Page 89 of King of Praise
Each stroke brings us closer together, deeper into this connection that defies explanation.
Images of a future life with her flash through my mind. I see it all: our marriage, our home, our bakery—our forever.
Chapter 23
Whispers of Tomorrow
Naomi
Ilean closer to the notebook balanced on my crossed legs, chewing absently on the end of my pen as I review equipment costs.Industrial mixers don’t come cheap. I circle a particularly daunting figure. But if I’m really going to do this—really going to open my own bakery—I need to do it right.
A softmrrpdraws my attention to Powder, who lifts her head from her sunlit perch to set those striking blue eyes on me.
“What do you think, pretty girl?” I ask. “Think Columbus is ready for another bakery?”
Powder blinks slowly at me before returning to her nap, satisfied I’ve acknowledged her input. I smile at her casual dismissal. These quiet moments with her—just woman and cat, surrounded by dreams and possibilities—feel precious after years of walking on eggshells.
It’s strange how quickly life changes. Just months ago, I was a wife, trapped in a marriage where every word, every gesture, every breath was monitored and controlled. Now here I sit, free to dream and plan, supported by a man who encourages rather than constrains.
The distant rumble of a truck approaching pulls my attention away from my notes. Micah must be back from his morning trip to get more groceries.
The thought of him sends a flutter through my stomach. These new feelings still surprise me sometimes, though they’ve become increasingly familiar during our weeks together in this cabin.
I remain seated on the floor, surrounded by my planning materials, knowing he likes finding me this way. The good girl kneeling before him. His darkened eyes always betray just how much the position affects him.
The cabin door opens, admitting a gust of crisp winter air along with Micah’s imposing frame. He juggles grocery bags while stomping snow from his boots, somehow managing to look both domestic and dangerous in his well-worn jeans and heavy coat. My heart does that funny little skip it always does when I see him—part recognition, part desire, part something deeper. Something becoming increasingly impossible to ignore.
“Hi.” The word comes out soft, almost shy despite our intimacy. Some habits die hard, I suppose. Years of measuring every interaction, every response, leave marks that fade slowly.
Micah’s dark eyes find mine immediately, his expression softening in that way reserved solely for me. He sets the bags down carefully before approaching, each deliberate step making my pulse quicken. When he reaches me, one large hand cups my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze.
“Hello, lovely.” His deep voice rumbles through me like distant thunder. “Working hard on those plans?”
The praise in his tone makes pleases me. “Yes, sir.” The honorific slips out naturally now, at least in private moments like this. It feels right.
His thumb traces my bottom lip, the callused pad catching on sensitive skin.
“Such a good girl.” A small smile tugs at his lips. “Always so focused, so determined.”
The words make me shiver. Micah notices—he always notices—and rewards me with a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens into something more heated. His hand slides from my chin to cup the back of my head, fingers tangling in escaped curls as he claims my mouth with increasing intensity.
When we finally separate, his eyes have darkened further with desire. But practicality wins out—the groceries need attention, and my planning session deserves proper focus.
Before I get back to my planning though, I help him with the unpacking. We move together in the small kitchen with practiced coordination, a dance we’ve perfected over these weeks of shared space.
“I was thinking,” Micah says as he hands me items to put away, “we might head out for a few hours this afternoon. That resort about twenty minutes north has a decent restaurant, and there’s a market nearby that might interest you.”
The suggestion catches me off guard, making me fumble the can of tomatoes he just passed. He catches it easily, his reflexes as sharp as ever.
“Really?” I try to keep the eagerness from my voice, but it sneaks through anyway. “You think it’s safe since the attack?”
“I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise. We took care of that threat.” His tone carries absolute certainty. “Plus, you deserve to get out more. The market might inspire ideas for your bakery.”
The thoughtfulness behind his suggestion—combining a treat with practical research—fills me with emotion.
This man, who navigates Columbus’s criminal underworld with legendary capability, has put genuine consideration into helping me achieve my dreams. It’s so far from Lucas’s controlling dismissal of my ambitions tears well in my eyes.
It makes me wonder how Lucas ever came from the man before me. The man who’s stealing so much more than just my heart.
