Kathryn Alexander - The Reluctant Bride

Micah listened to the sound of several books being pulled from her oak bookcase and then, after a moment, being returned one by one.

“You have a nice apartment”

She looked up at the nearness of his voice. Rob stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her pour pancake batter onto the hot griddle.

“Thanks. It's small but I like it.” She pulled a spatula from the silverware drawer.

“Yellow must be your favorite color,” he commented as he glanced around the narrow white room accented with yellow curtains, yellow canisters and various other brightly colored kitchen accessories, including the yellow flowers she had stenciled across the top of the walls.

“Favorite color in general, but not a favorite in clothing.” She turned the pancakes. “All this red hair and yellow just don't mix.”

“I've yet to see a color that you wouldn't look lovely in,” Rob stated.

Micah's green eyes widened in surprise at his statement She looked over at him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you,” she offered quietly.

“No need to thank me,” he replied. “It's just a statement of fact.”

Micah returned her gaze to the browning sausage rather than look into his eyes. No one had ever said anything like that to her. At least, no one over the age of eight.

“I'll bet you've broken the hearts of quite a few little guys in your classes.”

Micah glanced up, and smiled. “One or two, I'm afraid.” She turned down the burner under the meat. “It seems easy for them to develop a crush on a substitute teacher.”

“I can understand that,” he commented.

Micah continued, “Anyway, it can sometimes be awkward.” Just as awkward as this moment in her kitchen with Robert Granston. “I'm usually left wondering if I handled the situation well.” When she stacked the first pile of pancakes onto a small plate, Micah accidently knocked the empty measuring cup from the counter and both she and Rob reached for it. But she was closer and quicker.

“I've got it,” she said quietly as they leaned together momentarily. They were so close, Micah felt his breath flow across her cheek, and for an instant she wondered if he was about to kiss her. But he only touched the softness of her hair that swung freely around her shoulders. Then he stood up, moving away from her.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Micah commented and returned to the job at hand.

Within a few minutes they sat down at the kitchen table. Then came the moment Micah knew would be difficult. It always was. Even after a decade of dealing with it. She bowed her head and offered a brief prayer, in front of this man she hardly knew. When finished, she looked up to meet his gaze and found nothing questioning or negative in his eyes. Only acceptance, and maybe approval, which was more than she expected. Micah smiled and passed the syrup, and they shared a late-evening breakfast.

“So, how long have you been a Christian?” Rob asked.

“Ten years. That obvious, huh?” she replied between sips of orange juice.

Rob smiled. “Well, you quietly prayed your way through Mr. Lacey's heart attack, and you audibly thanked God for our dinner, not knowing what my reaction would be. That's pretty strong evidence.”

“And just what is your reaction?” Micah asked.

“One of respect,” he responded as something cold—no, sad—flickered through the blue eyes that held her gaze too easily. His smile slowly faded.

“To give your life to God or not, it's a choice we all eventually make, Rob.”

“I've tried it, Micah. It didn't work for me.” Rob turned his attention to the coffee cup in his hand.

“What went wrong?”

He shook his head. “It would take less time to tell you what didn't go wrong.” His smile returned. “And I don't want to spend this evening talking about something unpleasant that happened years ago.”

So Micah left the subject alone, hoping… knowing that sometime they'd come back to it. In the meantime, Micah's school stories and Rob's tales of unusual cases kept conversation and laughter flowing freely throughout the meal.

“So when she asked me to come to the job fair, I couldn't refuse. I have a hard time saying no to my little sister,” Rob said as Micah poured a third, or maybe it was the fourth, round of coffee. She had lost count.

“It must be nice,” Micah said and took a sip from the cup she cradled in her hand.

“Having a sister to talk you into things?”

“Having a sister, period.”

Rob looked at her silently for a moment. “You don't have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. My parents weren't young when they had me, so I am their only child.”

“Then you must be very close to your parents,” he commented,

“Dad and I were close for a long time.” Her fingers moved instinctively to the heart locket that hung loosely around her neck today and most days, and Rob's eyes followed her movements. “But now…” she began, and then hesitated.

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.”