He nodded. “I will. Solstice won’t say anything. I promise.”
He led the way as we stepped into the flower shop. The scent of fresh flowers surrounded me—roses and lilies and something sweet I couldn’t quite identify—and I breathed in deeply, letting the fragrance fill my lungs. For a moment,I wasn’t standing in a small-town flower shop in Charming, New York. I was back in my ma’s garden, the Irish countryside stretching out around our little cottage, watching her move between the flower beds with practiced grace. Her hands, worn from washing other people’s laundry, gentle as she gathered blooms for my ailing grandmother—roses and sweet peas and whatever else was in season.
The memory hit me with startling clarity: the way the morning mist clung to the hills, the sound of her humming some old Irish tune under her breath, the careful way she’d arranged each stem in her wicker basket. I could almost feel the damp earth under my bare feet again, smell the peat smoke from our neighbor’s chimney mixing with the floral perfume.
The memory was so vivid, so achingly real, it damn near brought tears to my eyes right there in front of Charles and his friend. Three hundred bloody years I’d been walking this Earth, and I still missed her like I’d lost her yesterday. Still missed the way she’d smile when she caught me watching her work, the way she’d ruffle my hair and tell me I was her best lad.
“Charles Frederick Garrity!”
My eyes flew open at the sharp exclamation, and I moved in front of Charles on pure instinct, my body automatically shifting into a protective stance…to shield him from a tiny waif. She couldn’t have been more than a meter sixty and maybe fifty kilos soaking wet, all delicate bones and pixie features, but somehow, she managed to pack a hell of a lot of attitude into her petite frame.
Her green eyes—a darker shade than mine, more like forest moss—were blazing with indignation, and she had small hands planted firmly on narrow hips in the universal pose of a woman who was about to deliver a serious bollocking.Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun with what looked like tiny daisies tucked behind one ear, and she was wearing an apron over jeans and a T-shirt.
Everything about her screamed harmless flower shop owner, except for the way she was glaring at us like we’d personally offended her entire bloodline. I had to resist the urge to chuckle at my own overreaction. Here I was, a centuries-old guardian angel, ready to battle a woman who probably couldn’t reach the top shelf without a stepladder.
Charles peeked around my shoulder. “What did I do now?”
“What did you do?” She snapped her fingers. “Stop hiding behind your boyfriend that everyone but I knows about and tell me what the fuck is going on.”
I held back a snort as Charles stepped forward. Yep, I liked her already.
“I can explain,” he said, holding his hands up placatingly.
“It had better be one hell of an explanation because seriously— What. The. Actual. Fuck?”
Charles sent me a pleading look, and I took pity on him. I extended my hand to Solstice. “Eamon O’Rourke…NYPD.”
She took my hand, then froze as the last part registered. Paling, she turned to Charles. “NYPD? What happened?”
Charles sighed. “Carlo, that’s what happened.”
“Did he hurt you? I told you that motherfucker was bad news.”
“I overheard him making plans to murder someone, so I contacted the NYPD. They assigned Detective O’Rourke to my case. He’s pretending to be my boyfriend to protect me.”
She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh god, are you serious? That’s scary as fuck.”
She took me in with a slow, thorough examination that made me feel like a prize bull at auction. Her sharp green eyes traveled from my face down to my boots and back up again with the kind of clinical assessment that suggested she was cataloging every detail. Then she cocked her head to one side, her expression shifting from protective friend to something more calculating as she studied the way I was standing next to Charles, the protective angle of my body, probably even noting how our hands were still linked. “You are his type, so there is that.”
His type? Well, well, well, Charles hadn’t been honest with me, had he now? “That’s good to know. And why would that be?”
Charles made a sound of protest, but Solstice ignored him. “You’re hot. Great body, smoldering eyes, that angular face… You’ve got bad boy written all over you, and that’s exactly what Charles usually goes for.”
Hmm, I was starting to doubt if that was actually a compliment. “Somehow, I don’t think you mean that as a good thing.”
She shrugged. “He’s still single, isn’t he?”
I’d guessed correctly then. “So I’m not boyfriend material?”
“You’re still single, aren’t you?”
“How’d you know?”
“You were seen kissing Charles yesterday evening outside his front door.”
“I’m posing as his boyfriend. We were selling that cover.”
She clicked her tongue. “Sure, but if you weren’t single, you wouldn’t have done it.”
