She grinned. “I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want.” She slid off the counter. “I should let you two get home. Just wanted to make sure you were both still ridiculously happy.”
“We are,” Charles assured her, stepping back to survey his finished masterpiece. “Very ridiculously happy.”
“Good. Go have some ridiculously good sex when you’re done with this, okay?”
Charles shot her an exasperated look as she blew him a kiss and vanished.
“She’s amazing,” I said. “I love her.”
He slowly shook his head. “She’s a force of nature. My best friend since second grade.”
I hadn’t known they’d been friends for that long. “Tell me you have adorable pictures of the two of you.”
He rolled his eyes at me. “Ask my mom sometime. She’ll bring out all the photo albums.”
Charles packed up his tools and covered the cake for the night. We locked up Sweet Relief and stepped into the crisp October evening, the air sharp with the promise of winter and rich with the scent of wood smoke from neighborhood fireplaces.
“Mrs. Williams, good evening,” Charles called to a woman walking a small terrier past the bakery.
“Charles, dear, how are you? And Eamon!” She beamed at us both. “I hear congratulations are in order. Sheriff Morrison mentioned you’re joining our little police force.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Williams. I look forward to serving the community.”
“Oh, you’ll do wonderfully. We need someone with real experience around here.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Between you and me, Danny Morrison couldn’t find his own behind with both hands and a map.”
She wasn’t the first to mention that, and after meeting the kid, who looked like he still didn’t need to shave, I could see why.
Charles coughed to cover a laugh. “Have a good evening, Mrs. Williams.”
We continued down Main Street, past the Wilsonfamily carving pumpkins on their front porch. The two kids waved enthusiastically, and Mr. Wilson called out, “Evening, fellas. Beautiful night for a walk.”
“It is indeed,” I replied, marveling at how natural this felt—being part of the community rhythm, someone people expected to see and greeted by name.
Old Mr. Thompson was in his front yard raking leaves despite the approaching darkness, muttering to himself about the maple tree that dropped its leaves on his pristine lawn.
“Need any help, Mr. Thompson?” Charles offered.
“Nah, almost finished. You boys have a good evening. Don’t stay out too late—supposed to freeze tonight.”
As we turned onto Charles’s street, something settled in my chest that I was still learning to recognize—the deep contentment of belonging somewhere. Not merely observing human life or protecting it from the outside, but being woven into its fabric.
“I love this,” I said as we climbed the porch steps to Charles’s—our—house.
“What?”
“This. All of it.” I gestured toward the neighborhood, the Halloween decorations, the warm lights glowing in windows. “Being part of something instead of passing through.”
Charles smiled as he unlocked the front door. “It’s different when it’s home instead of an assignment, isn’t it?”
“Completely different.” I followed him inside, breathing in the scents of vanilla and cinnamon that seemed permanently embedded in the walls. “I never understood what I was missing before.”
Charles hung his jacket by the door and headed towardthe kitchen. “I should start dinner. We ate late last night, and I don’t want you getting too hungry.”
I settled at the kitchen table, supposedly to read the rest of my newspaper, but found myself watching Charles instead. He moved around the space with easy familiarity, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator, humming softly under his breath as he planned our meal.
There was something hypnotic about the domestic scene—Charles in his element, completely relaxed and beautiful in the evening light filtering through the kitchen windows. When he reached up into a cabinet for a spice jar, his sweater rode up slightly, revealing a strip of skin at his lower back.
Heat shot through me with surprising intensity. Three weeks of being human, and I was still adjusting to the raw immediacy of mortal desire—the way it could hit without warning, urgent and demanding in a way that angelic attraction never had been. Oh, I’d been horny as an angel, don’t get me wrong, but it had never had this urgency, this neediness about it.
