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the humans didn’t seem to mind. They swapped pet stories and read pet magazines. Only occasionally did they glance at their watcheswith annoyed expressions. Usually this was followed by resigned smiles and a settling of their bodies deeper into the soft leather couch.
    Jake seemed oblivious to the chaos, giving each animal his full attention, looking unhurried and unruffled as he amiably moved from one examining room to the next. Clearly a man who loved his work and staunchly ignored structure and time limits.
    Fortunately, Amy thought, she was good at organizing details. She’d been raised in a military household where frequent moves necessitated efficiency. Her closets and drawers were neat, her laundry done on schedule, her shopping lists were all-inclusive. She looked the stereotyped image of a dizzy blonde, but under the curls was a level head with quick intelligence, high standards, and tidy emotions. Until that chicken and Jacob Elliott had entered her life, anyway.
    â€œI’m not myself,” she explained to the empty house. “I’ve turned into an airhead. Ugh, how awful.” She left her shoes in thesmall foyer and padded barefoot to the kitchen.
    An hour later she had rolled out two homemade pizza crusts; covered them with a coating of spaghetti sauce, thin-sliced onions, peppers, and mushrooms; topped the pizzas with a thick layer of mozzarella cheese; and popped them into the oven. She laid a place setting on the little kitchen table, delighting in the familiar ritual of eating peacefully, and breathed a sigh of relief that her life was coming back together.
    Everything about her was normal. Normal kitchen table. Normal kitchen light. Normal kitchen clock. She slouched into a chair. “Hmmm.” She didn’t feel normal. She felt…agitated. She needed exercise. The soles of her feet fairly buzzed with the need to move.
    â€œOkay feet, now what?” Her bare feet did a little tap dance on the tile floor and led her to the discarded running shoes. Amy changed into running shorts and a T-shirt, laced up her shoes and remembered the pizza. She pulled the aromatic rounds out of the oven, set them on the counter tocool, and let her feet carry her out the front door.
    Twenty minutes later she returned to find Jake sitting in her kitchen, eating her pizza. “The door was open,” he explained.
    â€œThat’s what Goldilocks said.”
    â€œYou shouldn’t go out and leave your door open. Some pervert could waltz right in.”
    Amy bit her lip.
    Her hair was dark with sweat and plastered to her face in Betty Boop ringlets. Her shirt was soaked through, a sheen of moisture clung to her flushed face and bare arms, and her breathing was slightly labored. It was the first time Jake had ever gotten turned on by sweat.
    â€œBeen running?” he asked, making an effort not to spring out of his chair and pin her to the floor.
    Amy wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Yeah.” She took a deep cleansing breath. “I love to run. Running always relaxes me.”
    â€œMe too.”
    Amy looked at him in delighted surprise. “How often do you run?”
    He crossed his fingers under the table. “Every day. Couldn’t do without it.” The truth was, he hated running. He found it incredibly boring, preferring to get his exercise in a pickup game of football or a fast sprint to the refrigerator. But the prospect of laboring alongside Amy was irresistibly appealing.
    â€œMaybe we could run together. I don’t live far from here. We could run every night after work,” Jake said.
    â€œYou sure you want to run with me? I’d probably slow you down.”
    â€œI wouldn’t mind slowing down some. It’d be nice to have someone to talk to, to pace myself with.” Was she buying this? Jake wondered, nonchalantly dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.
    Amy cut herself a slice of pizza and nibbled at the end. She ran to relax.