"There is no better way to spend money than on a beautiful bartender..." Garrett leaned over the bar, his smile turning suggestive.
She wanted to tell him that he had been spending money on whiskey, not her, although his tips had been generous, when she saw Din looming behind the Guardian, looking pissed.
Fenella leaned her elbows on the bar and looked into Garrett's smiling eyes. "Your wallet isn't done talking. It just whispered to me that it's desperately in love with my boyfriend's money clip, and they're planning to elope to Vegas." She pursed her lips. "Sorry to disappoint."
The crowd laughed again, but Garrett wasn't done. "Din is a lucky guy, but if you ever want to trade up to a younger model..."
Din put his hand on Garrett's shoulder. "I believe you've had too much to drink. Fenella made her position clear. You should say goodnight and go home."
The entire speech had been delivered in a measured tone, but Fenella knew Din well enough to sense that he was angry. Immortals lived by different standards than humans, and this young Guardian had crossed the line.
Garrett turned, looked up to meet Din's eyes, and seemed to realize his mistake. Din might be a scholar now, but he had been a warrior in the past, and he'd probably seen more battles in person than Garrett had on the screen. The promise of violence lurked in his stance, controlled but unmistakable.
"I was just?—"
"Leaving," Din suggested pleasantly. "To work on your manners."
Garrett backed away, hands raised. "I was just teasing. No harm meant."
"None taken," Fenella said brightly. "But your wallet is still disappointed in you!"
As Garrett retreated, Fenella reached for Din's hand. "My hero. Defending my honor from aggressive wallets and their owners."
"Brat," he murmured, but his eyes were warm. "You were handling it just fine. I did it more to teach Garrett a lesson than anything else."
"I enjoyed watching you go all Highlander warrior." She tugged him closer. "Very sexy, Professor."
He leaned down to kiss her, quick but thorough, and the bar erupted in whistles and catcalls.
"Get a room!" someone shouted.
"We have one," Din shot back. "We just haven't made it back there yet."
More laughter.
Fenella pushed him back toward his table. "Go pretend to grade papers. I have thirsty immortals to serve and embarrass."
He squeezed her hand once more before returning to his corner, and Fenella dove back into the performance.
The night flew by in a blur of readings, drinks, and laughter. She told a wine opener that it was developing a drinking problem, convinced a set of car keys they were suffering from commitment issues because they were always jingling around with other keys, and helped a bookmark confess its secret desire to write a novel.
The brooch seemed to whisper truths to her, and she learned to ride the line between truth and theater, giving people what they came for while honoring what she sensed.
"Last call!" Atzil announced from behind the bar, and groans echoed through the room.
"One more reading!" someone pleaded.
Fenella shook her head. "Not tonight. You'll have to wait until tomorrow. Absence makes the psychometry grow fonder!"
The crowd gradually dispersed, people finishing their drinks and heading for the door. Soon, only a few remained, and then just Din, nursing his whiskey while she helped Atzil clean up.
"Fenella," Atzil called, looking a little nervous, which wasn't like him. "Can I speak with you for a moment?"
"Of course."
Atzil glanced at Din, who was pretending to be absorbed in his grading project, then back at her. He rubbed a hand over the back of his cropped hair.
"I just wanted to say that you've transformed this place," he said. "I love watching you work."
