"It is very nice by the fire," Flynn agrees, relaxing back into his seat like that's the crux of the problem: that this is a particularly desirable and warm table on a particularly cold and rainy night, and that the comfort is going to absolutely override his own willpower.

All of that might be true, but he watches the firelight dance on the table and the fine china, casting little orange flickers around themselves and thinks that this place is never really that easy.

"Or," he continues with a soft frown knitting his brows, "do you mean literally I won't be able to get up even if I desperately wanted to?"