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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 beawkward.” 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