“It’s so . . . I don’t know . . . laudable the way you take these people under your wing, like Zaney and Cole.”
Jake shook his head. “I didn’t take on Zaney and Cole, they just happened to be in my life. I bet you’d do the same.”
“Really?” Robin asked laughingly. “I don’t know if I would.”
When the beer began to run low, they walked over to the old house and through the empty rooms with old pine plank floors and big windows, and imagined who might have lived there. When they entered the main living area, Jake could not tear his gaze away from Robin’s; he was mesmerized by the color and the depth of expression in her eyes. She held his gaze, then took his hand, turned it palm up, and traced the crevices and calluses that had formed from a lifetime of hard work. He tried to pull away, embarrassed that no matter what he did or where he went, his hands revealed the truth about him—he was a laborer, always had been, always would be. Yet she wouldn’t let him pull away. “I love your hands,” she said. “I love the way they feel—so real.”
When the beer was gone and the sun had started to slide off to the west, it was time to end one of the most pleasant afternoons Jake had ever spent in his life. He gathered up the empty beer bottles, looked at Robin, and smiled. “I really enjoyed the afternoon.”
“Me, too,” Robin said. “You know what? In spite of all appearances to the contrary, I kind of liked the look of you when you showed up on my drive.”
Jake put his arm around her shoulders and inhaled the scent of her hair. “As long as we’re confessing, I’ll admit I thought you were one fine-looking ex-con.” She laughed; he kissed the top of her head and slipped her hand into his as they started up the grassy slope to his bike.
But for Jake, the end of a perfect spring afternoon was beginning to cloud over with mild confusion. What had started out as a lark had moved into something more intense and the opposite of what he intended, leaving him feeling uncharacteristically perplexed. “Robin,” he said as he stuffed their trash inside his saddlebag, “I’m not sure where we are.”
“You don’t remember how we got here?”
“What I mean is, I’m not sure about all this,” he said, gesturing toward the river and picnic table. “It sort of changes things, doesn’t it?” He shifted his gaze to the old house. “I don’t imagine Mr. GQ would like it much.”
“Mr. GQ? Who, you mean Evan?” Robin exclaimed with a snort. “I don’t care what he thinks. We are not . . . you know, together.”
Jake didn’t believe that. If he hadn’t seen Evan in his boxers that morning—
“All right, we used to date,” she said, blushing furiously. “And I . . . I . . . okay, I’m not the only one with ghosts here—what about Ms. Kentucky Fried Chicken?”
Jake couldn’t really say anything. Lindy was a ghost all right, and he couldn’t seem to rid himself of the thought that he was making some huge mistake.
“It’s complicated, isn’t it?” Robin finally asked on a soft sigh.
“Yeah,” he said, sobering with her.
The ride back was subdued, the mention of their respective lives a damper on the perfect afternoon. It was almost dark by the time they pulled into Robin’s drive. She climbed off the Harley and glanced conspicuously at her front door. “Thank you,” she said, shifting her gaze to him again. “This was perfect. Really perfect.”
Jake grasped her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed her knuckles.
“I’d ask you in, but I really have to get up early tomorrow. We’re off to Minot.”
He hadn’t expected to be asked in, if that is what she thought, and wondered what she did think he was after. “Hey. . .” He faltered, unsure of what he wanted to say, feeling awkward, as if he shouldn’t be sitting here holding her hand.
“Yes?”
Jake felt an unexpected tug of deep regret, and let go her hand. “You don’t have to worry. I mean, don’t think just because of today that I . . .”
Her smile faded.
Shit. “Today was really nice, Robin, but don’t . . . don’t think that I’m going anywhere with this. I’ve got a job to do here. I enjoyed your company.”
Something flit across Robin’s pretty blue eyes that he couldn’t quite read. She nodded, shoved her hand in her back pocket. “Oh. Okay. Well . . . thanks for the ride.”
“Sure.” He debated if he should try and explain that he knew he was out of her league, that she would never settle for someone like him, and that because he knew it, he wasn’t going to push it, and he damn sure wasn’t going to try and take advantage of her.
But Robin was already walking away. At her door, she shoved the key in the lock, pushed it open, then gave him a quick, pithy wave as she stepped inside and shut the door.