“Mom, Dad,” Charles said, hugging them, “this is Eamon.”
“So you’re the one who swept our boy off his feet,” Charles’s mother said, looking me up and down with frank appraisal. “Patricia Garrity. And this is Tom.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” I said, offering my hand. Tom’s grip was firm, a working man’s handshake that spoke of decades in his auto shop. Patricia ignored my outstretched hand entirely and pulled me into a hug.
“None of that formal nonsense,” she said. “Anyone who makes Charles smile the way he’s doing now gets hugged in this family.”
The casual acceptance hit me harder than I’d expected. After centuries of maintaining a careful distance from the humans I protected, being immediately welcomed into someone’s family felt overwhelming.
“Come in, come in,” Charles said, ushering his parents inside. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
We settled in the living room with wine while Charles put the finishing touches on the meal. I helped where I could—carrying serving dishes, arranging rolls in a basket, trying to look useful while fighting the urge to flee.
“So, Eamon,” Tom said, accepting a glass of red wine, “Charles tells us you’re from Ireland originally?”
“County Cork,” I confirmed, letting my natural accent now flow freely. No more careful American pronunciation or calculated slips. “Small farm outside the city. Came to America when I was young, worked my way up through the police force in New York.”
“What made you decide to leave?” Patricia asked. “That’s a big career move, giving up city policing for small-town work.”
I glanced toward the kitchen where Charles was carving the roast, his movements precise and confident. “I met someone who made me realize there were more important things than career advancement.”
Patricia’s smile could’ve melted glaciers. “That’s the most romantic thing I’ve heard in years.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Charles called from the kitchen. “He’s already impossible to live with.”
“I heard that,” I called back, earning laughs from his parents.
Dinner conversation flowed easily once we sat down to Charles’s perfectly prepared meal. Tom and Patricia regaled us with stories from their Alaskan cruise—glaciers that took their breath away, excursions to small fishing villages, and ship food that couldn’t compare to their son’s cooking.
“The salmon was acceptable,” Patricia said, cutting intoher roast beef, “but after Charles’s cooking, our standards are high, so we’re not easily impressed.”
“You’re biased,” Charles protested, but he was clearly pleased.
“We’re proud,” Tom corrected. “There’s a difference.”
They asked about Charles’s plans for expanding Sweet Relief, and I watched his face light up as he described his vision for a full café with lunch options and coffee service. His parents listened with the kind of attentive interest that spoke of genuine support and investment in his dreams.
“Sounds like you’ll need help with the business side,” Tom observed. “Permits, inspections, that sort of thing.”
“Eamon’s been helping me research the requirements,” Charles said. “He’s quite adept at finding information online.”
Funnily enough, he wasn’t wrong. The technology itself still baffled me, but I was good at using Google. “I have free time on my hands, so I’m happy to help,” I said.
“Speaking of which,” Patricia said, turning to me, “Charles mentioned you’re interested in joining our sheriff department?”
“If they’ll have me. Sheriff Morrison seems to think my experience could be useful in a small community.”
“God knows we need it,” Tom said with a snort. “Morrison’s a good man, but his nephew Danny couldn’t catch a cold, let alone actual criminals.”
“Tom,” Patricia chided, but she was smiling.
“What? It’s true. Boy spends more time writing parking tickets than solving actual crimes.”
The conversation turned to local happenings they’d missed during their cruise. The Smiths were finally getting divorced after forty years of marriage. The new family that moved into the old Peterson place had three kids who werealready causing trouble at the elementary school. Mrs. Feldman’s ancient poodle had escaped again and been found three towns over.
“Oh, and Steve Ellis came up to us at the grocery store this morning,” Patricia said, refilling her wine glass. “He mentioned running into Justin yesterday.”
Charles’s smile vanished. “Oh?”
