EMBER’S POV
Hundreds of soft, gold candles climb the walls in little glass holders. Overhead, string lights are looped through the vines like something pulled straight from a dream.
In the centre of the space sits a low table set for two, decorated with actual flowers. Peonies. My favourite. A detail I mentioned exactly once, in passing, on a plane.
Soft music plays from somewhere out of sight. A bottle of something is chilling in a bucket. A plush blanket is spread across the floor like the world’s most decadent picnic.
The whole room glows with a warm, intimate beauty.
I stand there, completely frozen, staring at the single least dangerous room I have ever been shoved into in my life.
And standing around the edges of it, beaming at me, are Marjorie and Hale.
And they are laughin
