Page 27

She wouldn't have recognized him. The Din she vaguely remembered had been a quiet presence in the background of Max's boisterous personality—a shadow she'd barely noticed. The man waiting for her now commanded attention without even trying.

He was tall, with broad shoulders tapering to a lean waist. His dark hair was swept back, giving him a distinguished look that suited his strong features. He had high cheekbones, a strong jaw that was softened by a neatly trimmed beard, and eyes that even from this distance seemed to smolder when he looked at her.

"Bloody hell," she murmured. "He's gorgeous."

Jasmine chuckled beside her. "I have to agree."

For the first time in her life, Fenella was speechless, lost for words, and confused. Din was watching her with an expression that stunned her. He looked like a man seeing a ghost, or a dream come to life.

"Remember," Jasmine whispered as they neared the table, "you're allowed to be happy."

Easy for her to say, Fenella thought. Jasmine had found her truelove mate, her other half. She had a mother, a family, a place in this world. Fenella had spent half a century convinced she belonged nowhere and to no one.

And yet, as Din's eyes met hers, something inside her—something long dormant and carefully guarded—stirred to life.

He was real. He was here. And despite her best efforts to remain indifferent, Fenella realized with a jolt of alarm that a small, treacherous part of her wanted very much for this to work out.

The Tower card from Jasmine's reading flashed in her mind—upheaval, destruction, the breaking down of false structures. Perhaps the structure being dismantled was the wall she'd built around her heart.

As they reached the table, Din's smile deepened, revealing a small dimple in his right cheek that Fenella found unreasonably attractive.

"Hello, Fenella," he said, and his voice—deep, Scottish-accented, warm—sent an unexpected shiver down her spine.

Fifty years was a long time to wait for someone.

As Din pulled out a chair for her with old-world courtesy, Fenella couldn't help but wonder if maybe he might have been worth it after all.

14

DIN

Din's heart hammered against his ribs as he saw Fenella.

She wore a colorful sundress, her hair was swept up in a casual updo, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and her bare feet were in simple flip-flops, one dangling half-off her foot in a way that was inexplicably captivating.

As their eyes locked across the café, the background noise seemed to fade. She was just as beautiful as he remembered—perhaps more so, with the confidence and character that the years she'd lived added to her gaze.

The young barmaid's softness had been replaced by something more defined, more knowing.

Din forced himself to breathe and keep his face from betraying the storm of emotions churning inside him.

He stood as Fenella approached with the woman beside her in step. He had no doubt that it was Jasmine, not Kyra, mainly by her statuesque figure and her slight resemblance to Fenella.

"Din," Fenella said, his name a soft exhalation that somehow carried over the café's ambient noise. "I'm so glad you made it here in one piece." She offered him her hand. "After all the trouble you've gone through, I was afraid of what might befall you on the way from the house to the café."

Her welcome was a little biting, but Max had prepared him for her sharp tongue, and he had a feeling that she used it as a sword to protect herself when she felt threatened. Though why she would feel that way toward him, he couldn't begin to guess.

"The Fates seemed determined to put obstacles in my path," he said, his Scottish brogue sounding thicker to his own ears. "But I think they are done testing me. I didn't encounter any obstacles on my way from Thomas's house to here."

The woman beside Fenella cleared her throat, breaking the moment. "Hello, Din."

"This is Jasmine," Fenella said, gesturing to her companion. "My new bestie and Kyra's daughter. Kyra is Max's mate."

"I know." Din offered his hand, studying Jasmine with interest.

Max had mentioned a resemblance between the two women, and it was there, but it was superficial. They shared the same dark chestnut hair color and olive skin tone, and even had matching clefts in their chins, but the similarities ended there.

If he had to compare them to desserts, Jasmine would be a chocolate cheesecake with too much mousse on top—rich, complex, and a bit overwhelming. While Fenella was more like a delicate vanilla crème brûlée, seemingly simple but with hidden depths, perfectly balanced between sweetness and sharp edges.