Chapter 6
SIX
EAMON
I wiped my mouth with a napkin, then leaned back in my chair, patting my now full belly.
Bloody hell, that had been a tasty meal.
I had to resist the urge to let out a happy belch.
Back in my time, that would’ve been considered proof of a meal well-enjoyed, but things had changed considerably.
And not always for the better, now had they?
“I don’t know why you’re a baker when you can cook like this,” I told Charles.
His whole face lit up, like someone had ignited a bright candle in a dark room. “Thank you. I like cooking. It calms me. But I like baking even more.”
“If your cakes and whatnots are as good as this meal, you should be cooking for kings and presidents.”
He chuckled. “From your lips to god’s ears.” Charles rose, gathering the dishes. “Can I get you some dessert?”
“Dessert?” I sat up straight again. “You have dessert? What kind?”
“Cherry cobbler. I made it yesterday.”
“For who?” When he looked puzzled, I added, “Did you have friends or family over? I assume you didn’t make it just for you.”
He raised his chin with a stubborn tilt that made him look both vulnerable and fierce at the same time, like he was daring me to criticize his choices.
“I did, actually. Because I wanted cherry cobbler and being single is no reason not to make it for myself. I deserve it as much as my friends would, don’t I? ”
The challenge in his voice was clear, but he wouldn’t get an argument from me. “I admire the hell out of you for that. That’s amazing.”
He blew out a breath. “It’s not always that easy. Cooking for myself or making dessert is one thing, but I don’t always feel brave enough to go out for dinner alone or go to the movies. It’s easier to watch Netflix and order in.”
My heart grew soft. Charles was lonely, in a way. “You’ll find someone.”
His face shut down as he stacked the plates and turned his back on me, bringing them to the kitchen. “I don’t need pity. Or platitudes.”
Crap. I had inadvertently hurt him, and the knowledge sat heavy and sour in my chest. The brightness that had lit up his face moments before was completely gone, replaced by that careful blankness people used when they were protecting themselves.
Christ, I was an eejit. The last thing I wanted was to make him feel worse about his situation.
“I told you I admire you. What about that is pity?”
He kept his back toward me as he answered. “Maybe, but that next line was the biggest platitude ever.”
“I meant it.”
He slowly turned around. “In what way?”
“That I don’t understand how and why you’re not married yet. The men here must be blind or fecking stupid, I suppose.”
He blinked once, twice, his expression shifting from guarded to something more vulnerable, like he was afraid to accept the compliment but wanted to anyway. “That was…nice of you. Thank you.”
I got up and walked over to him. “You’re a catch, sweetheart. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
I cupped his face gently and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, just beside the corner of his mouth.
His skin was impossibly soft, dusted with the faintest hint of freckles, and I felt him go still beneath my touch.
The innocent contact shouldn’t have affected me as much as it did, not after that hot kiss we’d shared earlier, but warmth spread through my chest like honey.
I forced myself to step back, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Thanks again for dinner. Let me do a quick perimeter check, and then I would love some cherry cobbler.”
As I walked away, I could barely hold back an eye roll.
At myself, not him. Since when had I become such a soft and squishy marshmallow who said things like, “You’re a catch?
” I was one autumn storm away from watching a Hallmark movie.
Or being in one, what with this cute little town and all.
It was so sugary sweet that it was a little hard to stomach.
I stepped outside into the crisp evening air, grateful for the excuse to clear my head and focus on actual work.
The property was small but well-maintained, with decent sight lines and only a few potential problem areas.
I walked the perimeter first, noting the neighbor’s house—Edna’s, apparently—and the mature trees that provided both cover and concealment.
Not ideal from a security standpoint, but manageable.
Time to get to work. I’d brought supplies in my car, so I grabbed my toolbox that held everything I needed.
Starting with the front of the house, I placed motion sensors near the windows, each one no bigger than a button and invisible to the naked eye.
A little angelic glamour ensured they blended seamlessly into the window frames.
The cameras were trickier—I needed full coverage without making Charles’s home look like a fortress. I positioned them strategically under the eaves and in the garden, each one disguised to look like nothing more than a small solar light or decorative accent.
The back door got special attention since it was older, with a simple deadbolt that wouldn’t stop a determined teenager, let alone a professional.
I reinforced it with a bit of power, nothing too obvious, just making the wood stronger and the lock more responsive.
Charles would never notice, but it would buy us precious seconds if someone tried to force entry.
By the time I finished, the house was as secure as I could make it without arousing suspicion. Every entrance was monitored, every approach covered. If Carlo’s people came calling, I’d know about it long before they reached Charles. Because nothing would happen to him. Not on my watch.
It was a strange contradiction, something so dangerous in a wee town like this.
Cute as it was, I found these kinds of small towns a little hard to digest. All that forced cheer and everyone knowing everyone else’s business.
I’d grown up like that, but I didn’t miss it.
I preferred the anonymity of the city these days.
Much easier to keep my distance from everyone else.
I stood in Charles’s back garden, surrounded by perfectly manicured flower beds and a white picket fence that belonged in a bloody fairy tale.
The whole scene was so aggressively wholesome that it made my teeth ache.
Hell, there was probably a community bake-off next weekend and a fall harvest festival complete with apple bobbing and—
I came to a sudden stop. Wait. Was that why I had been chosen for this assignment? Had Gabriel wanted to punish me?
“Not punish,” a voice said from directly behind me, and I jumped so high I probably set a new Olympic record for a vertical leap without a running start.
My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape, and I may have let out a decidedly unmanly sound. So much for my supernatural reflexes.
Gabriel stood casually leaning against an oak tree—because of course he’d pick the most ridiculously perfect spot—looking like he’d stepped off the cover of some high-end men’s fashion magazine.
Tight black pants that probably cost more than most people’s rent and a black shirt that looked deceptively simple but screamed expensive Italian designer.
I spotted the subtle logo near the collar.
Yup, Valentino. Because apparently being a celestial hardass came with an unlimited clothing budget.
“Do you have to sneak up on people like that?” I hissed, one hand pressed to my chest like some fainting Victorian lady. “I could’ve had a bloody heart attack.”
“You’re immortal,” he pointed out with infuriating calm. “And technically, I didn’t sneak. I simply appeared. There’s a difference.”
Like I was going to argue semantics with him. About as useless as carrying water to the sea, as my da used to say.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
People would be able to see me but not my boss, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot having animated conversations with an oak tree.
“And could you not lurk behind the garden gnome next time? The neighbors across the street are probably calling the police about the strange man talking to himself in Charles’s back garden. ”
“I’m checking in on you.”
“You mean checking up.” I crossed my arms. “Let me guess, you’ve been watching me like some creepy celestial reality show?”
Gabriel shrugged with the kind of casual elegance that probably took centuries to perfect. “Potato, potahto.”
Yeah, not really, but I knew better than to argue with someone who could reassign me to a job I’d detest. “I’m fine. Everything is fine here. Perfect, actually. Couldn’t be better if I tried.”
He simply quirked an eyebrow in that maddeningly superior way that made me want to mess up his perfect hair. “So your protectee didn’t slap you?”
Fuck, how did he know that already? Did he have eyes on me? “Yeah, but…it was a misunderstanding. A perfectly reasonable misunderstanding between two consenting adults.”
“Hmm.” Those golden-brown eyes drilled into mine like he was trying to read my soul—which, knowing Gabriel, he probably was. “Was it now?”
I pressed my lips together. Gabriel had a way of making you say far more than you wanted by staying silent or asking these kinds of questions.
And I was the sucker who always fell for it because I couldn’t stand the awkward silence.
Not this time though. It cost me everything to keep my mouth shut, but I somehow managed.
Finally, Gabriel sighed like I was the most disappointing angel in celestial history. “What about using your power to clear traffic?”
Oh, I was certain now. He really was keeping tabs on everything I did, the micromanaging bastard.
Probably had a whole spreadsheet detailing my every move.
“I wanted Charles out of the city as fast as possible. You know, alive and breathing? I thought that was the point of this whole protection gig.”