Page 24

DIN

F enella's damp hair hung loose around her shoulders, releasing the scent of her shampoo—floral with a hint of citrus that made him want to bury his nose in the dark strands.

"The black top with the lace detail or the plain one?" She held up both options, turning to face him where he sat on the edge of the bed.

"The one with lace," he said.

She smiled, that particular smile that made his chest tight with emotion. "Lace it is, then. Black is perfect for bartending. It doesn't show stains."

As she pulled the top over her head, Din thought about the velvet box sitting in his nightstand drawer in Thomas's place. For fifty years, he'd carried the brooch, and he wanted to give it to Fenella, but it never seemed like the right time.

Today felt special, though.

She hadn't told him she loved him, but he could feel it in the way she looked at him, in the way she made love to him, in the knowing smiles she sent his way, which she didn't bestow on anyone else.

It still wasn't the best time, but he felt an urge to give it to her right now.

"Do I have toothpaste on my face or something?" Fenella smoothed her hand over the black top. "You're staring."

"No, you're perfect." He smiled. "Even if you had toothpaste on your face, but you don't."

"Flatterer." She turned back to the mirror, tilting her head to put on a dangling silver earring. "It's good for tips if I look nice."

A jolt of jealousy speared through him at her words. He didn't want all those males in the bar salivating after her. Everyone knew that they were together, but until their bond solidified, the vultures would continue circling, waiting for their chance to snatch a beautiful immortal female.

Perhaps he didn't have as much time as he thought he had to get her to fall in love with him. Maybe that was the reason he felt like he had to give her the present now.

Not that bribes would work on Fenella, but it was a gorgeous piece of jewelry, and it had cost him a small fortune. It should move the needle in his favor at least a little.

They still had over an hour before she needed to be at the bar, which gave him enough time to get it if he hurried.

"I need to run to my place." He rose to his feet. "I also need to change clothes."

She turned, eyebrow raised as she took in his appearance. "Why? You look nice. That shirt brings out your eyes."

He glanced down at the button-down he'd worn to Kalugal's. It was a nice dress shirt, which was a little much for a bar outing. "I need something more casual. I don't want to clean tables and move chairs in this one."

"Didn't stop you from helping last night when you were wearing a shirt just as nice."

"I've learned my lesson." He leaned over her and moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. "I think I have a black T-shirt I can wear."

She studied him for a moment, and he had the uncomfortable feeling she could see right through him. But then she shrugged. "Fine. I'll brew some coffee and make us sandwiches. We haven't eaten since brunch, and all the bar serves are mixed nuts and pretzels."

"That sounds perfect." He walked over to the door, pausing to take one more look at her. "I won't be long."

"You'd better not be. I make mean sandwiches, and they don't improve with age."

He blew her a kiss before closing the door behind him.

The evening was crisp as he jogged through the village paths toward Thomas's house. His mind was already in his bedroom, picturing exactly where the box sat in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, cushioned beneath academic journals he'd been meaning to read.

He heard the television blaring as soon as he opened the door.

Thomas was sprawled on the couch, beer in hand, watching American football, not proper football, which the Americans called soccer for some reason.

"Din!" Thomas raised his beer in greeting. "Perfect timing. The game just started. Grab a beer and join me."

"Can't, sorry. I'm in a rush. Fenella is waiting to have dinner with me before her shift at the Hobbit."

Once in his room, he closed the door behind him to block the television noise and went straight to the nightstand, pulling open the bottom drawer. Inside, beneath the stack of journals, was the small velvet box.

Din sat on the edge of the bed and opened it, needing to reassure himself that it was as beautiful and unique as he remembered.

The brooch didn't disappoint. It lay nestled in faded blue velvet, the silver tarnished to a lovely antique patina that enhanced rather than diminished its beauty.

The Celtic knot-work pattern was as intricate as he remembered, endless loops and whorls that drew the eye inward to the center stone.

The amber caught the light from his bedside lamp, glowing like aged whiskey, which had been his thought when he'd first seen it in that Edinburgh shop window.

He'd bought it just a week after meeting Fenella, already so taken with her that he'd spent a small fortune on a gift he hadn't planned on and hadn't known when he would give. The piece had just called to him, and the moment he'd laid eyes on it, he'd known it should be Fenella's.

The elderly shopkeeper with knowing eyes had told him it was late Victorian, probably 1880s or 1890s. "A sweetheart's gift," she'd said with a smile. "See the pattern? Eternal love, no beginning and no end."

He'd carried it through every move, every change, every lonely decade of wondering if she was even alive. There had been chances to give it away, other women who'd passed through his life, but something had always held him back.

Subconsciously, he must have kept it for Fenella even though it had made no sense.

Stubborn, irrational hope.

Din closed the box with a soft snap and put it on top of the nightstand. After changing into a pair of jeans and a casual black T-shirt, he slipped the box into his pocket.

As he stepped out and headed for the front door, Thomas called after him, "Say hello to Fenella for me."

"Will do," Din promised. "You should stop by the bar after the game. See her in action."

"I might do that." Thomas saluted him with the bottle of beer.

As Din jogged back to Shira's place, the box bouncing slightly in his pocket, his heart was racing, but not from exertion.

After fifty years, the moment was finally here.

Regrettably, it wouldn't happen over a candlelit dinner like he'd imagined, and the setting was far from perfect, but he felt the urge to do it now and not wait any longer.

Back at Shira's place, he found Fenella in the kitchen finishing the assembling of their sandwiches. She'd put music on, something jazzy and smooth that seemed to move through her as she worked, adding a subtle sway to her hips.

"Perfect timing," she said without turning around. "Coffee's ready, and I'm just finishing my culinary masterpieces."

"They look and smell amazing." He walked over to the coffee pot, needing something to do with his hands while his heart tried to return to a normal rhythm. "What did you put in them?"

"I'm not telling. It's a trade secret." She glanced over her shoulder with a grin. "Whatever I found in the fridge. Turkey, avocado, slices of tomatoes, arugula, and Dijon mustard."

"Sounds delicious." He poured two cups of coffee, adding cream to hers the way she liked it.

The domestic vibe of the moment struck him. He was standing in a kitchen with the woman he loved, preparing to share a meal before she went to work.

After decades of solitude, this felt almost miraculous.

"Here." She slid a plate across the counter to him. "Eat up."

He took a bite, the flavors barely registering. The box in his pocket felt enormous, obvious, as if it was glowing through the fabric of his jeans. How did people do this? How did they casually pull out jewelry between bites?

"Okay, what's wrong?" Fenella set down her sandwich, fixing him with those knowing eyes of hers that saw too much. "You've been weird since you got back. Weirder than usual, I mean. You're practically vibrating."

"Nothing's wrong."

"You are freaking me out." She frowned at him. "Spill. What's going on?"

He set down his coffee cup, decision made. This wasn't how he'd planned it, but then again, nothing with Fenella ever went according to plan. Their entire relationship had chaos written all over it.

Why should this be different?

"I have something for you," he said, pulling the box from his pocket and setting it on the counter between them.

She looked at the box, then at him, her expression shifting from curiosity to something more guarded. "Din..."

"It's not a ring, so don't look so panicked." He ran a hand through his hair. "I bought this fifty years ago. A week after we met, actually. I saw it in a shop window in Edinburgh, and I knew that you had to have it. Don't ask me why. It was an impulse, an odd gut feeling."

Her hand moved toward the box, then stopped. "You held on to it through all those years?"

He nodded. "After the blowup, I swore I'd give it to the next woman I dated, but I could never go through with it. I carried it with me through every move, and I never found anyone I wanted to gift it to." He pushed the box closer to her. "Please. Just open it."

As she picked up the box with careful fingers, he felt like a cosmic circle was closing, and when she opened it, her soft intake of breath made all those years of waiting worth it.

"Oh, Din." Her finger hovered over the Celtic pattern, not quite touching the silver. "It's beautiful."

"It's Scottish. Late Victorian. The shopkeeper told me the pattern means eternal love—no beginning and no end." He was babbling now, but couldn't stop. "I know it's tarnished, but I didn't want to clean it. Seemed wrong to erase all those years. Like they are part of its story now. Our story."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I can't believe you kept it for me even though you couldn't have known I was even alive."

He reached out, covering her hand with his. "It made no sense, and sometimes it just lay forgotten for years, but then I would find it again when I was packing, and I'd tell myself to donate it, sell it, give it away. But I never could."

She lifted the brooch from its velvet nest, holding it up to catch the kitchen light. The amber glowed, warm and rich like honey, like whiskey.

"I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything." He took the brooch from her, fingers clumsy as he worked the old clasp. "May I?"

She nodded, and he moved behind her and gathered a bit of fabric from her black top, careful not to damage the delicate lace detail as he pinned the brooch just above her heart. The metal was cool under his fingers, but where his knuckles brushed her skin through the fabric, she was warm.

"There." He took a step back.

She turned to face him, one hand going immediately to the brooch. With the backdrop of her dark clothing and dark hair, the silver and amber seemed to glow, drawing the eye like a star in the night sky.

"How does it look on me?" she asked.

"Perfect." His voice sounded rougher than intended. "Absolutely perfect."

She rose up on her toes, pulling his head down for a kiss that was soft and fierce at the same time. Din could taste coffee and emotion, and for a moment, he thought that she might say the words he longed to hear.

When her lips parted, he held his breath.

"Thank you," she said instead. "I'll look at it properly later, really look at it when I can take my time. Thank you for never giving up on me."

Later, when she had time, her psychometric abilities might let her see more than just metal and stone. She might see the years of waiting, the hope and heartache, all the moments he'd held it and thought of her. All the times he'd almost given up but didn't.

"You're welcome," he said for lack of anything better to say. The words felt so inadequate for the magnitude of the moment.

She touched the brooch again, a gesture he suspected would become a habit. "I don't know if I should wear it to work. It's so distinctive that Atzil might have a problem with it."

"Tell him it's a present from me and I insist on you wearing it at all times as a good talisman." Din picked up his forgotten sandwich. "I actually believe that it is. Who knows, maybe holding on to it for fifty years was what brought you back to me."

"Perhaps it did." She looked down at the brooch. "It's gorgeous."

It wasn't the candlelit dinner he'd once imagined, it wasn't the perfect romantic gesture, but as he watched her clear their plates, the brooch glinting against her black top with each movement, he thought perhaps this was better.

Not a fantasy, but reality. Not perfect, but theirs.

Just like everything else about them, it was imperfect and absolutely right.