“Sold,” was Carole's reply as the waitress approached the booth.
With their orders placed, Micah glanced at her thin gold wristwatch. Grateful it was Friday and she had no teaching assignment today, Micah planned to spend the afternoon working on the painting she had started months ago: a little church in the country. Her long, slender fingers tucked a stray wisp of auburn hair behind her ear.
“Do you think ‘living right’ has anything to do with having great hair?” Carole asked, her words slicing into Micah's thoughts.
“What are you talking about?”
“You have the natural curls I've always wanted. Is it a gift from God for being good or something like that?”
“If I thought it would get you into church on Sunday, I'd be tempted to say ‘yes.’”
“And tell a lie?” Carole quipped. “Surely not.”
Several people walked past their booth, but Micah paid little attention to them. She had just picked up a bread stick from the basket on the table when she heard Carole's greeting.
“Hello, Rob! What a pleasant surprise!”
Rob. Micah quickly placed the bread stick on a saucer and picked up her napkin to wipe her fingers.
“Carole? It's been a long time since I've seen you,” the distinctly male voice responded.
“Yes, it has. You know Micah Shepherd, don't you?” Carole's words bubbled with enthusiasm as she motioned toward Micah.
“Yes,” he replied, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. She noticed Rob's eyebrows lift as his gaze met and held hers. “We've met. How are you, Miss Shepherd?”
Micah smiled in response. “Fine, thank you.” In some unexplainable way, she was both pleased and not pleased to see him again. So why was her heart pounding so loudly in her ears?
“I didn't realize that you and Miss Shepherd were friends.” He spoke to Miss Zabotrowski, but his eyes remained firmly fixed upon her auburn-haired companion.
“Would you care to join us?” Carole offered.
Rob glanced at a nearby table. “Thank you, but I'm meeting someone for lunch, and I'm running late, as it is.”
Micah exhaled a quiet sigh of relief before asking, “How is Mrs. Winslow?”
“About the same.” Rob's piercing blue gaze burned through her as though silently questioning the motive for her inquiry and forcing Micah to look away. “It was nice to see you again, Carole, and you, too, Miss Shepherd.”
Miss Shepherd. His formality iritated her, exactly the way he'd meant it to. Micah watched him turn and walk away, but not too far. He sat down at a table close by with an attractive brunette. Micah crunched into the bread stick.
“What's with you two? Just because you're not a good witness for Old Yeller doesn't mean you and Rob can't be friendly,” Carole snapped.
“We're not friends,” Micah replied, staring into the bowl of soup that the waitress set before her. “Mr. Granston is an attorney, I was a witness—a poor one—and that is the sum of our relationship.”
Carole poured extra dressing over her salad. “Are you kidding? Did you see the way he looked at you? He couldn't take his eyes off you.”
“Don't be ridiculous.”
“It's true.” Carole lowered her voice to a healthy whisper. “It was absolutely intense.”
“Eat your salad and mind your own business, Carole,” Micah warned softly before taking a drink from her water glass. He had looked surprised to see her again. Surprised, that was all. Wasn't it? She glanced toward the nearby table. The brunette was involved in some animated conversation, and Rob was being appropriately attentive.
“I'm just glad he's here today, even if he is with that dark-haired beauty. When I made the reservations, I was afraid I might have been wasting my time.”
“This was intentional?” Micah placed her spoon on the table. “You assumed Rob would be here?”
“Rob?” Carole smiled. “I thought it was Mr. Granston?”
“Don't change the subject. You did this on purpose.” Suddenly the meal didn't seem quite so inviting. “What if he knows why we're here?”
“Now you're the one who's being ridiculous. He's a lawyer, Micah, not a psychic. How could he possibly know my reason for inviting you here?”
Carole was right. He really couldn't know, Micah reasoned. “Is this where you had lunch with him?”
“Yes, but it was a business luncheon. I've told you that—”
“I'd really like to go home, Carole. My appetite seems to have disappeared.”
“Leave without eating? What would he think if he saw us running out of here without having our lunch?”
Micah hesitated. “All right, you win. Let's eat and then go right away.”
They gradually worked their way through their meals, Carole a little more happily than Micah because Micah had trouble keeping her eyes from straying to the table that Rob and the brunette occupied. The last time she glanced up, the woman had disappeared—to the ladies’ room, Micah supposed—and Rob's eyes rested directly on her. She smiled, a feeble little smile, in response, and looked back into her half-empty salad plate. The sooner she could get out of here, the better.
“I'm finished,” Carole finally announced as she placed her napkin on the table, pulled her wallet from her purse and summoned their waitress to the table. “We'd like our checks now, please.”
“They have already been taken care of, miss,” the waitress stated.
“But we haven't seen them yet,” Micah interjected.
Carole added, “There must be some mistake.”
“There's no mistake. The gentleman you spoke with earlier paid the bills.”
They both turned, but Rob was gone.
“Well, well, well,” Carole mused aloud as they walked out of the dimly lit restaurant into the sunshine, warm and bright. “So that's the sum of your relationship.”
“He obviously bought lunch for you,” Micah insisted while walking toward Carole's car. “You know him and—”
“And I think he was buying for the pretty redhead seated at my table.” Carole pulled open her car door, laughing. “If he caught a glimpse of your car on the way into the restaurant, he probably took pity on you, assuming that you couldn't afford to eat in a place this nice.”
Micah shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun with one hand. “There's nothing wrong with my old station wagon,” Micah replied, though she knew only too well that there was plenty wrong with it
“No, nothing other than the fact that it's old and it's a station wagon.” Carole glanced around the parking lot. “Where did you leave it?”
“I had trouble trying to start it,” Micah admitted, “and I decided to walk. So Rob couldn't see my car even if he wanted to. Obviously, the lunch was for you.”
“Do you want a ride home, or do you prefer standing in this hot sun arguing?”
The air felt sticky, and Micah was anxious to get home. The ride sounded good.
“I have a pie to pick up, remember?” Carole added.
The bake sale and the entire weekend flew by in a blur. So much so that Micah barely thought of her encounter with Rob Granston. Except for once or twice, late at night, just before she fell asleep. Deciding against calling to thank him for lunch, she left that task to Carole. After all, he was Carole's friend. Calling would seem presumptuous, as