She turned to see him standing in the doorway. Bare-chested, barefoot, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips. Lord, his body was spectacular. He turned her on something fierce, and she couldn’t help but wish their connection went beyond purely sexual.
As she swept her gaze over his muscular chest, she noticed several scars marring his sleek, golden skin. The puckered white circle above his left hipbone looked particularly nasty, causing concern to wash over her. “How’d you get that scar?” she asked. “The one on your hip.”
“Just another battle scar. Why were you frowning?”
His dismissal of his war wounds bugged her, but didn’t surprise her. “I was just thinking,” she answered, focusing on the task of spreading mayonnaise on two pieces of bread.
“About what?” He crossed the room and flopped down on one of the tall-backed stools by the eat-in counter.
“You,” she said honestly. Slapping the sandwiches together, she placed them on two plates and slid one across the countertop.
“Thanks,” he said, before tackling the sandwich with enthusiasm. He shot her an expectant look as he chewed. “So…thinking about me, huh?”
Bree sat on the neighboring stool. “You haven’t told me anything about your life. Are you on leave at the moment?”
He responded with a noncommittal shrug. “Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…yeah, I guess I’m on leave.”
His tone was so vague she fought a spark of irritation. “When are you leaving Paradise?”
“Not sure yet.”
With a sigh, she focused on eating. She shouldn’t be surprised that Jake was still so damn close-mouthed, but his silence grated. “How was breakfast with your mom?” she finally asked.
“Not so good.”
Since she hadn’t expected him to elaborate, it startled her when he went on.
“Mom and Austin are barely speaking, and the little bastard didn’t even show up this morning, even though he told me he would.” Jake polished off the rest of his sandwich, then hopped off the stool and headed for the fridge. He emerged with a jug of orange juice, which he poured into two tall glasses.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on with them,” Jake confessed as he sat down again and slid one of the glasses in her direction.
Bree took a sip, eyeing him over the rim of her glass. “Neither of them will talk about it?”
“Nope.” He ran a frustrated hand over the thick stubble dotting his strong, square jaw. “I noticed it at Nate and Charlotte’s wedding, but according to Owen, it’s been like this for months.”
Bree picked up on his unhappiness, which only reminded her of the close relationship between the Bishops. Bree and her brother were far more independent, doing their own thing, staying out of each other’s business. And while their parents liked to interfere in their lives, it wasn’t because they wanted their children to be happy, but because Tanner and Barbara Lockhart considered their kids’ success as a reflection of themselves. But the Bishop family had always been tight-knit. Della Bishop loved and protected her boys like a mama lioness, and Jake and his brothers always had each other’s backs.
Bree knew it must be driving Jake nuts that Austin was shutting him out.
“Why don’t you do something about it?” she asked.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. I can’t pry a single detail out of those two. Austin’s going out of his way not to be in the same room as Mom.”
“So don’t give him a choice,” Bree replied with a shrug.
“What are you suggesting, I lock them in a room and force them to hash it out?”
“Yup.”
Jake’s gray eyes twinkled with amusement, but he didn’t shoot down the idea. “Guess I could try it.”
“Invite them both over for lunch tomorrow,” Bree suggested. “Separately. Don’t let on that the other is coming, and then when they show up, tell them in no uncertain terms that they’re not leaving the house till they figure out their shit. I’ll even help you out by fixing lunch.” She grinned. “They won’t get much talking done if they come down with food poisoning.”
Jake laughed. “I’m not that bad at cooking. I get by just fine when I’m overseas with my unit.”
“Opening a pack of freeze-dried food isn’t cooking.” She tipped her head in thought. “Where do you live when you’re on leave?”
His easygoing demeanor stiffened. “Nowhere.”
“You don’t own a place here, or, anywhere?”
He offered a curt shake of the head. “Never bothered. I usually crash at Owen’s or my mom’s when I’m home, which isn’t too often.” He quickly rerouted the conversation before she could press for details. “How are you liking your new house?”
Bree stifled a sigh. Jake had mastered the skill of not talking about himself. “I love it,” she answered.