“Nine,” Carlo repeated thoughtfully. “And you’re sure about the time?”
I nodded, forcing myself to maintain eye contact even though every instinct was screaming at me to look away. “Solstice, who did the flowers, had just come back from her setup, and she helped me load the cake into the van. And when I drove to the banquet hall, the nine o’clock morning news came on the radio. I remember because they reportedan outbreak of measles in the city, and I made a mental note to check if I needed a booster for that vaccination.”
The lie rolled off my tongue with surprising ease, and I silently thanked whatever guardian angel was watching over me for making it sound believable.
“Did you notice anyone else there around that time? Other vendors, family members, anyone who might have been in the area when I lost the cufflink?”
“Not that I can remember. It was still early, so I don’t think anyone else was there yet.”
“How about Steve Porter?”
Steve wouldn’t lie. I wasn’t even sure if he was able to lie, since he always took everything completely literally. So my story had to match his as much as possible. “He helped me bring the cake inside, then left to pick up extra chairs. I didn’t see anyone else.”
Carlo nodded slowly, that predatory smile never wavering. “Well, I appreciate you taking the time to talk with me. If you happen to remember anything else, or if someone brings you a gold cufflink they found…” He pulled out a business card and slid it across the counter. “Please don’t hesitate to call.”
I took the card with fingers that I prayed weren’t visibly shaking. “Of course. I hope you find it.”
“I’m sure I will,” he said, and something about the way he said it made my blood run cold. “I’m very persistent.”
The bell chimed again as he left, and I stood frozen behind the counter until his figure disappeared down the street. “What’s wrong?” Dani asked, rushing over to me.
“Nothing.” I couldn’t tell her the truth, but I had to give her something. “He creeps me out. Carlo.”
She shuddered. “I know. Same. He’s a snake dressed up like an innocent lamb.”
Eamon nudged my shoulder.
“I’m gonna go back to my cinnamon rolls,” I told Dani, then all but fled to the back.
Only then did my legs give out, and I had to grip the edge of the counter to keep from collapsing. Eamon appeared instantly, wrapping his arms around me before I could object. I was pressed against his chest, breathing in his scent of leather and cologne, and for a moment, the terror receded enough for me to think clearly.
“You were perfect,” he murmured into my hair. “Absolutely perfect. I’m so fecking proud of you.”
“He’ll find out. You heard him. He’s persistent. He’s not gonna let this go.”
“I know.” Eamon’s arms tightened around me. “But you bought us time. The half-hour discrepancy might be enough to throw him off, at least temporarily.”
I pulled back to look at him, and the fierce protectiveness in his green eyes made something warm blossom in my chest despite the terror. “What happens when he figures out I lied?”
“He won’t get the chance. I swear to you, Charles. I will not let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you with my life.”
The certainty in his voice should have been comforting, but instead it made me more afraid. Not for myself—for him. Because looking into those beautiful green eyes, I realized with crystal clarity that I had grown to like him. A lot. And the thought of him getting hurt because of me was almost worse than the thought of Carlo coming after me.
Almost.
FOURTEEN
EAMON
The walk home from the bakery should have been peaceful. Sweet Relief was only a few minutes from Charles’s house, a pleasant stroll through Charming’s tree-lined streets, where neighbors waved from their front porches, greeting Charles by name while shooting me curious looks.
The late afternoon sun set the maple trees on fire, their leaves a breathtaking riot of gold and crimson. A gentle breeze sent a few leaves spiraling down to the sidewalk, where they crunched softly under our feet. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of wood smoke from someone’s fireplace. Jack-o’-lanterns grinned from front stoops, and Halloween decorations were up everywhere—friendly ghosts hanging from tree branches and cheerful scarecrows propped against mailboxes.
It was the kind of perfect autumn day that belonged in a tourism brochure, the sort of scene that made city dwellers fantasize about small-town life, casting everything in that golden light that made the whole town look like a bloody postcard.
But Charles walked beside me like a man expecting anambush at every corner. His shoulders were rigid with tension, his eyes darting to every car that passed, every person we encountered on the sidewalk. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, probably to hide the fact that they were shaking, and every few seconds, I caught him taking those shallow, careful breaths that meant he was trying not to hyperventilate.
The contrast was jarring—this picture-perfect small town where nothing bad was supposed to happen, and Charles radiating fear so palpable I could practically taste it. A couple walking their golden retriever smiled and called out a cheerful “Evening!” as they passed, and Charles managed to smile and wave back, but I could see the effort it cost him. The moment they were gone, his face crumpled back into barely controlled anxiety.
