“And you”—he swallowed hard and gripped the back of her chair, yanking her closer and leaning low with a smirk—“are beautiful.” She scoffed and pushed him away, plating two buns for herself.

Ansel watched with a surprisingly contented smile.

“Where are we?” I breathed, glancing around the room at large. A black cat curled by the hearth, and in the distance—perhaps in the next room, perhaps in the next house—a woman and her daughter sang a familiar ditty. A game of ninepin bowling echoed upward from the street below, as did the children’s shouts and laughter. “I’ve never been here before.”

Still, this place felt . . . familiar. Like a dream I could almost remember.

Reid drizzled cream over two more buns with expert precision, his focus intent, before handing them to me. He didn’t wear his Chasseur coat, nor a bandolier around his chest. His boots sat neatly by the front door, and there—on the third finger of his left hand—a simple gold band gleamed in the firelight. When I glanced down at the mother-of-pearl ring on my own finger, my heart nearly burst from my chest. “We’re in Paradise, of course,” he said with a slow, sultry grin. He even winked.

Verily I say unto thee, today shalt thou be with me in Paradise.

I stared at him incredulously.

Coco snatched up the buns before I could touch them, dumping half the dish of cream over his masterpiece. Smirking at his sudden scowl, she pushed them toward me once more. Her eyes no longer glinted with pain. With heartache. “There. I fixed them.”

Ansel squeezed my hand under the table. “This is what you wanted, right? A home in East End, surrounded by family?”

My mouth might’ve fallen open. “How did you . . . ?”

“It’s a bit tame for you, isn’t it?” Beau narrowed his eyes at the room. “No naked men with strawberries and chocolate”—Reid shot him a murderous look—“no mountains of gold or fountains of champagne.”

“That’s your Paradise, Beau.” Coco smiled sweetly. “And a hideously clichéd one at that.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting something outrageous like dancing bears and fire-eaters.” Beau frowned when he spied the cat purring at the hearth. “Is that . . . ? Tell me that isn’t supposed to be Absalon.”

Bristling at his disparaging tone, I said, “What? I miss him.”

Reid groaned. “He was a restless spirit, Lou. Not a pet. You should be glad he’s gone.”

Coco rose to extricate a pack of cards from a nearby hutch. The familiarity of the movement, the intimacy of it—as if she’d done this precise thing a hundred times before—unnerved me. We’d never had a real home, the two of us, but here in this place, surrounded by loved ones, it felt dangerously close.