Chapter 48

As the autumn wind blew, Winnie's next-door neighbors, a couple from China, would always make their own cured meats every autumn and share them with the neighbors. Winnie, being fortunate, would always receive some. So, tonight, Yulia specifically went to the Chinese supermarket, bought seafood soy sauce to go with the roast meats, and made a claypot rice with a double portion of cured meats. She also cooked Alaska deep-sea cod and Boston lobster, paired with clam chowder, and bought an entire Belgian chocolate cake for dessert. The table was filled to the brim, and beside it, a ceramic fruit bowl held bright orange fire crystal persimmons. When Van arrived, he saw Winnie sitting at the round table, facing Wendy. She was nibbling on a piece of bread before the meal, turning slightly towards him. She was wearing a dress, with a wool cardigan draped over her shoulders. Both elbows rested on the table, chewing slowly as she asked, "Who's coming over while we're eating?" Wendy answered, "Amazon." The soft black leather shoes lightly stopped beside the stone path. Wendy raised her eyes and nearly choked on her water, but after the shock she'd already received today, she'd learned to handle it. She quickly pressed her lips together and held back, though her eyes were wide open in surprise. Seeing Wendy's awkward reaction, Winnie instinctively turned her face away, glancing toward the light. A faint smile appeared on her lips, but it was clear she wasn't in a good mood. There was a noticeable sense of detachment in her expression and demeanor. A soft clink of cups and saucers filled the air. When Van walked in, Winnie stood up quickly, flustered. "Va—" She opened her mouth, swallowed, and then calmly said, "Hi, Mr. Marlowe." "Am I interrupting your meal?" Van asked, his tone indifferent, with a hint of concern, but no real apology. He was clearly doing it on purpose. Winnie quickly shook her head and smiled, "No." Wasn't he supposed to be eating with his date? What was he doing here? Van seemed to see right through her thoughts and casually said, "I was passing by, just happened to stop by to grab the signature." "Ah, right," Winnie realized, turning to go upstairs. "I'll go get it for you." "No rush." Winnie stopped and turned back. Her cardigan was oversized, making her look even more slender. Her long arms were in a relaxed pose—one hand resting on her waist, the other placed on top, with her thumb pressing down on the collar of her dress, as if unconsciously holding it in place. Van realized he had made her nervous, perhaps even startled her. He changed his mind. "I'll go with you. We'll grab it and leave." Winnie nodded, "It's in the study on the second floor." The two of them walked toward the door, and as they did, they heard Yulia ask Eric behind them, "Have you two eaten yet?" Eric replied truthfully, "Not yet." Yulia, unsurprisingly, said, "Then should you stay for dinner? I made too much, and if we don't eat it, we'll have to throw it out." Eric couldn't help but laugh. Then he raised his gaze and looked at the retreating back of the figure walking into the entryway. Van clearly heard her, but didn't answer. His meaning was that it was up to Eric to make the call. Fortunately, with his experience, he easily took charge and said, "Then we'll stay. Apologies for the intrusion." Winnie hadn't expected Eric to make the decision to stay, but at this point, she couldn't ask them to leave. Her heart pounded nervously, and with some reluctance, she made small talk. "I don't know what you both like to eat, and if you have any food restrictions, please tell me." "I'm fine. I was the one intruding," Van replied. There seemed to be an invisible elastic cord between them. When they spoke over the phone, the cord was slack, and the two felt close despite the distance. But face-to-face, the cord tightened, stretching the distance between them once more, leaving them polite and formal. Winnie turned on a brass floor lamp upstairs and said, "It's a bit messy." The air carried a faint scholarly scent. Next to a dark green American-style cigar chair, a side table held a bouquet of snow mountain roses, their fragrance rich and lingering. Van followed her to the desk, where numerous photos were spread out. These were the leftovers from her earlier selection process—some of them were rather exposed. The usual air of aloofness between them seemed to shatter in that moment. Startled, Winnie placed her delicate hands on the desk. "These are just the ones I didn't choose. They're outdated." Van gently picked up one. The photo featured her in a white swimsuit, one hand smoothing her wet hair while the other rested near the curve of her chest. Her red lips were slightly parted, her gaze lifted to meet the camera head-on. It was bold—unlike any version of her he had seen before. A sharp tension ran through Winnie as she quickly snatched the photo from his hand. Just as she was about to explain, she noticed Van frown slightly, lowering his eyes to glance at his fingertip. The edge of the poster had been too sharp, and her sudden movement had caused it to cut his skin. "I'm so sorry," Winnie apologized, momentarily setting aside her inner reservations. She immediately took his hand to inspect the faint scratch with care. Sure enough, a small bead of blood had surfaced. The pain was fleeting and hardly deserved such alarm. Van reassured her calmly, "It's nothing. Don't worry." Her scent—like ripe wild fruit in the autumn mountains—filled his breath as she leaned in close. Winnie didn't hear the subtle swallow from Van, unaware of the slight movement of his Adam's apple. "I just didn't want you to see that poster," she explained, looking up with genuine remorse in her eyes. Her voice trailed off toward the end, and the word "poster" was barely audible. "Why?" Van asked evenly, his expression unreadable. "Because… because it's improper to look at things one shouldn't be looking at," she stammered. Van raised an eyebrow, finding her choice of words refreshing. "So, readers of the magazine are allowed to see it, but I'm not?" Winnie said nothing, her face flushing crimson. Van chose not to tease her further and gently pulled his hand away, reminding her flatly, "The signature, Winnie." Winnie retrieved the poster meant for little Celine, which bore the uninspired inscription: Happy Everyday. The ink had already dried. She slipped it into an envelope and handed it to Van with both hands. "Best wishes for your little one to ace their exams." Van's lips curved slightly as he held up the envelope between two fingers. "Thank you. But my little one isn't her—it's a 'niñita'." When they went back downstairs, the table was already set, and everyone was waiting for them. Winnie opened a jar of sweet grape wine she had brought back from Ruby and poured a glass for both Eric and Van herself. "This was homemade by my mother. It's a bit sweet but very refreshing and doesn't leave you tipsy." Van hardly touched his fork, whether from a lack of appetite or unfamiliarity with the food, but he did finish the wine she poured. Since Eric needed to drive later, Yulia brewed some tea for him instead. The five of them enjoyed tea and wine, chatting leisurely under the autumn moonlight. Yulia, as direct as ever, broke the peace by asking without any preamble, "Mr. Marlowe, were you satisfied with this afternoon's blind date?"