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"Morning." She smiled, surprised by how comfortable she felt. Usually, she'd be halfway out the door by now, avoiding awkward morning-after conversations.

But Din was different.

Her instinct to flee was nowhere to be found.

She turned in his arms to face him. His dark hair was mussed and his blue eyes, though sleepy, were suffused with warmth that was directed at her.

"You're still here."

Fenella raised an eyebrow. "Did you expect me to bolt in the middle of the night?"

"I thought I was dreaming and that when I woke up, you wouldn't be here." The wry tone and the crooked smile betrayed his words as a lie.

She kissed him lightly. "You lie so beautifully."

He chuckled. "Okay, you caught me. I half expected you to sneak out during the night."

"I considered it, but I decided the bed was too comfortable to abandon."

That was a complete lie. She'd been out like a light and hadn't woken up until now. She had no time to consider it.

The dimple in his cheek appeared as he smiled. "I'll have to thank Ingrid for ordering quality mattresses for the village homes."

"The company wasn't half bad, either." Fenella kissed his jaw.

It felt strange to be this open with someone, but also nice.

Din reached up to brush a strand of hair from her face. "Just 'not half bad'? I think I need to work on my technique."

Fenella rolled her eyes, but the teasing was comfortable, familiar ground. "Your technique is fine, professor. Top marks, even."

"High praise indeed."

"Don't let it go to your head." She poked his chest.

Din caught her hand, bringing it to his lips. "I won't. I'm your humble servant, my lady." He started kissing the tips of her fingers.

"You're quite charming in the morning," she said, trying to regain her footing. "Is this how you are with all your lovers?"

"I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you."

The directness of his statement caught her off guard. There was no coy flirtation, no games—just honest emotions laid bare for her to see. It was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

"We've just met," she reminded him. "Fifty years of fantasy about someone isn't the same as knowing them."

"True," Din acknowledged. "But these days with you have only confirmed what I suspected all those years ago—that there's something between us worth exploring."

Fenella wanted to deflect with a joke, to maintain the emotional distance, but the sincerity in his eyes made it difficult.

"I'm not the same girl you knew in Scotland," she said.

"And I'm not the same man I was then. We've both changed, evolved. I'd like the chance to know who you are now, and I hope you'll like who I am."

Before Fenella could respond that yes, she wanted that, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

"It's probably Shira, wondering where I am." She reached for the device and frowned. "It's from Amanda."

"What does it say?" Din asked.