Page 99 of The True Garza

I order pad thai.

When the deliveryman calls eighteen minutes later, I tell True—who’s busy stuffing his face in the kitchen—that I’ll head out to collect the food and be right back. On the way out, I snag his car keys from the side table.

Once I’ve collected the food, I jump into True’s SUV, fire up the engine, and drive straight home.

CHAPTER Twenty-Four

“You’re not ‘women,’ though.”

Lonny

“Hey, I just got offshift and am about to head home,” I say into the phone, adjusting my workbag on my shoulder. “Do you want me to pick something up for dinner, or have you already eaten?”

“Oh, no need to get anything. Dinner is already being cooked.”

I halt in the middle of the parking lot. The Bridge women might be good at a lot of things, butcookingisn’t one of them. And between Brook and me in the kitchen, she’s god-awful. “You’re… what?”

“You were gone for eight years,Lonny,you don’t know what kind of culinary tricks I’ve picked up.”

“Well, I’ve alsolived with youfor the last five months, and the only thing I’ve ever seen you ‘cook’ is scrambled eggs. And even that looked like curdled milk.”

“Ugh. You’re so disrespectful. Just come home and let me feed you like a big sister should. Have a little faith in me.” She hangs up before I can get another word in.

The last thing I’d want is to offend the person who’s given me a roof, so I don’t stop for takeout on the way home. But Idomake a last-minute stop for some protein bars at a convenience store and hide them in my workbag. Just in case.

The aroma hits the second I pull into the garage. Herbs and spices. Wow. My sister reallyiscooking, and it smells good. Though smell and taste are two different things.

“Brook,” I call as I enter the house and reset the alarm code, “what are you making?”

The television blares loudly with sports commentary. Weird. Brook doesn’t watch sports. Wait, I’m not about to be ambushed by my family, am I? There’s no way Brook would do this to me. But it’s the only explanation for the cooking, because Iknowshe can’t cook for shit.

I’m going to kill her.

With each step, I mentally prepare a personalized “fuck off” for each Bridge. But when I reach the open-floor area, there are no Bridges.

In the kitchen, there’s a man with familiar broad shoulders; taut, tawny skin, hard muscles, and dark hair. Chopping vegetables with an apron on.

What… the hell?

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, you’re home.” He turns from the cutting-board to the stove, attending to something in a skillet. “Right on time. Dinner’s almost ready.”

Home? Dinner?What?

I amble to the kitchen. “What are you doinghere?”

“Came to get my car you stole, but you weren’t home.” He flicks his gaze to me as hechop chop chops. “Based on your roster, you should’ve been home hours ago. Went somewhere?”

“I did an additional half-shift because Rory has food poisoning. How did you get in?”

“Brook. Said I could stay if I bought dinner,” he answers. “Told her I’d cook it instead.”

I glance around. Brook’s car is in the garage, but it doesn’t feel like she’s home. “Where is she?”

“Some friend came to pick her up. She’ll be back soon.” He pops a slice of cucumber in his mouth. “Go freshen up.”

“I’m gonna strangle that sister of mine,” I mutter as I start out of the kitchen.