“I never asked you to babysit my diet,” he shot back. “What, did I hurt your leafy-feelings? That’s how it feels when you stick your organic nose into people’s fries.”
“Fine. I’m out.” She tossed her cup onto the table dramatically. “Have fun with your daily dose of heart attack.”
“Cheers. And don’t forget to sip your ‘detox’ tea—maybe it’ll wash down the bitterness.”
“You know what? When you’re thirty and wheezing after climbing two stairs, don’t call me. I’ll be too busy living my best gluten-free life.”
“Oh, trust me, you’ll call first,” Bane smirked. “Probably to rant about someone eating a croissant near you.”
“Croissants are *French*, Bane. You’re eating expired burritos like you’re on a budget apocalypse.”
“And you’re sipping tea like it’s got a degree in medicine. What’s next
