Rob studied her wary gaze and waited.
“…we're not,” she concluded with a half-hearted smile.
Rob started to respond, but then apparently changed his mind and returned his attention to the piece of gold jewelry Micah touched so lovingly.
“That's a beautiful locket. I think you've worn it every time I've seen you,” he remarked. “Was it a gift from him?”
“Yes, from years ago.” She cleared her throat nervously and attempted to move on. “Being an only child wasn't so bad really. I had lots of friends around when I was very young. But if I ever have any children of my own—”
“‘If’ you have children? You're a teacher. You must love kids. I'd think you'd want a whole houseful,” Rob remarked.
Micah stared at her empty plate. Now they were venturing into territory better left alone. Why did it have to happen so soon?
“I do enjoy children, but I don't know how I feel about a whole houseful of them.” She stood up and began gathering up the dishes.
“I'll help you,” he offered as he rose from his chair.
“There's no need.”
“You did the cooking. The least I can do is wash the dishes.”
“A compromise?” Micah smiled. “I'll wash, you dry.”
“Fair enough.”
Soon they stood side by side at the kitchen sink, working together for the second time in one day.
“I probably should tell you what happened with Mrs. Winslow and her maniacal driving,” Rob offered as he placed a cup in the dish rack.
“Something good, I hope. Not another accident?”
“No more accidents,” he stated. “She voluntarily gave up her driving privileges. You were only the first in a long line of people to express concern about Mrs. Winslow remaining behind the wheel of any vehicle. So, thanks for your honesty.”
“You're welcome,” she replied and handed him a clean plate. The conversation returned to brothers and sisters, and Rob didn't mind talking about his.
“That didn't take long,” Micah remarked while rinsing the empty dishpan. Then she switched off the light and they exited the small kitchen, moving into the more comfortable, but not much larger, living room.
“I haven't eaten pancakes since I had breakfast with my sister and her kids a couple of Saturdays ago.”
“I don't know Angela very well, but she's been very friendly to me.”
“She's great even if she does talk me into job fairs,” he conceded. “Is this your work?” Rob motioned toward a set of four small paintings hanging above the sofa. Each picture depicted the same covered bridge flanked on both sides by wooded areas, but each scene brought to life the heart of a different season. From windswept spring to the frigid blast of a winter snowstorm.
In answer to his question, she nodded.
“Micah, these are beautiful.” Rob studied the pieces. “It looks to me like you should teach art. To adults, I mean.”
Micah smiled. “I do. At the tech school some evenings.”
“Could I see more?”
“If you like.” Micah led him back through the kitchen to the rear door. Opening it, they entered a tiny workroom enclosed in glass. Micah switched on the light “This is another reason I keep this apartment. It's my favorite room.”
Rob glanced around the room, surveying the work on the canvases Micah had stored there. A ballerina in midair in soft pastels, a brightly colored hot-air balloon amid a shimmering blue sky, children laughing and playing on a merry-go-round, and several others including ocean and seashore scenes and some small, delicate works of flowers and birds. “These are wonderful…”
“Thank you.” Micah caught her lower lip between her teeth, restricting her smile.
“The kids in the playground and the ballerina…they look like they could walk right out of the pictures…and the ocean…it seems…restless.” He glanced at her with surprise evident in his eyes. “It all looks so real.”
“Thank you,” she said with a light laugh. “It's supposed to.”
“But these are all finished,” he commented. “What are you working on now?”
“An oil painting of an old white church that I discovered one day while I was driving through the country.”
Rob scanned the contents of the room, and not seeing the piece she'd referred to, he glanced up in question.
“I ran out of room in here. The painting is in the back room. I'll show it to you when it's finished,” Micah replied, instantly regreting the insinuation of a future for them. There could be none, and she thought she must be losing her mind even to consider it. She needed a change of subject, a change of mind.
“Do you go to church anywhere?” she asked.
“Not anymore,” Rob answered. “I accepted Christ when I was thirteen, Micah. I was active with the youth group, all the kinds of things you'd expect. Everything seemed great until my best friend, Nick, died. Then…it didn't seem so real anymore. I stopped going.”
“How did he die?” Micah asked hesitantly, not knowing if she should pursue this subject
“Car accident on a rainy night.” Rob checked the clock on the wall over Micah's easel. “It's nearly midnight. I had no idea it was that late.”
Neither had Micah, and she looked toward the timepiece. Midnight. So that's when it ended. Now she knew how Cinderella must have felt. This had to end. Now. Because the more she knew of Rob, the more she wanted to know. The longer they talked, the longer she wanted to talk. And this man, standing in the middle of Micah's paintings, was a man she could love. Easily. Maybe eternally.
“We both have to get up early in the morning. I should be going.”
Yes, Micah thought, you should. But she said nothing as she turned to walk with him to the front door. How could it be so late? Where had the evening gone? Micah swallowed hard, fighting back the words that threatened to flow from her.
They reached the entryway in silence, and when Micah reached for the doorknob, so did Rob. It could have been an awkward moment, but it was not. Rob's strong hand closed over Micah's as naturally as if he had planned it, his fingers linking through hers, warmth against warmth. Micah bit her lower lip gently as she stood facing Rob in the narrow entryway, wanting him to stay longer, wanting him to go. Dinner together. That's all it was supposed to be. Just pancakes and orange juice.
“Micah…” The tenderness with which he spoke her name calmed the rambling argument running through her head. “I want to see you again. You know that, don't you?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew. And if she knew, then he must know the attraction was mutual. And strong. And crazy.
“Rob, I don't think—”
“Dinner, tomorrow night?” he offered, overruling her objections. “I could pick you up around six-thirty?”
Dinner. It could never be just dinner again. Not with them. “No, I don't think…” What could she say? Micah had never been good at hiding her feelings and she respected honesty too much to really try. “Rob, it just wouldn't be a good idea.”
“I'll take you out for pancakes if you like.” He smiled. Just the way she knew he would.
“No.” She smiled back. “I've reached my quota of maple syrup for the week.”
“Then how about steak and a salad?” He squeezed,