He picked me up, fast as hell, and stepped back into the twisting smoke before I could even think about calling him lazy for not walking back to his bedroom. But when we emerged through the gate, we weren’t in his room. We were back at the apartment in Ballard, standing in the living room above the bakery, surrounded by candles. They rested on the mantlepiece and the bookshelves. They covered the little dining table where we’d eaten breakfast and filled the windowsills of the huge bay windows with flickering light. Everywhere I looked, there were candles. Fisher smiled, his mouth pulled to one
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