Page 12 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

12

DIN

A s Din and Max rode the elevator up to the pavilion, Din couldn't help but notice how settled his old friend seemed. That was new. Love, apparently, did that to a man provided that it was reciprocated.

Max felt safe with Kyra.

"Thomas is a nice guy. Do you remember him?" Max asked.

"Vaguely." Din followed him out of the elevator. "What did he do before returning to the force?"

"He was a bricklayer."

"Good paying job," Din said. "I did that for a while, then I thought about studying architecture, but somehow found myself drawn to archeology." He stopped by the new display of artifacts that had been placed around the glass pavilion. "I should have a talk with Kalugal about his digs." He turned to Max. "Are you close to the guy?"

Max shook his head. "I'm just a lowly Guardian. Kalugal now sits on the council and is chummy with Kian and Toven and the rest of the elite."

Din cast him a sidelong glance. "Do I detect resentment?"

"Not at all." Max turned onto a walkway that was flanked by flowering shrubs. "I have no problem being 'just' a Guardian. I have zero political aspirations, but given who I'm mated to, that might change." He smiled. "Kyra is a rebel, and she fights for those no one else is fighting for. If she asks me to help, I will in any capacity I can."

"As you should." Din was impressed with the transformation his old friend had undergone. He couldn't imagine him saying something like that fifty years ago. "Kyra's changed you for the better."

"I know." Max knocked on the door, and moments later it swung open to reveal a tall, lean man with sandy hair and smiling eyes.

"Max," Thomas greeted with a nod, then shifted his gaze to Din. "Welcome to my humble abode, Din."

Din extended his hand. "Thank you for your hospitality. I hope I'm not imposing."

Thomas took his hand in a firm grip. "Not at all. Max's old room has been gathering dust, and it'll be good to have someone in it again. I don't like how empty the house is." He gave Max an accusing look. "No one sings in the shower with an open door or tells stupid jokes anymore."

Max laughed. "I thought you'd be glad to get rid of me."

"I thought so too, but now I miss the noise you used to make. Would you like to come in for a glass of scotch?"

"Thank you, but I will have to take a rain check. I need to report back for duty." He turned to Din. "Do you want me to come back later? I can escort you to wherever you and Fenella decide to meet."

Din shook his head. "No need. The village isn't that big, and I remember my way around well enough."

"You sure? It's been a while since you've been here."

"I'm sure," Din said.

He'd spent enough time with his old friend today to last him for a while. Din had forgotten how talkative Max was, and that his high energy was tiring after some time. Besides, he didn't want to be shepherded around like a lost tourist.

Max surprised him by pulling him into another brotherly embrace. "It's good to have you back, Din. I missed having my best friend."

The warmth in Max's voice caught Din off guard, and he returned the embrace. "It's good to be back. Thanks for the lift, Max."

Max pulled back and turned to Thomas. "Don't let him brood too much in that room. He's inclined to get lost in his own head."

Thomas chuckled. "I'll do my best, but I'm hardly one to talk about brooding."

"Two peas in a pod, then," Max said with a grin. "I'll see you both around." With a final wave, he headed back down the path.

Thomas led Din inside, showing him the features as they headed toward the room Din would be staying in. The interior was clean and comfortable, and there were books stacked on nearly every surface. It reminded Din of his own flat in Edinburgh, though with considerably better weather outside the windows.

"Max's old room is this way." Thomas led him down a short hallway. "Well, I suppose it's your room for the time being."

The bedroom was spacious, with a large window overlooking a small private garden. A writing desk sat against one wall, and a comfortable-looking bed against another. The room had been recently cleaned, the scent of lemon polish still lingering in the air.

"I tidied up a bit when I heard you were coming," Thomas said, almost apologetically. "Max left it in decent shape, but it's been empty for a couple of weeks."

"It's perfect." Din set his roller suitcase by the door. "Thank you."

Thomas lingered in the doorway for a moment. "I'll let you get settled. Bathroom's through that door. Feel free to take anything in the kitchen, though I don't keep much on hand besides coffee, tea, and whiskey."

"I appreciate it," Din said.

With a nod, Thomas left him alone, closing the door behind him.

Din sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his face with his hands, his beard rough against his palms.

A shower. That's what he needed first. Then he needed to call Fenella.

Standing under the spray, the hot water cascading over his shoulders, Din let his thoughts drift to the series of obstacles that had nearly prevented him from reaching the village. The traffic accident on the way to the airport in Scotland. The flight cancellation due to mechanical issues. The storm grounding all flights. And finally, the landing gear malfunction that had resulted in a water landing that could have ended far worse than it had.

Fenella's words about bad omens echoed in his mind.

The universe had seemed determined to keep him from reaching her. But why? Was it really to test his resolve, as he'd suggested to her? Or was it trying to warn them both away from each other?

Din wasn't superstitious.

Five centuries of existence had made him pragmatic about most things. But even he had to admit that four near misses in a row stretched the coincidence theory to a breaking point.

Yet here he was, in the village, just minutes away from seeing Fenella again. Whatever forces had attempted to prevent their reunion had ultimately failed.

That had to count for something.

As he toweled off and dressed in clean clothes, Din wondered what Fenella would be like now. Max had warned him that she'd changed, that she was harder now, more defensive, wary of connection. But then the young woman he'd fallen for half a century ago had already possessed a certain steel beneath her charm.

He remembered her behind the bar, effortlessly handling rowdy customers with a sharp word and even sharper wit. The way she'd thrown her head back when she laughed was unselfconscious and genuine.

How her eyes had followed Max whenever he'd entered the room…

Din pushed the memory away. That was the past, and dwelling on it would only poison whatever chance he had at a future with her.

Dressed in dark jeans and a navy button-down shirt, Din reached into his suitcase and withdrew a small wooden box, its surface smooth from years of handling.

He sat on the bed and opened it carefully.

Inside, nestled against faded velvet, lay an antique Scottish brooch. The silver had tarnished slightly over the decades, but the Celtic knotwork pattern remained intricate and beautiful. At its center sat a small amber stone that reminded him of whiskey caught in sunlight.

He'd purchased it for Fenella shortly after meeting her, imagining the moment he'd present it to her. In his mind, she would accept it with that bright smile of hers, perhaps wear it on the woolen scarf she'd sometimes draped around her shoulders on chilly evenings. But he'd never gotten the chance. Max had moved faster, more confidently, and Din had been left holding a gift that would never be given.

After she'd chosen Max over him, Din had made a bitter vow to give the brooch to the first girl he befriended next, but despite the plentiful dalliances over the decades, he'd never met anyone he'd wanted to offer it to. It had remained in its box, sometimes forgotten for years at a time, only to be rediscovered during moves or spring cleanings.

When he'd found it again while packing to move to his Edinburgh apartment, something had compelled him to bring it along, though he'd had no reason to believe Fenella was even alive, let alone that he'd ever see her again.

Din ran his thumb over the amber stone. He'd never been one to believe in fate or destiny, yet here he was, carrying a fifty-year-old gift to a woman he'd been sure was lost to him forever.

Perhaps there was something to this destiny business after all.

His phone buzzed from the bedside table, breaking his reverie. Replacing the brooch in its box, he checked the message from Max:

Did you call Fenella yet? She's probably pacing a hole in Jasmine's floor waiting for you .

Din shook his head. Typical Max, micromanaging everyone around him, but he had a point, and he knew Din. As always, he'd been procrastinating, hesitating over a task he found unnerving and delaying the inevitable.

Taking a deep breath, he dialed Fenella's number.

She answered on the second ring. "Din?"

Her voice sent an unexpected jolt through him—the Scottish lilt he remembered was still there, though muted by decades away from her homeland.

"Hello, Fenella." He was surprised at how steady his own voice sounded. "I'm here, in one piece as promised, and I can't wait to see you."

"I know," she said. "Max texted me. I hope the two of you had a pleasant drive. Plenty to catch up on after fifty years, I imagine."

There was an edge to her tone that Din couldn't quite interpret. Wariness? Jealousy? Or simply the natural awkwardness of their situation?

"Surprisingly, it was not awkward," he admitted. "Though we barely scratched the surface."

"Mmm." The sound was noncommittal. "So, when do you want to meet?"

Direct as ever. Din smiled despite the nervousness fluttering in his stomach.

"Whenever you want," he said.

"How about the café in half an hour?" she suggested. "It's usually quiet this time of day."

"The café sounds perfect." He hesitated, then added, "I've been looking forward to seeing you, Fenella."

There was a pause on the other end, long enough that Din wondered if she'd hung up.

"I would have preferred to meet you at the Hobbit Bar, over a stiff drink, but it's only open on weekends. Have you been there yet? I hear that it's quite new."

Din chuckled, relieved that she hadn't rejected his sentiment outright and also because of the unexpected shift in conversation. He'd forgotten that she used to do that. "We'll have to save that for a Friday night date, then."

Her laugh was short and sharp. "That's very confident of you to think that we're going to last that long. It's only Monday."

The words stung more than Din cared to admit. He swallowed, forcing lightness into his tone that he didn't feel. "I'm sure that I can convince you to see me every day from now until Friday. I'll do my best not to bore you."

"I'm sure you will," she said, and there was something in her voice he couldn't read. Regret? Discomfort? "I'll see you in half an hour, Din."

"I'm looking forward to it," he said, but she'd already ended the call.

Din lowered the phone, staring at the blank screen. That hadn't gone exactly as he'd hoped, but what had he expected? A warm, enthusiastic welcome? Fenella had never been the effusive type, even before whatever horrors she'd endured at the hands of that Doomer.

He slipped the phone into his pocket and picked up the wooden box again. Should he bring the brooch with him? Would she see it as presumptuous, or worse, pathetic?

After a moment's hesitation, he put the box in the bottom drawer of the nightstand. He wouldn't give it to her today—that would be too much, too soon.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he called.

Thomas opened the door, hovering by the threshold. "I'm heading out to the gym. Make yourself at home."

"Thanks. I'm meeting Fenella at the café soon."

Thomas nodded. "Good luck."

After he left, Din spent a few more minutes gathering his thoughts. He'd been so focused on overcoming the seemingly endless obstacles to reach Fenella that he'd given little consideration to what would happen once he finally saw her.

What if she took one look at him and decided the reality wasn't worth the fifty years of buildup?

Din looked at himself in the mirror, straightening his collar. He was being ridiculous. He was five hundred years old, and he could handle Fenella.

You couldn't fifty years ago , a nasty voice said in the back of his mind.

"I'm not the same male I was then," he said to his reflection in the mirror. "I will never again let something I want slip through my fingers."

With that, he left the house and walked the gravel path toward the village center.

His phone buzzed in his pocket just as the café came into view, and he had a sinking feeling that Fenella was texting him to cancel their date.

Pulling out the device with dread, he was relieved that it was a message from Max.

Worked some magic for you. I traded concert tickets with a friend who had reservations for Callie's tonight, so you can take Fenella out for a nice dinner. If things don't work out between you two, I will take Kyra there instead, so let me know. The reservations are for seven o'clock .

Din had heard how difficult it was to get reservations at Callie's, and he was beyond grateful.

Thank you, he wrote back. I owe you .

The answer returned almost immediately. Consider us even .