Chapter 30
THIRTY
EAMON
I’d faced down demons, corrupt humans, and supernatural entities that would make most people soil themselves, but standing in Charles’s kitchen watching him fuss over the roast beef made my stomach clench with nerves.
“Relax,” Charles said without looking up from where he was checking the potatoes. “They’re going to love you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, actually.” He glanced at me with that smile that still made my knees weak, even a week after becoming human. “Because I love you, and they love me, and they want me to be happy. It’s simple math.”
Simple math. Right. If only three centuries of existence had taught me that human relationships followed mathematical principles.
“Hand me that serving dish,” Charles said, nodding toward the cabinet behind me. “And stop looking like you’re about to face a firing squad. They’re just my parents.”
Just his parents. The two people whose opinion of me would shape every family gathering, holiday, and milestone for the rest of our mortal lives together. No pressure at all.
I passed him the dish and tried to focus on something useful. “What can I do?”
“You can set the table and pour wine, and maybe tell me something interesting about your day that isn’t related to our dinner guests.”
My day had been spent doing very human things—grocery shopping, calling the sheriff’s department about their deputy position, trying to figure out how to operate Charles’s washing machine without accidentally flooding the basement.
The mundane reality of mortality was both more complex and more satisfying than I’d expected.
“Sheriff Morrison wants to interview me next week,” I said, arranging place settings with probably more precision than necessary. “Seems my NYPD experience impressed him.”
“Of course it did. You’ve got more law enforcement experience than anyone in a fifty-mile radius.” Charles pulled the roast from the oven, and the scent filled the kitchen with warmth. “Not that you can tell him about most of it.”
“The official version is impressive enough.” Thanks to Gabriel’s thorough work, Detective Eamon O’Rourke had an exemplary service record with the NYPD, complete with commendations and case histories that would withstand any background check.
“Ten years on the force, specialized in organized crime, decorated officer looking for a quieter life in a small town.”
“And the real version?”
“Three hundred and twenty-two years of keeping humans safe from things that go bump in the night, recently retired due to falling in love with a baker who makes the best apple turnovers in the Hudson Valley.”
Charles laughed, the sound bright and warm in the cozy kitchen. “I think the official version might be easier to explain to my parents.”
The doorbell rang, and my stomach dropped to somewhere around my ankles.
“Breathe,” Charles said, squeezing my shoulder as he passed. “It’s going to be fine.”
I followed him to the front door, trying to project confidence I didn’t feel. Meeting the parents was a distinctly human milestone I’d observed countless times but had never experienced myself.
Charles opened the door to reveal a couple in their early sixties, both of them carrying the kind of warmth that immediately made you feel welcome.
Charles’s father was tall and lean with work-roughened hands and eyes the same warm brown as his son’s.
His mother was petite and energetic, with graying hair and a smile that could power the entire town grid.
“Mom, Dad,” Charles said, hugging them, “this is Eamon.”
“So you’re the one who swept our boy off his feet,” Charles’s mother said, looking me up and down with frank appraisal. “Patricia Garrity. And this is Tom.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” I said, offering my hand. Tom’s grip was firm, a working man’s handshake that spoke of decades in his auto shop. Patricia ignored my outstretched hand entirely and pulled me into a hug.
“None of that formal nonsense,” she said. “Anyone who makes Charles smile the way he’s doing now gets hugged in this family.”
The casual acceptance hit me harder than I’d expected. After centuries of maintaining a careful distance from the humans I protected, being immediately welcomed into someone’s family felt overwhelming.
“Come in, come in,” Charles said, ushering his parents inside. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
We settled in the living room with wine while Charles put the finishing touches on the meal. I helped where I could—carrying serving dishes, arranging rolls in a basket, trying to look useful while fighting the urge to flee.
“So, Eamon,” Tom said, accepting a glass of red wine, “Charles tells us you’re from Ireland originally?”
“County Cork,” I confirmed, letting my natural accent now flow freely. No more careful American pronunciation or calculated slips. “Small farm outside the city. Came to America when I was young, worked my way up through the police force in New York.”
“What made you decide to leave?” Patricia asked. “That’s a big career move, giving up city policing for small-town work.”
I glanced toward the kitchen where Charles was carving the roast, his movements precise and confident. “I met someone who made me realize there were more important things than career advancement.”
Patricia’s smile could’ve melted glaciers. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard in years.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Charles called from the kitchen. “He’s already impossible to live with.”
“I heard that,” I called back, earning laughs from his parents.
Dinner conversation flowed easily once we sat down to Charles’s perfectly prepared meal. Tom and Patricia regaled us with stories from their Alaskan cruise—glaciers that took their breath away, excursions to small fishing villages, and ship food that couldn’t compare to their son’s cooking.
“The salmon was acceptable,” Patricia said, cutting into her roast beef, “but after Charles’s cooking, our standards are high, so we’re not easily impressed.”
“You’re biased,” Charles protested, but he was clearly pleased.
“We’re proud,” Tom corrected. “There’s a difference.”
They asked about Charles’s plans for expanding Sweet Relief, and I watched his face light up as he described his vision for a full café with lunch options and coffee service. His parents listened with the kind of attentive interest that spoke of genuine support and investment in his dreams.
“Sounds like you’ll need help with the business side,” Tom observed. “Permits, inspections, that sort of thing.”
“Eamon’s been helping me research the requirements,” Charles said. “He’s quite adept at finding information online.”
Funnily enough, he wasn’t wrong. The technology itself still baffled me, but I was good at using Google. “I have free time on my hands, so I’m happy to help,” I said.
“Speaking of which,” Patricia said, turning to me, “Charles mentioned you’re interested in joining our sheriff department?”
“If they’ll have me. Sheriff Morrison seems to think my experience could be useful in a small community.”
“God knows we need it,” Tom said with a snort. “Morrison’s a good man, but his nephew Danny couldn’t catch a cold, let alone actual criminals.”
“Tom,” Patricia chided, but she was smiling.
“What? It’s true. Boy spends more time writing parking tickets than solving actual crimes.”
The conversation turned to local happenings they’d missed during their cruise.
The Smiths were finally getting divorced after forty years of marriage.
The new family that moved into the old Peterson place had three kids who were already causing trouble at the elementary school.
Mrs. Feldman’s ancient poodle had escaped again and been found three towns over.
“Oh, and Steve Ellis came up to us at the grocery store this morning,” Patricia said, refilling her wine glass. “He mentioned running into Justin yesterday.”
Charles’s smile vanished. “Oh?”
“He got fired from his new job after accidentally sending rather compromising pictures of himself to his boss.”
I pressed my lips together, working hard to keep the glee off my face. Julian had worked fast then.
Charles spun his head to look at me, and I innocently held up both of my hands. “It wasn’t me.”
Which, technically, was true.
Charles’s eyes narrowed, as if he sensed that I may not have done it myself but that I damn well orchestrated it, but then he relaxed. A slight smile played on his lips. “I guess karma got him in the end.”
“Never did like him,” Tom muttered into his wine. “Always thought there was something shifty about that boy.”
“You were right,” Charles said. “On multiple counts.”
“Well, good riddance to bad rubbish,” Patricia said firmly. “We much prefer Eamon.”
“You just met me,” I pointed out.
“And you’ve already proven yourself worthy by making our son happy,” she replied matter-of-factly. “That’s all the recommendation I need.”
The simple acceptance stole my breath. These people barely knew me, but they were willing to welcome me into their family based solely on Charles’s happiness.
“Besides,” Tom added with a grin, “anyone willing to leave New York for Charming clearly has his priorities straight.”
“I heard the town grows on you,” I said, glancing at Charles. “Once you find the right reason to stay.”
The evening continued with easy conversation and shared laughter.
Patricia insisted I call her Mom before we finished the main course, and Tom was already planning fishing trips we could take together.
They treated me not as an outsider trying to earn acceptance, but as someone who already belonged.
“That went well,” Charles said as we did the dishes together. “I told you they’d love you.”
I dried a plate with careful attention, trying to process the magnitude of what had just happened. “They really accepted me. Just like that.”
“Of course they did.” Charles bumped my shoulder with his. “You’re part of my life now, which makes you part of theirs. That’s how family works.”
Family. The word carried weight I was still learning to understand.
For centuries, I’d protected families without ever being part of one.
Now I had a place at the table, people who cared about my happiness, a future filled with Sunday dinners and holiday gatherings and all the beautiful, mundane moments that made mortal life precious.
It made me miss my ma, but this time, it felt different. That sharp sting I’d always felt at her absence was softer now, less painful. As if finding a new family had made losing my own a little more bearable.
The words settled into my chest like warmth, like coming home after a very long journey. This was what I’d given up immortality for—not just Charles’s love, but this sense of belonging, of being part of something larger than myself in an entirely different way than my angelic duties had provided.
“I love you,” I said, pulling him close.
“I love you too,” he murmured against my shoulder. “Welcome to the family, Deputy O’Rourke.”
Deputy O’Rourke. The title sounded right in a way Detective O’Rourke never had. A new identity for a new life, built on truth instead of divine deception.
I was home.