Page 21 of King of Praise
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I lower my eyes, unable to maintain contact with his searching gaze. His praise awakens something dormant within me—a hunger for validation so profound it frightens me. I pull back as best as I can in my seated position, creating distance between us. I wrap my arms around myself as though I’m cold even though the fire blazes right next to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper, the words inadequate for the complex emotions swirling through me.
Micah respects the boundary immediately, moving away to continue unpacking groceries. I watch him from my position on the rug, still unable to rise, as though his brief touch has unbalanced me completely.
“Lucas’s body has been discovered, and Sandra’s making noise,” he says after a moment, his tone shifting to something more businesslike. “Pushing for a full investigation into Lucas’s death.”
The name of my mother-in-law, Micah’s ex-wife, sends a chill through me. Sandra Hunt always had a way of leaving me feeling diminished. Lucas’s mother viewed me with barely disguised contempt from the moment we were introduced, criticizing everything from my appearance to my cooking to my background. Even though I’m from a wealthy family, I was never good enough for her son. Her devotion to Lucas was absolute and blindly uncritical. In her eyes, her son could do no wrong.
“What does that mean for us?” I finally rise to my feet, my legs unsteady beneath me.
“It complicates things, but not unmanageably. I expected this from her.” Micah begins preparing what looks like a simple pasta dish, moving with surprising grace for such a large man. “Eve is looking into the investigation. She’ll make sure it’s thorough but fair.”
“She’s also married to your boss and my friend,” I say, feeling the first rays of hope since that dreadful night. “That’s a good thing, right?”
A faint smile touches his lips. “Yes. But Eve’s commitment to justice means she won’t do anything to jeopardize her job.”
“So she suspects…” I can’t complete the thought, the words sticking in my throat.
“I don’t know what she suspects yet.” Micah keeps his tone matter-of-fact as he chops vegetables with practiced efficiency. “But I wouldn’t worry. We were careful.”
The “we” catches me off guard. It’s a small word that contains so much. A partnership in crime, in survival, in secrets. I move to the kitchen counter, needing to do something with my hands. I begin slicing bread, the familiar motion steadying.
“I’ve set up some security measures,” Micah continues. “Cameras around the property perimeter, motion sensors on the access road. If anyone approaches, we’ll have warning.”
“You think someone might come looking here?” Fear flutters in my chest like a bird beating against cage bars.
“It’s unlikely. Few people know about this place.” He adds garlic to the pan, the scent filling the cabin. “But I prefer to be prepared.”
I nod. Preparedness has been Micah’s defining characteristic in my limited experience with him. When I showed up at his apartment, desperate and terrified, he had taken one look at my battered face and ushered me inside. Within hours, he had converted his spare room for my use, established ground rules that respected my space, and outlined security protocols to keep Lucas away.
All without judgment, without questions, without making me feel like a burden. A stark contrast to my own parents, who had suggested more than once that I try harder to make my marriage work.
“How long do you think I’ll need to stay here?” I ask, passing him the sliced bread.
“As long as it takes. It’ll depend on how many problems Sandra creates.” He stirs the sauce thoughtfully. “Once the initial investigation loses momentum, we can risk moving you back to the city.”
“And then what?” The question that’s been circling in my mind emerges. “What happens after that?”
Micah turns to face me fully, his expression serious. “That depends on you. What do you want to happen?”
The simple question catches me off guard. What do I want? For so long, my wants have been secondary, buried beneath the weight of Lucas’s demands and my own survival instincts. The concept of choice feels foreign, almost frightening in its openness.
“I...” The words tangle in my throat. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“You have time,” Micah assures me, his voice gentle. “No decisions need to be made tonight.”
He returns to cooking, allowing me space to process. I watch his hands as he works—large, capable hands that could easily cause harm but instead move with careful precision. These same hands cleaned blood from my skin, carried me to safety when shock rendered me immobile. Now they prepare food to nourish me. There is power in them, but no threat.
“I used to dream of opening a bakery,” I say, the admission surprising me. “Before Lucas, before everything. I wanted a small place with display cases full of pastries, the kind of neighborhood shop where people gather in the mornings.”
Micah nods, encouraging without pushing. “You have talent. I’ve tasted your baking.”
The simple acknowledgment warms me unexpectedly. “It was the one thing Lucas couldn’t take from me. Even when hecriticized the results or complained about the mess, the process itself remained mine.”
“That’s something to build on,” Micah suggests, draining the pasta. “A foundation.”
“Maybe.” I reach for plates from the cabinet. “If I ever get past being the woman who killed her husband.”
