Page 98 of The Bronze Garza

He arches a brow at me. It’s a wordless,What right do you have to question me?

I jut my chin up. “You’re supposed to be on vacation, meaninghere, with me.”

“Missed me?” he asks as he reaches into one of the bags he’d deposited on the counter.

“What’s there to miss?” I toss a cashew into my mouth. “You’re surly, mercurial, and a total snooze.”

“Why do you care if I’m gone all day then?”

“Because...”Because you’re my surly, mercurial, snoozefest.

“Because…?”

I trace the pad of my thumb around the bowl of nuts in my lap. “Because you’re supposed to be protecting me. And you can’t be protecting me if you’re not here.”

I wait for him to give me the spiel about this entire “nook of the neighborhood” being safe, though he knows I know that. He also knows I care zero about being protected.

But he doesn’t. Probably because he knows I’m full of shit.

Instead, he unloads the items from the bags onto the counter. Two label-less half-gallon bottles, and a bunch of foreign produce.

“These are for you,” he tells me. “From Monica.”

“Monica?” I peel myself up from the floor. “I thought she wanted nothing to do with me.”

He picks up one of the produce and washes it at the sink before biting into it. “This is her way of apologizing.”

I scan the items. Written with black marker on one of the half-gallon bottles is “Soursop.” And on the other, “June Plum & Passionfruit.”

“Fruit juices. She makes them herself,” Torin says, then gestures to the produce on the counter. “And these are all tropical fruits that you’d be hard-pressed to find here. She imports them monthly, though some are seasonal. If Monica’s sending you her precious tropical delicacies, then trust me, she’sreallysorry.”

Sure, Monica had been a little harsh with me, but she doesn’t have anything to be sorry about. I deserved it. “The only things I recognize here are the papayas and the mangoes.”

After taking another bite of whatever the hell he’s eating, he touches each fruit one by one and tells me their names. “Sweet Sop...Star Apple...Sapodilla or Neese Berry...Custard Apple...Guava...June Plum…and this”—he waves his half-eaten fruit—“Otaheite Apple, or Rose Apple. My favorite.”

“In that case...” I take one of the Otaheite apples and wash it at the sink, then bite into it. It’s juicy, fleshy, my teeth sliding right through it, freshness bursting on my tongue. Hmm. “Oh wow, this is really good,” I say after swallowing.

When I shift my gaze to Torin, his eyes are on my mouth.

On purpose, I glide my tongue along my bottom lip, collecting the sweet juices left behind from the fruit. Then I take another bite, chewing slower this time.

Torin sets down his half-eaten fruit and shrugs out of his jacket. Hmm. Look who’s hot all of a sudden?

Feeling as if I’ve won somehow, I dip my head and smile to myself. “I have something for you, too.”

He picks up his fruit and resumes eating, leaning back against the counter. “Trouble?”

“Be right back,” I tell him with an eye-roll.

With my delicious rose apple, I jog up to my room to fetch the sanded wood I stole from his basement this afternoon. I’d had a bitch of a time cutting it down to card size, but in the end I got a semi-decent rectangle.

By the time I make it back downstairs, Torin has stored away the goods and is leaned over on the island munching from my bowl of cashews with one hand while texting on his phone with the other.

As I move to the opposite side of the island, his eyes drift up from his phone to me. I place the card on the counter and slide it across to him.

Frowning, he sets his phone aside, then picks up the thin cut of wood and examines it.

From a label maker I found among his tools, I’d printed the word “YES” and pasted it on one side of the card, then “ALL ACCESS” on the other side.