Chapter 9
NINE
CHARLES
Eamon wasn’t what I had expected at all.
Yes, he was still ridiculously, devastatingly hot in a way that made my brain short-circuit whenever he smiled at me, and I had to keep reminding myself that I was a job for him and nothing more.
An assignment he’d probably forget the moment this whole mess was over.
But he wasn’t the glib, superficial charmer I had initially pegged him for after that disastrous first kiss and his cocky assumptions about our “good time together.”
Under that smooth exterior and those practiced flirtatious grins, he hid a real heart.
A genuine one that seemed to care about more than getting laid or looking good while doing his job.
I’d seen glimpses of it when we’d talked about the whole Justin mess—the way his eyes had gone hard with anger on my behalf, how his voice had turned protective and fierce when he’d called Justin an asshole.
Like my pain actually mattered to him, even though he barely knew me.
It was confusing as hell, to be honest. I didn’t know what to do with a man who could flip from crude jokes about porn shows to genuine comfort and understanding in the span of a heartbeat.
It made it dangerously easy to forget that this was all pretend, that his concern was professional courtesy, and that I absolutely could not let myself start believing any of it was real.
“You ready to go?” I asked him as I grabbed my jacket. I loved this time of year, when the nights were crisp and cold, but the days still pleasant. Winter would soon hit, my slowest season.
“Yup,” Eamon said.
I eyed his black T-shirt and jeans. The T-shirt was fitted enough to show off every muscle in his chest and arms—which was distracting as hell—but it was also thin cotton that wouldn’t provide any protection against the crisp October air.
His jeans looked sturdy enough, dark denim that hugged his thighs in a way that made me momentarily forget what I was worried about, but again, no layers, no jacket, nothing that suggested he understood how nippy it was outside.
“You’ll need a jacket.”
“I don’t get cold easily.”
“It’s forty degrees out.”
I’d lived in the Hudson Valley my whole life, and I knew how deceptive these autumn mornings could be. Sure, it might warm up to the sixties by afternoon, but right now, the air had that sharp bite that warned of the winter to come. He’d be shivering within five minutes of stepping outside.
He frowned for a second, as if letting that sink in, then said, “Okay. I’ll need a jacket.”
We stepped outside at seven-thirty on the dot. As soon as I’d locked my front door and turned around, Eamon reached for my hand without hesitation, his fingers intertwining with mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Right. Boyfriends.
The simple contact sent an unexpected jolt through me, warmth spreading up my arm and settling somewhere in my chest. His hand was larger than mine, completely engulfing my fingers, and the casual way he’d claimed it made my pulse skip in a way that was definitely not fake.
I hadn’t walked hand-in-hand with anyone since Justin, and even with him, it had been rare.
He hadn’t been one for PDA, he’d told me when we’d started dating.
Said it made him uncomfortable, that he preferred to keep things private.
And as with everything else that had come out of his mouth, I had believed him without question.
Of course it had been another lie, another way to keep his options open.
But now I was with Eamon, selling another lie, yet somehow, this felt more real than anything I’d ever had with Justin.
His hand was rough and calloused against my palm, the skin weathered in a way that spoke of actual physical work, not at all what I would’ve expected from a detective who supposedly spent his days at a desk or in interrogation rooms. The texture was fascinating, masculine, and I found myself wondering what those hands would feel like elsewhere on my body before I could stop the thought.
Then again, the man kept surprising me at every turn, so there was that. Maybe detectives did more manual labor than I’d assumed. Or maybe Eamon had hobbies I didn’t know about yet.
“Tell me about your business,” Eamon said.
“My bakery is called Sweet Relief, and it’s open Tuesday through Saturday. I have one full-time employee, Dani, and a few part-timers. We’re open from six-thirty until four every day.”
“Six-thirty? That’s early.”
“I want to take advantage of the breakfast crowd. The people who stop by to grab a coffee and a bagel to eat during their commute, or those who want to grab a lunch bag.”
“You have lunch bags?”
I nodded. “I offer the choice of ten different sandwiches, plus a daily soup and salad. They have to preorder the day before at the latest, but it’s ready for them at whatever time they choose for pickup. It’s proven to be very popular.”
“Hmm, I can understand that. And then you also do wedding cakes?”
“Yes, about two a week on average.”
“I’ve seen some of the examples on your internet site. They look amazing.”
I beamed, flashing him a big smile. “Thank you. I love doing them since I get to express so much creativity. Which one was your favorite?”
Was that a sneaky way of double-checking if he’d seen more than just the pic on my homepage? Absolutely. Did I feel guilty about that? Not even a little bit.
But Eamon’s answer came fast. “The one with all the roses. That was so stunning.”
I hadn’t thought it possible, but my smile widened. “It’s in my top five too, even though it was a pain in the ass to make.”
Eamon was quiet for a bit. “My ma loved flowers,” he then said softly. “She had flowers all around our cottage. Our house. But roses were her favorites.”
That lilt of an accent was back, which puzzled me, but I let it go. “They were the bride’s favorite too. Her fiancé was the sweetest. All he wanted was for her to get the wedding of her dreams, and he went along with whatever she proposed.”
Eamon snorted. “That’s the smart strategy, if you ask me. Prevents a lot of problems and fights. At the end of the day, none of those details really matter, do they now? As long as you end up married, aren’t the rest inconsequential details?”
I gave him a side glance to make sure he wasn’t joking, studying his profile as we walked.
His face was completely serious—no trace of the teasing grin I’d grown accustomed to, no mischievous glint in those green eyes.
The morning light caught the sharp angle of his cheekbones and the slight furrow between his brows, and for a moment, he looked older somehow, as if he’d seen enough weddings and relationships to know that the frills and fuss really didn’t matter in the end.
“Well, if everyone agreed with you, I’d be out of a job, so…”
He laughed sheepishly. “Yeah. I suppose so, but don’t you think it’s a little true?”
“My friend Solstice and I have given this a lot of thought, and…”
Solstice.
Oh. My. God. I’d completely forgotten about her. Fuck, I was officially the worst friend on the planet. She’d walk into my bakery when she was ready to open, like she did every day, and she’d see Eamon, and…
“What’s wrong?” I’d come to a complete stop, and Eamon was looking around us, his body on high alert as if he were bracing for an attack.
“Nothing. Not like that.” I turned to him, still holding his hand. “It’s my friend, Solstice. I don’t want to lie to her about you being my boyfriend. Also, she’d never believe it.”
He frowned. “Why wouldn’t she believe it?”
“Because she knows that after Justin, I would never let things move that fast with a guy ever again. And obviously, I never mentioned you, so she’d never believe we were dating. But just as importantly, I hate the idea of lying to her. She’s my best friend. I can’t deceive her like that.”
Something flashed over his face—a quick tightening around his eyes, a barely perceptible flinch that pulled at the corners of his mouth like I’d pressed on a bruise he’d been trying to hide.
It was there and gone so fast I almost missed it, his features smoothing back into that carefully neutral expression he seemed to default to whenever I hit too close to something he didn’t want to discuss.
But I’d caught it, that momentary crack in his composure. “I see.”
“Since Justin, I’ve become allergic to lying, so I’d feel like the biggest hypocrite if I knowingly lied.”
Another slight wince flickered across his features. Eamon definitely did not have a poker face. “Okay, you can tell her I’m with the NYPD. Do you think we can trust her to know the truth?”
I immediately nodded. “She’d never tell anyone. She’s like a vault. Anything you tell her stays with her.”
Eamon studied me for a moment, then sighed. “Tell her the truth, but make sure she understands what’s at stake.”
“Thank you.” Then something occurred to me. “You never asked me any questions about who else was there. At the banquet hall, I mean.”
He blinked. “We covered that in the initial interview…didn’t we? When you came in and told us?”
I thought back. Steve, I did mention, because I’d gone over my exact steps before overhearing Carlo and Chan, but I never mentioned Solstice.
I would’ve remembered. “Solstice was there too, earlier that morning. She was already back at her shop when I left because she helped me load the cake into the van.”
“So? I’m not sure what point you’re trying to make?”
“Doesn’t she need protection too? What if Carlo finds out she was there too? He may think it was her.”
Understanding dawned on his face. “Carlo is actually good at what he does, so he’d find out quick enough that she doesn’t fit the timeline. That’s why we’re so confident he’ll find you.”
If that was meant as reassurance, it definitely missed the mark, but I had picked up on something else. “Who’s we?”
“Huh?”
“You said, and I quote, ‘We’re so confident he’ll find you.’ So, who’s we?”
Eamon scratched his chin with his other hand. “That’s, erm, my boss? I talked to him about your case, and he agreed you needed protection.”
Oh, okay. That made sense. “Okay. I was confused as to who you meant. Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply you were somehow lying to me.”
I’d expected him to reassure me he’d never lie to me, but he didn’t. Maybe he really was annoyed I’d asked. “Sorry?” I added, guilt flooding me.
But he squeezed my hand and gave me a smile, if somewhat forced. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
We walked the last block to my bakery, where we were greeted by a line of customers.
“Morning, Charles,” Mrs. Newcomb, a regular and my neighbor across the street, greeted me.
My eyes narrowed. She never came in this early. And neither did half of the other people in line.
“Won’t you introduce us to your boyfriend, Charles?” Mrs. Newcomb asked, and I knew exactly why she was here. Edna had wasted no time in telling people she’d seen me kiss a strange man.
So, I took a deep breath. “This is Eamon O’Rourke, my boyfriend. Eamon, this is Mrs. Newcomb, who lives across the street from me.”
Eamon released my hand and flashed her a smile so charming, half the ladies in line swooned. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” he said, even dipping his head as he took her hand.
God, he looked like one of those nobles in Bridgerton. Within minutes, he had them all eating out of his hand, while I quickly donned an apron and jumped in to help Dani power through the line of customers.
“He’s hot,” she whispered to me as I filled a paper bag with two fresh croissants. “Really hot.”
“He is.” I stole another glance at Eamon and didn’t have to fake the little sigh.
News had traveled like lightning because we were slammed all morning.
I barely had time to bake, too busy helping Dani as much as I could.
Eamon had found a spot at the table against the window, constantly interacting with people while also keenly aware of his surroundings.
I didn’t miss the way he kept scanning the street, and gratitude filled me.
Whatever his flaws, he did take protecting me seriously, and that counted for a lot.
By two p.m., I was not only exhausted, but we were out of pretty much everything—something that had never happened before.
“I need to bring a boyfriend in more often,” I joked to Dani when the store was empty for the first time since I’d walked in. “Clearly, it’s great for business.”
She snorted. “If I’d known that was the trick, I woulda brought in my girlfriend.”
I waved my hand. “Nah, honey, you two have been together for a decade. That’s not gonna work. They want fresh meat.”
Dani slapped her hand over her mouth. “You make ’em sound like the Walking Dead.”
“Actually, that’s not entirely off base,” I said, and we were both in stitches.
“Should I be worried about the zombies?” Eamon asked when we’d finally stopped laughing, which got us going again, of course. But it felt good to laugh, to let out some of the tension that had been in my body ever since I’d overheard Carlo.
“Well, you are delicious,” I said, shocking myself with that remark. Where had that come from?
Eamon’s eyes went wide, but then he got up from his chair and sauntered over to me. “Delicious, huh?”
“It’s not like that’s news to you.”
He stepped closer, then lifted his hand and brushed a finger down my cheek. “No, but I still like it when you tell me.”
Oh, he was good at this. Either he was a natural-born charmer, or he had a lot of experience with flirting.
I swallowed. “Well, I just did, so I assume we’re good until you need your ego stroked again?”
He grinned as he leaned in, brushing his lips over my ear. My skin pebbled, and I suppressed a shiver. “I know something else you can stroke, sweetheart.”
He said it too low for Dani to hear—at least, I sure hoped so, or I’d never hear the end of it.
I had to remind myself this was a role he played, not reality.
Because otherwise, I would’ve asked if he really thought sleeping with his protectee was a smart idea.
So instead, I played right along with his game.
“I’ll stroke whatever you want when we’re back home, baby. ”
His eyes went dark and a strange satisfaction filled me. Yeah, two could play that game.
“You’re not playing fair,” he said softly, stepping back and subtly adjusting himself.
Oh god, was he hard? Just from my words? That was…incredibly hot. Maybe I was better at flirting than I gave myself credit for. I should definitely test it more on Eamon. After all, he was as safe as could be since nothing could ever happen between us.
Though safe was about the last word on my mind when I looked at him.