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Summary
“Why don’t you leave that lit?” Ed asks, leaning back against the couch-thing—chaise, Stede has told him patiently at least a dozen times.
Stede freezes, still bent over the circle of candles on the table. The air smells of lilacs. “You’re the one who says they’re a fire hazard.”
“I’m willing to risk it for the way the light looks on your skin. I want to see you tonight.”