Then he dropped his hand and met my gaze again. "And just to be clear," he said, his voice even but a teasing light suddenly gleaming in his eyes, "I am not as immune to the virtues of that top as you believe."
And with that, he disappeared again, leaving me shaking my head and smiling like an idiot.
"Care to share the joke?" Jak said dryly.
I glanced at him. "Sorry, just something my uncle said."
"Your uncle the guardian, I gather we're talking about?"
"Yeah." I put my phone away. "To say he was rather surprised to discover I'm working with you on this is something of an understatement."
Worry crossed his face. "He didn't threaten violence, did he?"
"No." I studied him for a moment. "Has he before?"
Jak cleared his throat and looked a little uncomfortable. "You could say that."
"Really? When?"
"The first time when I wrote that story on your mom; the second when we broke up. He can be a very scary man, you know."
"He is a guardian." I said that a little too cheerfully, if Jak's darkening expression was anything to go by. "But the threats can't have been too bad. I mean, not only are you still alive, but you walked away from them intact."
"Only because I swore on my mother's grave not to do another report on your mother, and to keep well away from you. The latter of which I am obviously not doing."
I patted his arm comfortingly. "Because we all know the story means more to you than the threat. And don't worry—Uncle Rhoan knows I contacted you, not the other way around."
"Doesn't mean he won't be pissed," he muttered, then plopped down on the step. "How long will they be?"