Five
Phoebe stopped in the doorway of her kitchen, taking the opportunity to study Jake before he noticed her. He’d implied he was job hunting while talking to Chet, but Jake didn’t look hungry enough to be job hunting. And he was too Boy Scout to be one of Harding’s goons.
He reached up, making her carabiner wind chimes perform with a flick of his wrist and rational thought fled. Sunshine from the window flooded over him, finding the gold buried in his dark hair and putting shadows in the laugh lines that fanned out from his eyes. He’d exchanged last night’s boots for comfortable tennis shoes but stayed with the tight jeans, tee and flannel, this time a soft blue plaid. He’d left the shirt unbuttoned, its sleeves rolled almost to the elbow, giving her an unrestricted view of every curve
