Zechariah’s jaw dropped in quiet horror at Uriel’s admission, reflected in the window. His teeth snapped back together with but a raise of his brows. He was making right now, and that was what mattered.

“The only way to spend a Friday evening,” he said with a thin smile, trying hard not to side-eye his brother.

He wrinkled his nose at the cigar. Half the cologne he wore was to cover up that funny habit.

“Penina visits in here, Uriel.” It was customary not to smoke in a room that a woman might pass through. “Outside, after dinner?”

He looked again to the sky – and there they were, three glittering stars. He struck a match, lit the candles, and nodded toward the dining room where the table was already set with fragrant breads and dinner. He had to wonder if the Constable ever got a thrill in keeping others places they had not planned to be, and there was a sly glance toward him as he led them.