Din's expression turned sheepish. "I needed a break from grading papers, and it was just lying there on the coffee table. I got curious."
"I've also noticed that you were leafing through the one about love languages," Shira continued mercilessly. "Did you ever figure out if Fenella prefers acts of service or gifts? Because that brooch suggests?—"
"Okay, that's enough," Fenella interrupted, though she was fighting not to laugh. "Why are you home anyway, Shira? It's too early."
"I was on the first shift today," Shira said cheerfully. "Which means I started early and finished early, and now I have all evening to embarrass both of you until you leave for the bar."
"Actually," Fenella said, standing, "I need to get some rest before heading to work. And shower. And possibly burn my clothes because they smell like Persian market and panic sweat."
Shira's eyes widened. "You said that you had some gossip of your own. Spill!"
"I'm surprised the rumor machine hasn't put that one into production yet." Fenella told Shira about the encounter at the market, and that Max had taken the man to the keep for interrogation.
"You are right. That's a lot of excitement," Shira agreed. "Poor women. They finally gathered the courage to leave the village, and that happened to them. I bet they won't want to leave for a long time now."
"I believe that I convinced them that living in fear was not the way."
Now Fenella only had to convince herself, and all would be good.
When she and Din headed to her bedroom, Shira made exaggerated kissing noises, which Fenella responded to with a decidedly rude gesture that only made their host laugh harder.
In her room, Fenella kicked off her shoes and sank onto the bed. The adrenaline from the day's adventures was wearing off, leaving her feeling wrung out and slightly shaky.
"You shouldn't work tonight." Din sat on the bed beside her. "Atzil would understand if you needed a night to recover."
"From what? Shopping?" She shook her head. "I'm fine. Besides, I function better when I'm distracted."
He studied her for a long moment. "You know that running toward something is just as much an escape as running away, right?"
The observation hit closer to home than she cared to admit. "Maybe. But at least I'm running toward something useful and beneficial. You've just said how I was helping people, uplifting their moods and all that crap."
"Fenella—"
"I know what you're going to say," she interrupted. "That I don't need to keep moving, that it's safe to be still, that you're here and patient and all the other lovely things that make me feel like the world's biggest ass for not being able to just enjoy you the way I should and the way you deserve."
Din pulled her against his side. "That's not what I was going to say at all."
"No?"
"No." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I was going to say that I'm glad you have something that makes you happy."
His acceptance undid a knot in her chest. "You're too good for me."
"Rubbish," he said. "We're exactly right for each other. It just took us fifty years to figure it out."
She turned her face into his shoulder, breathing him in. "I don't deserve you."
"You deserve everything," he said fiercely. "Love, happiness, safety, purpose. All of it."
"Din..."
"And I'm going to keep telling you that until you believe it," he continued. "Even if it takes another fifty years."
"God, I hope not," she muttered against his shirt.
His chest rumbled with quiet laughter. "Me too. My patience is legendary, but even I have limits."
She pulled back to look at him. "What happens when you reach them?"
