“There are three cakes due this weekend,” I continued, pushing through before I lost my nerve. “The Hendersons’ anniversary cake, the Morrison wedding, and that elaborate princess cake for the eight-year-old’s birthday party. I’m going to try to find someone to cover them, but if I can’t…”
“We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry about the bakery. Just take care of whatever’s going on with your family.”
The easy lie I’d told felt like acid in my throat. “Thank you. I’ll call you as soon as I can with more details.”
Next came the harder calls—reaching out to other bakers in the area, swallowing my pride to ask for help from competitors who might see this as an opportunity to steal my clients. “Sarah? It’s Charles Garrity from Sweet Relief… I know this is last-minute, but I have a family emergency, and I’m wondering if you might be able to take on a few cakes this weekend…”
Most of them were surprisingly understanding. Sarah at Buttercream Delight agreed to take the Morrison weddingcake, though she couldn’t match my signature rose design. Tom from the bakery in Hudson said he could handle the anniversary cake if I emailed him the specifications. The princess cake was trickier—it required specialized fondant work that not every baker could pull off.
Finally, I swallowed my pride and called my biggest competitor, a high-end bakery in Albany that had tried to poach several of my clients over the years. “Marcus? It’s Charles Garrity… Yes, I know we don’t usually… Look, I have an emergency, and I need someone to cover a cake. I’ll pay you double your rate if you can help me out.”
Twenty minutes and three phone calls later, all my weekend orders were covered. It would cost me most of my profit margin for the next two months, but my clients would get their cakes, and my reputation would remain intact.
“All sorted?” Eamon asked as I hung up from my final call.
“As sorted as it can be.” I rubbed my temples, feeling the beginning of a stress headache. “My employees think I have a family emergency, my weekend orders are being handled by other bakers, and I’m about to disappear into the wilderness with a man I barely know.”
“You know me,” Eamon said quietly.
I looked at him—really looked at him—taking in the concern in his green eyes, the way he’d moved closer without me noticing, the protective set of his shoulders. “Do I? Because sometimes I feel like I’m only seeing pieces of who you really are.”
Something flickered across his expression, too quick for me to identify. “You see the parts that matter.”
It wasn’t exactly an answer, but it would have to do. I had bigger problems right now than trying to decode the mystery that was Eamon O’Rourke.
I made it halfway up the stairs before the reality of it all hit me like a tidal wave. I sank down onto the steps, pressing my face into my hands as my carefully maintained composure finally cracked.
I was running for my life. Hiding from a killer who wanted me dead because I’d tried to do the right thing. In one week, my perfectly ordered existence had been turned completely upside down, and now I was fleeing into the wilderness with a man whose entire identity might be a lie.
“Charles?” Eamon’s voice was soft, concerned. I looked up to find him standing at the bottom of the stairs, his expression gentle.
“I’m terrified…”
He climbed the steps slowly, settling beside me on the narrow staircase. “I know.”
“What if they never catch him? What if it takes months instead of days or a week?”
“That won’t happen.” The certainty in Eamon’s voice was absolute. “I won’t let it.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“I can, and I am.” He turned to face me fully, his green eyes blazing with fierce determination. “I will keep you safe, Charles. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. That’s a promise.”
The intensity of his gaze made my breath catch. There was something in his expression that went beyond professional duty, beyond the obligations of a cop protecting a witness. Something that looked almost like…
But I couldn’t let myself think about that. Not now, when everything was falling apart.
“Okay,” I said quietly. “Let’s go pack.”
I had been right—we’dhad just enough time for the beef bourguignon to finish. Eamon had assured me the cabin had a stove, so I had put the whole Dutch oven in a crate to bring it with us so we could eat it later. Instead, I’d made some quick sandwiches for us, so we could eat and pack at the same time. And of course I’d carefully packed up Wolfgang. No way in hell was I leaving him behind.
It was almost eight by the time we left in Eamon’s BMW. I-87 stretched ahead of us, dark and almost deserted, leading toward an uncertain future and a remote cabin where I’d be alone with Eamon for days on end. Despite everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the complete upheaval of my existence—a tiny part of me was looking forward to that aspect, which probably said something very revealing about my current state of mind. Or maybe it said something about how I felt about Eamon, but that was something I didn’t want to think too deeply about.
“You okay?” Eamon asked, glancing over at me as we merged onto the thruway north.
I watched the lights of Charming disappear in the side mirror, taking with them everything familiar and safe. “Ask me in a week.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand, his fingers warm and strong against mine. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”
