Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
EAMON
The warm light from Sweet Relief’s work area cast everything in a golden glow, making Charles look like something out of a Renaissance painting.
He stood at the central station, completely absorbed in his work on what had to be the most elaborate wedding cake I’d seen him create—three tiers of ivory fondant decorated with intricate sugar work that looked more like art than food.
I sat in the corner chair Charles had designated as “mine,” supposedly reading the day-old newspaper but really just watching him work. The bakery had been closed for two hours, but Charles had wanted to finish the final details on tomorrow’s delivery, and I was more than happy to keep him company.
There was something mesmerizing about watching him in his element.
His hands moved with practiced precision as he piped delicate roses along the cake’s borders, each petal formed with the kind of skill that came from years of dedication.
Every few minutes, he’d step back to assess his progress, head tilted slightly, completely lost in the creative process.
This was what I’d traded immortality for—not just Charles himself, but moments like these. The quiet domestic intimacy of sharing someone’s workspace, being welcome in their sanctuary, watching genius at work without the weight of cosmic duty pressing down on my shoulders.
“You’re staring again,” Charles said without looking up from a particularly intricate rose.
“Can you blame me? You’re creating edible magic over there.”
He smiled, that soft, pleased expression that never failed to make my chest tight with affection. “It’s just buttercream and sugar paste.”
“In your hands, it’s art.”
Three weeks of being human, and I was still learning to navigate the intensity of mortal emotions again.
As an angel, I’d felt things deeply but with a certain detachment—the way you might appreciate a beautiful sunset while knowing you’d see countless more over the centuries.
Now, every moment with Charles carried weight because I understood, bone-deep, that our time together was finite and therefore infinitely precious.
A tap on the bakery window interrupted my thoughts. Solstice stood outside, cupping her hands against the glass to peer in, her wild hair barely contained by what looked like Halloween-themed hair clips shaped like tiny pumpkins.
Charles looked up, saw her, and immediately moved to unlock the door. “Sol, what are you doing here so late?”
“Saw the light on and thought I’d check if you two needed rescuing from cake-induced insanity,” she said, stepping inside and immediately gravitating toward Charles’s masterpiece.
“Holy buttercream, this is incredible.” She circled the cake, taking in every detail.
“The Hendersons are going to lose their minds.”
“It’s their fiftieth anniversary,” Charles explained. “They’re renewing their vows and wanted something special.”
“Mission accomplished.” Solstice turned to me, studying my face with those sharp green eyes that seemed to see everything. “You look different.”
“Different how?” I asked, though I had a feeling I knew what she meant.
“I don’t know. More…” She waved a hand vaguely. “Present, I guess? Like you’ve finally settled into yourself completely.”
Charles glanced at me, his expression soft.
“It’s love,” I said simply. “Makes a man feel at home in his own skin.”
“Ugh, you two are disgustingly romantic,” Solstice said, but she was beaming. “I love it. Anyway, I wanted to catch up. Charles mentioned you’re officially done in the city?”
We’d told her a sanitized version of what had gone down at the cabin, and her relief that Charles was now safe and Carlo was locked up had been instantaneous.
“All finished,” I confirmed. “I wrote all the required reports, did my deposition for the grand jury case against Carlo, and tied up the last administrative loose ends.”
“And I heard you got the job as a deputy?”
“I did. You’re looking at Deputy O’Rourke now.”
“Good. We need someone around here who actually knows how to solve crimes more complex than who stole Mrs. Patterson’s garden gnome.”
“It was the Miller boy, wasn’t it?” Charles asked, adding final touches to a sugar leaf.
“Every time. Kid’s got no imagination.” Solstice perched on the edge of the work counter, careful not to disturb any of Charles’s tools. “So what’s the plan for you two? Are you just gonna be obnoxiously happy? Get married? Adopt a dog?”
“Sol,” Charles warned, his cheeks flushing pink.
“What? I’m just saying, I’ve got connections if you need a wedding planner. And I know exactly which florist to use.”
“We’ve been together for mere weeks,” I pointed out, though the thought of marrying Charles someday didn’t terrify me at all.
“So? When you know, you know.” Solstice shrugged. “My money’s on a spring wedding. Charles loves spring flowers, and by then, you’ll have had time to prove you’re not going anywhere.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, meeting Charles’s eyes across the workstation. “Ever.”
The promise hung between us, weighted with everything we couldn’t say in front of Solstice. That I’d chosen mortality for him. That I’d given up immortality and divine purpose for the chance to wake up beside him every morning for whatever time we were granted.
“Good,” Solstice said, apparently satisfied. “Because I’ve gotten attached to having you around, Deputy O’Rourke.”
“You can call me Eamon.”
She grinned. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want.” She slid off the counter. “I should let you two get home. Just wanted to make sure you were both still ridiculously happy.”
“We are,” Charles assured her, stepping back to survey his finished masterpiece. “Very ridiculously happy.”
“Good. Go have some ridiculously good sex when you’re done with this, okay?”
Charles shot her an exasperated look as she blew him a kiss and vanished.
“She’s amazing,” I said. “I love her.”
He slowly shook his head. “She’s a force of nature. My best friend since second grade.”
I hadn’t known they’d been friends for that long. “Tell me you have adorable pictures of the two of you.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Ask my mom sometime. She’ll bring out all the photo albums.”
Charles packed up his tools and covered the cake for the night. We locked up Sweet Relief and stepped into the crisp October evening, the air sharp with the promise of winter and rich with the scent of wood smoke from neighborhood fireplaces.
“Mrs. Williams, good evening,” Charles called to a woman walking a small terrier past the bakery.
“Charles, dear, how are you? And Eamon!” She beamed at us both. “I hear congratulations are in order. Sheriff Morrison mentioned you’re joining our little police force.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Williams. I look forward to serving the community.”
“Oh, you’ll do wonderfully. We need someone with real experience around here.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, Danny Morrison couldn’t find his own behind with both hands and a map.”
She wasn’t the first to mention that, and after meeting the kid, who looked like he still didn’t need to shave, I could see why.
Charles coughed to cover a laugh. “Have a good evening, Mrs. Williams.”
We continued down Main Street, past the Wilson family carving pumpkins on their front porch. The two kids waved enthusiastically, and Mr. Wilson called out, “Evening, fellas. Beautiful night for a walk.”
“It is indeed,” I replied, marveling at how natural this felt—being part of the community rhythm, someone people expected to see and greeted by name.
Old Mr. Thompson was in his front yard raking leaves despite the approaching darkness, muttering to himself about the maple tree that dropped its leaves on his pristine lawn.
“Need any help, Mr. Thompson?” Charles offered.
“Nah, almost finished. You boys have a good evening. Don’t stay out too late—supposed to freeze tonight.”
As we turned onto Charles’s street, something settled in my chest that I was still learning to recognize—the deep contentment of belonging somewhere. Not merely observing human life or protecting it from the outside, but being woven into its fabric.
“I love this,” I said as we climbed the porch steps to Charles’s—our—house.
“What?”
“This. All of it.” I gestured toward the neighborhood, the Halloween decorations, the warm lights glowing in windows. “Being part of something instead of passing through.”
Charles smiled as he unlocked the front door. “It’s different when it’s home instead of an assignment, isn’t it?”
“Completely different.” I followed him inside, breathing in the scents of vanilla and cinnamon that seemed permanently embedded in the walls. “I never understood what I was missing before.”
Charles hung his jacket by the door and headed toward the kitchen. “I should start dinner. We ate late last night, and I don’t want you getting too hungry.”
I settled at the kitchen table, supposedly to read the rest of my newspaper, but found myself watching Charles instead. He moved around the space with easy familiarity, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator, humming softly under his breath as he planned our meal.
There was something hypnotic about the domestic scene—Charles in his element, completely relaxed and beautiful in the evening light filtering through the kitchen windows. When he reached up into a cabinet for a spice jar, his sweater rode up slightly, revealing a strip of skin at his lower back.
Heat shot through me with surprising intensity.
Three weeks of being human, and I was still adjusting to the raw immediacy of mortal desire—the way it could hit without warning, urgent and demanding in a way that angelic attraction never had been.
Oh, I’d been horny as an angel, don’t get me wrong, but it had never had this urgency, this neediness about it.