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. Thepeople 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 askme. 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, Inever 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.”
