“River Oaks.”
“River Oaks?” she asked excitedly. “I grew up there!”
“I thought you said you grew up in Dallas.”
“I said that’s where we started out. Then we moved to River Oaks. So who was it?”
“Marvin Hanes.”
With a shriek, Robin slapped a hand over her mouth. “Dr. Marvin Hanes? The Marvin Hanes? Dad used to play tennis with him! Oh my God! What is it with men?”
“With those men, it’s a power thing,” Jake said nonchalantly, bending down to examine several cans.
“What do you mean, a power thing?”
“The more women, the more powerful they feel.”
Robin collapsed against the brick wall, her arms folded across her middle. “It’s just so . . . disgusting. Why can’t men be faithful?”
“Wait, wait,” Jake said on a laugh. “Don’t lump us all in with the sorry lot of dog. There are men who can be faithful.”
Oh yeah, right, like Dad. “Name one,” she challenged him.
“Me,” he said in all earnestness.
Robin blinked; he steadily returned her gaze, and funny, she desperately wanted to believe if there was any man on the face of this earth who would honor one woman, it was Jake Manning. “Really? So if a better deal came along, are you saying you would not dump your girlfriend in a heartbeat?”
The color seemed to drain from his face so quickly that her heart skipped a beat. “I don’t have a girlfriend if that is what you are after. And what do you mean, a better deal?”
Robin snorted. “I mean better—as in better looking. More money. That sort of thing.”
“So you think it all boils down to money and looks?” he asked disdainfully. “That’s more of an indictment against women, if you ask me. They look for money, power—”
“Oh, and men don’t look for those things? It’s just the truth, Jake. There are certain inalienable facts about life, and one of them is that money talks.”
“Wow,” he said, looking her up and down now. “That’s really cold.”
“It’s not cold,” Robin said dispassionately, “it’s just the way of the world.” But Jake was now looking at her as if he pitied her somehow, and Robin felt suddenly and strangely lost. She wished she’d never started this conversation. She wished she’d never mentioned girlfriends. She could feel herself flushing.
Jake looked away, squatted down by the cans again, picked one, and withdrew a screwdriver from his hip pocket to flip open the lid. “So you know what I think about this Eldagirt Wirt?” he asked, artfully changing the subject as he grabbed a paint stick and began to stir. “I don’t think she exists.”
Robin laughed. “Well, maybe if I’m lucky, Wirt Supplies and Packing doesn’t exist, either. Maybe this is just some huge joke my dad is playing on me.”
“If it is, it’s a good one, because it sure has you going,” Jake said, and then wondered aloud what Eldagirt must look like, insisting she was a little old lady with a cowskin handbag.
Robin disagreed. “A bulldozer,” she said. “Army boots, flap jacket. She has to be, with a name like that.”
They were laughing, talking like old friends as he began to strip away old paint and dirt from the brick in the entry. They talked about last night’s Astros game. —See your boy Moz last night? He gave up three runs in the eighth. —You can’t blame the loss on him! Those fielders had huge holes in their gloves! They argued about the relative value of tofu in society. —Tofu is made by people who want your money, that’s all there is to it. —Oh yeah? Why don’t you just open up your veins and pump in some 40-weight? Robin explained how bubble wrap was made by pressing two sheets together then inserting the bubbles, and was bowled over to find out he already knew. —How did you know? —I’m just real smart. — Why, yes, and modest, too!
Robin wondered if Jake liked her company as much as she liked his. It felt comfortable between them shooting the breeze, and for a moment or two, Robin could believe she had known Jake all her life. But then again, she was aware that she had never known anyone like Jake.
Jake showed her what he was doing, ushering her in front of him, telling her to look at the brick as he painted the cleaner over it. Framed by his body, Robin watched, but she was much more aware of his body so close to hers, the very titillating sensation that their bodies fit like hand and glove.
“See the brick?” he asked, his breath soft on her ear. “See the color of it? And the little mark right there? This brick is worth a small fortune.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said, and insanely, intentionally, leaned backward, into him, on the pretense of looking up at the paned-glass windows above, until her hair was brushing his shoulder. “The stained glass is going to be gorgeous.”