“I’m human now,” he agreed.
“Completely human. Mortal. Going to age and get gray hair and need reading glasses eventually.”
“Eventually, yes.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
Eamon closed the distance between us in two quick strides, pulling me into his arms and kissing me with a desperation that tasted like relief and joy and coming home all at once. “My love, I have never been more okay with anything in my very long existence. I love you. I want to grow old with you, get gray hair with you, need reading glasses with you. I want all of it—the mundane and the magical and everything in between.”
I buried my face in his neck, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what had just happened. “I love you too. So much that it scares me.”
“Good,” he said, his arms tightening around me. “Love should be a little scary. It means it matters.”
We stood like that for a long time, holding each other in the ruins of what had been our sanctuary, both of us trying to process the enormity of our new reality. Eamon was human. We had a future. A real, honest, completely ordinary human future.
“We should probably get out of here,” Eamon said eventually. “This place is going to be swarming with cops and probably the FBI too soon. Though I have to say, I’m looking forward to dealing with bureaucracy as a human. Should be interesting.”
“Everything’s going to be different for you now. Eating, sleeping, getting sick, getting tired…”
“Getting to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life. Getting to help you in the bakery, meet your parents as your actual boyfriend, maybe even learn to use technology properly without divine assistance.”
The thought of introducing Eamon to my parents as my boyfriend—my human, mortal, completely normal boyfriend—made me grin like an idiot.
“Come on,” I said, pulling him toward the cabin. “Let’s see if we’re allowed to grab our stuff and go home.”
The deputy allowed Eamon to grab Wolfgang, who had survived the destruction of much of the cabin, but everything else had to stay behind to be processed. I was fine with that. They were just clothes, books, and some groceries. Those could wait.
We put Wolfgang in the back seat and started down the mountain road, leaving the destroyed cabin and theremnants of Eamon’s angelic existence behind us. As we drove through the darkness toward Charming, toward our life together, I fired off one question after another.
“Do you remember everything? From being an angel, I mean.”
“Every moment,” Eamon confirmed, his hands steady on the wheel. “Three centuries of memories, experiences, and the people I protected. It’s all still there.”
“And you don’t regret it? Giving up immortality?”
He glanced at me, his smile soft in the dashboard lights. “Charles, immortality without you would have been the longest, loneliest existence imaginable. A few decades with you is worth more than an eternity without you.”
“A few decades,” I repeated, the words tasting bittersweet. “That’s all we get, isn’t it? A normal human lifespan.”
“If we’re lucky. But that’s what makes it precious, my love. Humans pack so much love, so much beauty, so much meaning into their brief time here. Angels have forever, so they never feel the urgency to truly live.”
I reached over to take his hand. “So what happens now? I mean, practically speaking. You can’t keep pretending to be a detective.”
“Gabriel’s taking care of that. Detective O’Rourke will officially request a transfer to a small-town police department, somewhere quiet where he can put his big-city experience to good use.” Eamon grinned. “Assuming I can pass the background check.”
“Can you?”
“Gabriel’s very thorough when it comes to creating cover stories. Detective O’Rourke exists in every database that matters.”
“And the NYPD won’t miss you?”
“There never was an NYPD Detective O’Rourke. Gabriel created that identity specifically for this assignment.” Eamon squeezed my hand. “But there will be an Eamon O’Rourke in Charming, New York, for as long as you’ll have me. And maybe Charming needs a new deputy?”
The thought of Eamon staying, actually staying, made my chest tight with happiness. “You want to be a small-town cop?”
“I want to protect people. I want to help them. And I want to come home to you every night and help you bake bread and listen to you plan new recipes and dance together. Providing I can still dance.”
“You dance beautifully,” I protested.
