"A year off would drive me crazy. I like working at the Hobbit." She finally, reluctantly, extracted herself from his lap. "What will you do while I'm gone?"
"Read actual Burns poetry. Go over paper submittal. Contemplate buying a matching painting for the other wall."
"Don't you dare."
"Scottish Terriers Playing Golf?"
"Din..."
"Highland Cows Playing Backgammon?"
"I'm leaving now." She bent to kiss him, intending it to be quick but lingering when he cupped her face.
"I'll walk you to the bar," he murmured against her lips.
"You don't have to. Harold will get lonely."
"I want to." He smiled. "Harold will survive without me for a few minutes. Besides, it will be good for him to develop some independence."
Fenella laughed as she headed to their bedroom.
As she changed into her work clothes, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked settled. Happy. There were still bad nights, still moments when shadows made her heart race, but they were becoming less frequent.
She was healing.
"You are beautiful," Din said from the doorway.
"I'm just wearing my bar uniform."
"You look beautiful in your uniform." He crossed to her, turning her to face him. "Beautiful anywhere, in anything."
She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you."
"I love you, too." He kissed her forehead. "We should go, or Atzil really will have both of our heads."
As they stepped outside, the evening air was perfect—warm but not oppressive, with a breeze carrying the scents of various flowers from their neighbors' gardens.
They walked hand in hand toward the Hobbit, passing familiar faces, exchanging greetings. The pub came into view, its round door partially open.
"Have a grand time tonight and call me when you are ready to come home. I'll come to get you."
"I will," she promised, stretching up to kiss him goodbye.
That was the compromise they'd reached. Din would no longer sit at the back of the bar every night she worked, but he would escort her to and from the Hobbit, even though the village was probably the safest place on the planet.
As she pushed through the door into the familiar chaos, Fenella felt that warm sense of belonging wash over her again.
"You're smiling," Atzil said as she joined him behind the bar. "Had enough rest?"
"Yes, sir. I'm more than ready to get to work." She put on her apron and tied it in the back. "And I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. I'm here to stay."
After fifty years of roving and never quite fitting anywhere, she finally had a home, with throw pillows that she'd selected herself and an ugly lamp selected by Din, a job where she was valued, and a community that had become family.
And Din, wonderful Din.
She wouldn't change a single thing.
Well, maybe the painting. The painting could go.
But even as she thought it, Fenella knew she'd never let him get rid of it. That horrible Scottish Terrier poker game was part of their story now, part of what made their house a home.
