While she had been on the phone, their cappuccinos had arrived, and Fenella took an appreciative sip. "These are better than what Ruth makes at Fernando's, but don't tell her I said that."
"Your secret is safe," Din said, but there was something careful in his tone. "Every night is a lot, and after the excitement of today, you should rest instead of working."
His concern for her well-being was sweet, but she was perfectly capable of evaluating what she could and couldn't do, and she didn't appreciate being given unsolicited advice. She never had.
"It's only for a few days." She wrapped her hands around the warm cup. "Depending on when we leave for Egypt."
"That's even more reason not to exert yourself. A lot is riding on your ability, and if you arrive there exhausted, your performance might suffer."
She had a feeling that her performance was the least of his worries, and that what he wanted was to have more of her time.
"I need this," she said. "When I'm behind that bar, making drinks and telling ridiculous stories, I know who I am, and everything feels right." She smiled. "I get to shine."
"And when you're not behind the bar?"
The question hung between them, heavier than it should have been. When she wasn't behind the bar, she was just Fenella—a survivor who'd gone through too much and wanted to forget.
"It's still difficult," she said finally. "But I'm working on it."
Din reached across the table, his fingers brushing hers where they curved around the cup. "I'm here to help in any way I can. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do whatever it takes to get it for you."
"I know that you are here for me." He was constant, steady, and patient in a way that made her feel both treasured and trapped. "It's just?—"
Her phone buzzed again, saving her from finishing that thought. This time it was Shira.
"Where are you? I have gossip that cannot wait."
"The café," Fenella said. "What kind of gossip?"
"The kind that involves Ruvon mooning around the library all afternoon, asking about Persian poetry. I'll give you three guesses who he's trying to impress, and the first two don't count."
It wasn't hard to guess who Ruvon wanted to impress, unless he had decided that the older ladies were an easier conquest.
"Are you home?" Fenella asked.
"Yes."
"We'll be there in a few minutes, so you can tell me all about it when we get there. We are just finishing our cappuccinos at the café. And by the way, I have juicy gossip for you too."
Shira squealed in delight. "I can't wait."
Ending the call, Fenella smiled at Din. "Apparently, we're needed for an emergency gossip session."
"We?" He raised an eyebrow. "I didn't hear her inviting me."
"Consider yourself drafted." She stood, downing the rest of her cappuccino in one go. "You like Shira, don't you?"
"I tolerate Shira," he corrected, standing as well. "There's a difference."
As they left the café, Fenella reached for his hand, threading their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The walk back to Shira's house was comfortable, their joined hands swinging slightly between them. The village paths were busy with the late afternoon crowd—people heading home from work, others going to the gym, nearly all either nodding and smiling or calling out greetings.
Fenella realized with a start that she knew most of their names already.
When had that happened? When had she become a member of the community?
"What are you thinking about?" Din asked.
