Chapter 107 Slept Together
This time Ethan didn't down half the bottle in one go. He sat in the small courtyard, sipping slowly.
He used to be a complete teetotaler, so his body was still hypersensitive to alcohol. The beer hit his bloodstream and he could feel it warming him from the inside, like slow-burning embers. But the melancholy didn't fade one bit.
About halfway through the bottle, Carol appeared. The restaurant had closed for the night—the cook and Lily had both gone home.
"Drinking again?" Carol asked, walking over.
Ethan gave her a wan smile. "Just bored."
"Drinking alone is pretty lonely," Carol observed.
She didn't press him, just headed off to wash up. After a full day at the restaurant, she smelled like cooking oil and needed both a shower and fresh clothes.
When she emerged, Ethan was still sitting in the courtyard, staring blankly at the stars.
She walked over. "Are you drunk yet?"
Ethan smiled slightly. "No."
"Stargazing?"
"Yeah. First time I've really noticed how beautiful the sky is here."
Carol pulled up a chair and joined him, tilting her head back to look at the stars. "They say every star up there is someone who died. Every time someone passes away, a new star appears in the sky."
Ethan glanced at her, then shook his head with a soft laugh. "That's just folklore. From a medical perspective, when people die, they're just... dead. No new stars appear."
Carol shot him a look. "You think you're always right? Not everything in the world can be explained by science. Medicine is just one tiny field of knowledge."
Remembering what Lily had said about Carol's husband being a war hero, Ethan realized she probably held onto that belief for comfort. He didn't argue further. Let her believe what she needed to believe.
After sitting with him a while, Carol noticed his beer was empty. "Want to keep going?"
Ethan did. "Yeah."
His blood was warm and his head pleasantly fuzzy, but he wasn't ready to sleep yet.
Carol went back inside and returned with a bottle of whiskey. "This okay?"
"Definitely." Any alcohol would do right now.
She poured them each a glass, clinked hers against his, and knocked it back in one smooth motion.
"You can really hold your liquor," Ethan observed.
"I manage," Carol said, taking another sip.
Ethan took a tentative taste first. The whiskey burned going down—even a small sip seared his throat. But if Carol could handle it, he had no excuse not to. He downed the rest of the glass.
As the alcohol hit his system, he became more talkative.
"You live here alone most of the time, right?"
Carol refilled both their glasses. "Sometimes tourists stay over, but yeah, usually just me."
"Doesn't it scare you? Being alone?"
"I'm used to it. Besides, there aren't any bad people around here."
The whiskey loosened Ethan's tongue even more, making him bold enough to ask questions he'd normally avoid. "I heard you're incredibly devoted. That after your husband died, you just... stayed here."
Carol smiled. "Lily tell you that?"
"Yeah."
She drank another glass, taking a moment before answering. "It's true. Sort of. My husband and I had been together since we were kids. But then one day, he said he wanted to break up."
"Break up? Why?" Ethan asked, genuinely surprised.
"Who knows? I traveled all the way here to find him, and by the time I arrived... he was dead."
"So were you two... officially married or not?"
"If you mean legally, with a marriage certificate? No. But at his funeral, I attended as his wife." Carol's voice was matter-of-fact.
"Did you ever find out why he wanted to break up?"
Carol shook her head. "No."
She'd asked his fellow soldiers, his family. There was no other woman. No explanation. So she'd stayed here, waiting for answers, for years now.
"So you are devoted," Ethan said. "A true romantic."
"It's not romance—it's unfinished business. Maybe one day I'll find peace and leave." Carol paused. "Don't your family worry about you being out here?"
"Family?" Carol suddenly laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I don't really have family anymore."
"No family? Not anyone?"
"I have people, technically. But I can't go back to them." Carol took another drink, clearly done discussing it.
Ethan let it drop. He drank more himself, then started rambling about how he'd been a promising doctor at his hospital, but now that he was here, who knew what would be waiting for him when he returned in a year?
After that, everything went black.
...
Morning came.
Ethan had been dreaming—Matilda running to him in tears, saying she missed him. He'd held her, comforted her, and when she stopped crying, he'd pulled her close, wanting more. She hadn't resisted. She'd been willing, responsive. They'd made love.
Waking up, he still felt like he was holding her. His hand rested on something soft and warm. A feminine scent filled his nostrils—intoxicating.
Unable to help himself, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
The person in his arms stirred.
Afraid this feeling would slip away, Ethan pulled her closer. But she kept moving, slowly waking up.
His consciousness gradually returned. Wait. Matilda was with Wentworth now. She wouldn't come crying to him. She barely wanted to speak to him at all.
So who was in his arms?
He slowly opened his eyes. The woman beside him woke too, looking up at him with sleepy confusion.
They stared at each other for several seconds. Then both let out startled yelps.
Panic. The desperate need to escape.
They both released each other and tried to get out of bed simultaneously, only to realize neither of them was wearing clothes. They dove back under the blanket at the same moment, staring at each other in horror.
"What happened last night?" Carol demanded.
He shook his head frantically. "I—I don't know."
The evidence was undeniable. They were both completely naked. His body bore scratch marks, hers had kiss marks. The sheets beneath them were damp. The air smelled unmistakably of sex.
But as consciousness fully returned, fragments of last night's memories surfaced like puzzle pieces floating to the top of murky water.
They'd both gotten drunk. She'd tried to help him to bed. They'd fallen onto the mattress together. He'd called out "Matty." She'd called out "Jerk"—her late husband's name, probably. And then they'd tangled together.
It had just... happened.
Remembering the details now, they both felt mortified.
Ethan clutched the blanket, stealing a guilty glance at her.