21
DIN
Fenella'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."
