No More Waiting, She Chooses Love

"Ernest, this is the girl I was telling you about, the one interested in swapping rooms. Maybe you two can work something out?" Landlady Ethel's voice cut through the tension, breaking the standoffish gaze between me and the man before me.

I stepped forward. "Hi, I'm Felicia. Any chance we could switch the room you're staying in?"

"No," his refusal came as swiftly and sharply as the motion he'd made when drying his hair moments earlier.

I felt a smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth, accompanied by a rising sense of irritation, and a stubborn streak flared within me. "Why not?" He spared me a glance, said nothing, and draped his army-green towel over his shoulder, brushing past me.

A chill from the tap water hit me unexpectedly, making me shiver.

"Felicia, right?" Ethel approached, "Don't take it to heart. Ernest isn't the type to sugarcoat things for the ladies. I'll have a word with him later."

I also had a temper and raised my voice intentionally, "No need. It's not as if living in that room will bring any miracles. Whoever loves it can have it."

At that, Ethel grabbed my arm. "Don't be so fierce. He's a former soldier, trained and all. He might carry you out and toss you into the street if you get him riled up."

Hah. I couldn't help but laugh, amused at my folly of mistaking a distinguished soldier for a criminal.

"My dear, I'm not kidding. It's true. Across the street, that widow, Fat Jean, kept bothering him, knocking on his door for no good reason. At last, she got wrapped in a sheet and tossed out before everyone. The neighbors all saw it."

Oh, it was widows again. It seemed I had some connection with widows.

"Really? So, the widow made it to his bed?" I couldn't resist gossiping.

"Wanted to, but got thrown out before she could. Quite the scandal," Ethel tsk-tsked.

I grimaced. "Don't worry about me. I'm not interested in a man who attracts widows."

As I finished speaking, the man in question came out, no longer in a tank top but changed into a black T-shirt and a black leather biker jacket, looking tough.

"Ernest, you're heading out this late?" Ethel initiated the conversation.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

"Yep," his response was as tight as if it were costing him money.

"Don't come home too late. I'll be locking up, and we wouldn't want any burglars sneaking in..." Ethel didn't finish her sentence before Ernest vanished without a trace.

I, too, went to my room, only to hear Ethel say, "Ernest is a good man, very straightforward. Any girl would be lucky to have him."

Lucky or not, what was it to me? Right then, my heart, though not riddled with wounds, felt like a bruised pear.

"Oh, Felicia," I was halfway through my door when Ethel called my name again.

I turned back. "Anything else, ma'am?"

"Ernest never locks his door. How about I show you around his room? If you like it, I can talk to him about it tomorrow," Ethel seemed genuinely invested in my offhand comment.

I smirked. "That doesn't seem right."

"It's fine. We're not taking anything, and Ernest's a big guy, nothing to hide in there, no women or anything. It's all good," Ethel was already heading toward Ernest's room.

"No, Ethel," I declined, "I've changed my mind. I like my room as it is."

Ethel stopped, and I gave her a grateful and warm smile, "Thank you, though. You should get some rest, too."

"I can't sleep, dear," Ethel murmured as I closed my door.

I couldn't sleep either, even though this day had been more eventful than the past ten years combined. Logically, I should have been. exhausted and ready to collapse, but sleep eluded me.