Fenella nearly dropped the bottle she'd just picked up. "Arezoo?"
He nodded, taking a sip of his beer. "We met at the playground, and I invited her, but she wasn't sure she could come."
"Of course she won't," Fenella said, shaking her head. "Her mother would never allow it. Besides, isn't she a little too young for you?"
"She's of legal age, isn't she?"
"Well, yes, she is. But she lived a very sheltered life, and then bad things happened to her. She's not ready to date a guy who is older than her great-grandfather."
He frowned. "I'm one hundred and thirty-seven, which makes me younger than most immortals in the village. I don't see why I shouldn't court Arezoo."
Fenella had forgotten that age was a relative thing in the immortals' village.
The gap between her and Din was more significant than the gap between Ruvon and Arezoo, but that was just chronological age. The experience gap went the other way.
"She's not ready, Ruvon. You'd have more chance of success courting her mother."
He winced, looking dejected. "Her mother is scary. Arezoo is kind and I like her, not her mother."
Fenella couldn't argue with that, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him. He looked so lonely.
She filled up a small container with pretzels and put it in front of him. "You don't have to sit here at the bar looking like someone stood you up. Din is sitting in the back corner at his usual table. You could take this bowl of pretzels to him and join him."
Ruvon glanced toward the back of the bar, where Din had indeed claimed his regular spot, already armed with a beer and reading on his phone. "Maybe he doesn't want to be bothered."
"It's a bar, Ruvon, and the moment it becomes crowded, which it soon will be, people will not let Din hog a whole table for himself, and he'll have no choice but to share. He might as well start with you."
That earned her a small smile. "When you put it that way…"
Ruvon picked up his beer and phone, then paused. "If Arezoo does show up..."
"I'll point her your way," Fenella promised. "Though honestly? Don't hold your breath."
As Ruvon made his way to Din's table, Fenella smiled at her guy and signaled as best she could that he should invite Ruvon to sit with him.
Poor guy. He had no chance with Arezoo or her mother. The daughter needed time to get over her trauma, and a former Doomer wasn't the best candidate to help her with that, even if he was the nicest immortal.
"First reading of the night!" A cheerful voice interrupted her musings.
The same immortal who'd kicked off her impromptu psychic performance the night before slid onto a barstool with a grin. "I brought something different this time." Graham produced a fountain pen from his jacket pocket. "This baby's twenty-six years old. Maybe it'll be more talkative than my watch."
Fenella looked around the bar, debating if it was the right time for her first reading. It was far from full, but what if Sundaynights were slower than Fridays and Saturdays, and this was as crowded as it would get?
"It's still early, but I'll do it for you." She accepted the pen, wrapping her fingers around it. For a moment, she thought she felt something, a whisper of emotion, perhaps a ghost of a memory, but it was so faint she couldn't be sure if it was real or just her imagination filling in the blanks.
Still, she closed her eyes and made a show of concentrating. After a suitable dramatic pause, she gasped.
"Oh my," she said, opening her eyes wide. "This pen has a confession to make."
"Does it now?" Graham leaned forward, his eyes full of eager anticipation.
"It seems," Fenella said in a stage whisper, "that this pen has been living a double life. By day, it signs important documents and writes thoughtful letters. But by night..." She paused for effect. "It composes terrible poetry about cheese."
Graham burst out laughing. "Cheese?"
"Oh yes. Odes to cheddar, sonnets to Swiss, haikus about gouda." She handed the pen back with a solemn expression. "Your pen has hidden depths, my friend. Hidden dairy depths."
"I'll never look at it the same way again," Graham said, still chuckling as he pocketed the pen.
