4
DIN
Instead of answering in kind, Fenella smiled and then dug into her plate with renewed gusto. Din knew that he had hit a nerve. She was still skittish, still reluctant to acknowledge her feelings for him; nevertheless, having her back in his life felt right.
It wasn't the passionate infatuation of fifty years ago, but something deeper, more substantial. He loved her—her strength, her humor, her resilience, the way she was slowly opening herself to possibilities after a lifetime of caution.
He wanted to be part of her future, to build something lasting with her. He wanted to wake every morning to her tangled hair and sleepy smiles.
But she wasn't ready for any of that.
"Oh, look." She waved at someone behind Din. "Kyra's entire gang is here. I should say hello." She rose to her feet. "Do you want to come?"
He glanced at their half-eaten meals. "I'll stay to guard the plates. Otherwise, the Odus will collect them, and all this great food will go to waste."
She nodded. "I'll be right back."
When she walked away, Okidu—at least Din thought it was him—stopped by their table with a tray of champagne flutes.
Din selected two, nodding his thanks, and put one next to Fenella's plate.
"Quite the turnout," a familiar voice said from behind him.
He turned to find Max standing there, looking as cocky as ever.
"Indeed. The entire village seems to be here."
"No one in their right mind would miss Kian's birthday." Max grinned. "And doubly so when the Clan Mother was expected to deliver a speech. Everyone loves her speeches." His gaze shifted to where Fenella stood with Kyra and her sisters. "How are things progressing with our flame-haired barmaid?"
"Fenella is not a redhead," Din corrected automatically.
"Figure of speech," Max waved a hand. "She's certainly fiery enough to qualify, regardless of her actual hair color." He leaned closer. "Seriously, though. Everything okay?"
"Perfect." Din smiled. "It's not easy, but if I wanted easy, I wouldn't be in love with Fenella."
Max lifted an eyebrow. "So, the love word has been unleashed?"
Din laughed. "You couldn't have phrased it more accurately if you tried. Fenella reacted to it as if I had shot her, but she's getting used to the idea."
"Give her time," Max said, clapping him on the shoulder. "She's always been skittish, and then trauma left scars that need healing." His gaze drifted to where Kyra stood chatting with Fenella and her sisters. "It needs to at least scab over."
Din nodded. "I'm here for her."
Max studied him for a moment. "Have you given more thought to your academic commitments?"
"I'll finish the term remotely. After that, I'll request a sabbatical." Din took a sip of champagne. "Or I'll resign if necessary. The university is the least of my concerns."
"Got your priorities straight." Max took a champagne flute off a passing tray carried by one of the Odus. "Just don't let Fenella know that you are making her a priority. Make it about yourself needing a change of pace or something of that nature. Being made the center of someone else's life will make her hackles rise."
Max was right, but Din didn't feel comfortable about masking his intentions. Then again, all was fair in love and war. If he wanted to win Fenella over, he needed to wage war with her insecurities and her reluctance to acknowledge her feelings and stay put in one place long enough to sprout roots.
"I'll take your advice under consideration," he said noncommittally.
Max raised his flute. "To second chances."
"And to not wasting them," Din added, returning the toast.
As they drank, Din's gaze once again sought Fenella across the lawn. She had extricated herself from Kyra and her gaggle of relatives and was now making her way toward him.
