”

“I can stand up to Temple Renshaw.”

He could be a world-class prick when he wanted to, like right now, with his ceramic pig missing and those leather ties twitching on top of her bare shoulders. “You couldn’t even stand up to Ted Beaudine. And he’s the nicest guy in the world, right?”

She was a babe in the woods when it came to dealing with pricks. Her chin shot up, her small jaw jutted, but beneath her bluster, he saw the guilt she still couldn’t shake off. “What do you mean, I couldn’t stand up to him?”

This was exactly the kind of personal conversation he’d told himself he wouldn’t have with her, but he didn’t feel like backing off. “Your aversion to getting married didn’t just hit you on your wedding day. You knew it wasn’t right long before that, but you didn’t have the guts to tell him.”

“I didn’t know it wasn’t right!” she exclaimed.

“Whatever gets you up in the morning.”

“Not eggs and bacon, that’s for sure.”

He gave her his badass sneer, but it wasn’t as effective as usual because he couldn’t take his eyes off those little leather ties. Just one tug …

“I want my food back,” she said.