Page 124 of King of Praise
The comment, simple as it is, resonates with deeper meaning. We do fit—in ways neither of us expected. The age gap that once seemed significant has evolved into complementary perspective rather than obstacle. My need for security and his protective instincts balance each other without tipping into unhealthy dependency. His experience tempers my occasional impetuousness. My optimism softens his tendency toward cynicism.
In other words, we’re a perfect match.
Just as I’mapplying a final touch of lipstick, the building’s security system announces visitors in the lobby. Micah checks the camera feed before buzzing up our guests.
Our loft occupies the top two floors of a converted textile factory in Cincinnati’s revitalized riverside district. The industrial bones of the building—exposed brick walls, massive timber beams, soaring ceilings—remain visible beneath careful renovations that created our home. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the river on one side, while the opposite wall houses Micah’s collection of books and woodworking projects. The open kitchen where I often experiment with new recipes flows into a living area arranged around a gas fireplace.
What isn’t immediately visible are the security features integrated throughout the space—reinforced entry points, a state-of-the-art alarm system, bulletproof glass in key windows, multiple escape routes. Most visitors would never notice these elements, seeing only the aesthetic balance of industrial chic and comfortable warmth. But they’re there, another layer of our reality that exists just beneath the surface of normalcy.
Olivia and Sebastian enter our living space, her entrance the whirlwind it always is. She sweeps into the loft trailing perfume and exclamations, looking every inch the fashion icon in skintight black pants and an oversized cashmere sweater.
“Darlings.” She embraces me with warmth before turning to Micah, who accepts her hug with the resigned affection he’s developed for her over the years. “The bakery looked absolutely divine when we drove past. I swear it gets more beautiful every time I visit.”
Sebastian follows at a more measured pace, nodding to Micah with mutual respect. Though physically similar with their dark hair and imposing builds, the two men remain studies in contrast—like Micah’s grounded solidity against Sebastian’s more volatile energy.
“Congratulations on three years,” he says, handing Micah a bottle of exceptionally expensive bourbon. “It’s an impressive achievement.”
“Impressive doesn’t begin to cover it,” Olivia interjects, already pouring champagne into flutes she’s procured from our kitchen. “Running the hottest bakery in Cincinnati? That’s not just impressive, it’s fucking legendary.”
Before I can respond, the security system announces more arrivals. Lydia enters her with characteristic smile, immediately distributing hugs and compliments with equal enthusiasm. Her petite frame belies the enormous energy she brings into any space—a quality that has served her well in raising three daughters while managing the high-end boutique she now owns after years of working as its manager.
Eli trails behind her with quiet presence—still towering over everyone at six-five, still observing more than speaking, still fiercely loyal to the Kings after decades of service. At fifty-one, he remains an impressive figure, though the years have softened some of his harder edges.
He nods to Micah, the two exchanging a minimal but heartfelt greeting, before kissing my cheek with surprising gentleness.
“Place looks good,” he says, eyes already completing the security assessment that’s second nature. “Business too.”
Coming from Eli, this qualifies as a lengthy conversation. I smile, long accustomed to his economical speech patterns. “Thank you. How’s Columbus?”
“Standing.” He accepts the bourbon Micah offers with a slight nod of appreciation. “Quieter in recent months.”
The final arrivals—Zeke and Eve—complete our gathering, their appearance causing a subtle shift in the room’s energy. Despite years of genuine friendship, Zeke remains a figure of authority whose presence naturally commands attention.At fifty-eight, he’s aged with the same distinguished grace as Micah, silver threading through his dark hair and lines of experience marking his face without diminishing his presence.
Eve, striking at thirty-five in a simple black dress that highlights her athletic build, moves with the confident awareness of the detective she’s become, her observant gaze taking in details most would miss. Her nephew, Leo, now eleven and staying with a friend tonight, has grown into a confident young man under her care—his early trauma healed through her steady love and the extended family we’ve all become for him.
“Sorry we’re late,” she says, embracing me warmly. “Case ran long, and this one refused to leave until everything was properly delegated.” She tilts her head toward Zeke, affection tempering the complaint.
“Some things don’t change,” I respond with an understanding smile. Being married to a workaholic myself, I recognize the familiar dynamic.
With everyone present, the evening shifts into celebratory mode—champagne flowing freely, conversation moving between reminiscence and future plans, the comfortable familiarity of friends who have weathered significant storms together. The atmosphere is both festive and deeply grounding.
We migrate to the dining area where the table has been set for dinner—nothing elaborate, just my homemade lasagna and crusty bread, simple fare that allows focus on companionship rather than culinary complexity. After days spent creating intricate pastries for others, there’s comfort in this straightforward offering for those closest to us.
As conversations flow around the table—Olivia recounting her latest fashion week drama, Sebastian sharing market insights with Zeke, Lydia and Eve comparing notes on raising children in today’s world—I find myself observing rather thanparticipating, momentarily overwhelmed by gratitude for this unlikely family we’ve constructed.
Micah notices, of course. His hand finds mine beneath the table, his thumb tracing circles on my palm in silent question. Are you okay?
I squeeze his hand in reassurance, leaning against his solid presence beside me. More than okay. Happy.
His answering smile—that rare, full expression that transforms his entire face—warms me from the inside. The connection between us, forged in crisis but tempered through years of deliberate care and commitment, remains my life’s most unexpected treasure.