4
After the divorce, I moved south and opened.
a guesthouse in a small town.
The town had a pleasant climate, and the
people were kind and welcoming.
Interacting with them improved my mood.
significantly.
Within a year, my guesthouse gained a good
reputation, and business picked up.
Ethan was the most solitary guest.
He mostly stayed in his room, rarely coming
out.
He only appeared on the patio when there
were few people around.
Initially, I worried about him and often paid
attention to his movements.
Then one day, I was sunbathing in the yard
when he approached me and asked with a
smirk:
“Do I look that suicidal?”
く
I looked up in surprise.
He lay down in the rocking chair beside me,
relaxed and carefree.
“I heard you on the phone.”
I was instantly embarrassed.
Last night I called a friend and mentioned
Ethan.
I said, “That guy is pretty good–looking, it
would be a shame if he were gone.”
Unexpectedly, Ethan heard me.
As I was embarrassed, Ethan suddenly asked,
“You don’t seem to be a local. Why did you
decide to open a guesthouse here?”
I made up a story, “I have plenty of money
and nothing to do.”
A low chuckle escaped his throat, a beautiful,
sound.
I couldn’t help but look at him, and I saw a
pleasing sight-
The man lay resting on his arm, gazing at the
horizon.
His jawline was sharp and clear, his profile
sculpted perfectly.
Chase was already handsome, but Ethan was
even more striking.
Perhaps noticing my gaze, he turned and
looked at me.
I don’t remember who looked away first; I only
remember that from that day on, our
interactions changed subtly.
Our relationship progressed during a
mountain hike.
A storm hit as we descended, and heavy rain.
poured down.
We rushed back to the guesthouse, soaked to
the bone.
That night, I developed a high fever. When I
got up to take medicine, I broke a cup.
Ethan burst in.
Whether it was an illusion or a
く
misremembered memory, I distinctly saw a
look of fear on his face as he entered.
But the moment his eyes fell on me, that fear
was replaced by relief.
My illness was severe, and I was bedridden
for five days; Ethan took care of me for those
five days.
He moved his musical instruments to my
room, and I learned he was a singer.
“So you’re always ready to leave?” I asked,
holding a cup of hot water.
He asked instead, “Do you want me to
leave?”
I didn’t answer.
He took the cup from my hands and suddenly
kissed me.
His hot breath burned against my skin. I held
onto his shirt, my heart pounding.
After that day, Ethan became the new
“master” of the guesthouse.
Changing light bulbs, repairing furniture; it all
became his responsibility.
The guests often joked, “You’re so
housewifey, get the beautiful owner to marry
you already.”
Whenever they did, he’d ask me:
“When are you going to marry me?”
I’d always laugh it off.
He seemed indifferent, but when we were
alone, he would find ways to tease me.
Even if I begged him to stop, he wouldn’t
relent.
I thought this would continue, but one day,
Ethan disappeared.
I asked the guests; they said:
“Where else could he go? Ethan looks like
that, and he’s in that circle, he probably went
off with a rich woman.”
