Chapter 14

Emily's pronunciation was so flawless, devoid of any accent, that Michael often forgot she, like Anderson, wasn't a native of Eldoria.

In the documents obtained two months ago, both Emily and Anderson hailed from Shuishan City, a small coastal town within the province. A four to five-hour drive on the highway from Eldoria.

Michael had risen early. While Emily was still asleep, he returned the Toyota and retrieved his own car before coming back to pick her up.

For their two-day, one-night trip, both had packed lightly—just a change of clothes and undergarments. The clothes worn yesterday were washed and left to dry on the balcony of the guesthouse, intending to retrieve them upon their return.

With today's clear weather, more people were out traveling. The intercity highway was packed with cars, but once they left Eldoria, the traffic eased and the speed picked up.

"After graduating from university, I stayed in Eldoria and joined an advertising company as an event planner. That's when I met Anderson. He was a year older, starting a tech company with his college friends...

"Initially, their company was small. They crowded into a tiny apartment, pulling all-nighters for days on end. I would bring them midnight snacks...

"Those were tiring yet joyful times... then..."

Emily was busy editing videos on her phone while reminiscing about her younger days with Michael. It took her a while to realize that Michael, behind the wheel, hadn't spoken for some time.

She looked over at him. He was gripping the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead, his expression serious, lips tightly pressed.

Snapping her fingers near his ear, she said, "Hey, are you listening to me?"

Michael snapped out of his reverie, glancing at her sideways. "Yeah, I heard. Anderson built his empire from scratch, a bittersweet journey. Now he has a car, a house, and a beautiful wife. Impressive."

Emily wrinkled her nose, ignoring his sarcastic tone, and continued editing her video. "After dating for a while, we followed the typical path: meeting the parents, getting engaged, having the wedding banquet, and finally, marriage."

Each step felt as precise as buttons slipping into their corresponding holes, methodical and orderly. Only recently did she realize the buttons had been misaligned all along.

Michael, uninterested in the parts involving Anderson, pursed his lips and asked, "When did you start doing what you do now?"

"Hmm..." Emily pondered, "I started when short videos first became popular. Initially, it was just a hobby. As my audience grew, I was fortunate to publish a few books. Since Anderson was in this industry, he leveraged some connections, got me signed with a company, and built a brand for me. I became a commercialized internet celebrity, but it was mostly because I got in early. Nowadays, my gimmicks and styles can't compete with many video bloggers."

Her voice was calm, indifferent, like plain water.

Michael sensed her disinterest. "Do you not enjoy what you do now?"

"I love cooking and can enjoy my work, but these past few years have been exhausting."

Emily thought for a moment, then turned off her phone. "I started making cooking videos before Bilibili began buying licenses. Back then, I didn't have to show my face. I could do whatever I wanted. Later, the company dictated what was trending, so I had to follow suit. I had to appear on camera, create an image of 'three meals a day, life in peace,' a gentle and intellectual persona."

"Oh, I see. You don't like showing your face."

Michael recalled the inexpensive online cooking classes he had purchased. Emily always smiled in the videos, but the smile never reached her eyes, and her words seemed dry and lifeless.

The Emily he had come to know recently was far more expressive and animated, especially last night...

A lingering spark in his lower abdomen prompted Michael to discreetly adjust the air conditioner and shift in his seat.

"Yeah, I'm not the type to rely on my looks. I know that much."

Emily adjusted her glasses and asked, "Have you watched any of my earlier videos?"

Michael nodded. "I've seen a few."

Emily suddenly smiled. "Then you've probably seen more than Anderson has. He never watches them. If he happens to see one on the homepage, he just says I look fat on camera and need to lose weight."

Michael's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his heart aching slightly.

"He's talking nonsense..."

Emily shook her head, interrupting him. "I don't know if you've watched my videos with the comments on. Many people think like Anderson, focusing less on what I cook and more on my makeup or my figure.

"At one point, the company wanted me to emulate a viral food blogger and shoot those rustic cooking videos in the countryside. But that's not my style, so the videos came out fake and inauthentic."

Her work, like her marriage, had veered off course, the buttons misaligned.

Emily shrugged, offering a simple yet clear summary, "In short, it's lost its original flavor."

Michael overtook two cars before asking, "If one day you stop being a food blogger, what would you like to do?"

"Open a restaurant!"

Without hesitation, Emily's face lit up as she answered.

Michael smiled, "What kind of restaurant?"

"Something like a late-night diner, not too big. Guests would sit around the bar, chatting while waiting for their food. Whatever ingredients I can find at the market during the day, that's what I'll cook at night."

Emily's excitement grew, as if the restaurant were opening tomorrow. She vividly described the fruit wines she would brew and the signature dishes she would serve, painting a picture in her mind.

A small restaurant hidden in an alley, shrouded by the night. Push open the wooden door, the bell rings, and the aroma of food wafts in. The owner behind the bar greets softly, "Welcome."

"Sounds great! When you open, I'll visit every day."

Michael tapped the steering wheel lightly, his tone inquisitive, "Which district do you plan to open it in?"

Emily gazed at the blue sky and white clouds at the end of the highway, paused for a few seconds, then lowered her head and resumed working on her video.

She sighed lightly and smiled, "Oh, it's just a thought for now. Let's handle the matters at home first."

Michael's smile faded. Some issues, if Emily didn't mention, he wouldn't press.

Old songs played softly in the car, the singer's voice gentle, allowing Emily to add subtitles to the audio recorded in Anderson's car.

Michael remained mostly silent. When driving alone, he would often speed in sections without cameras, smoke when cravings hit, and use a bottle when in urgent need. But none of that was possible today. After nearly an hour on the highway, having almost finished a pack of candy, he saw a service area sign and turned to say, "There's a service area ahead, we can..."

Emily had fallen asleep, her head resting against the seat, mouth slightly open, phone still lit in her hand, glasses slipping down her nose.

Michael reached over, took her phone, turned off the screen, placed it in the cup holder, and gently removed her glasses.

She stirred but didn't wake. He folded the glasses and clipped them to his collar, then adjusted the air conditioning and redirected the vents.

After driving another twenty kilometers, he pulled into the service area, parked in a shaded spot, left the engine running, and stepped out to smoke under a nearby tree.

Taking a few drags, lost in thought, he saw Emily waking up inside the car.

She touched her face, squinted around, and, realizing she couldn't see clearly, searched for her glasses.

Michael chuckled at her groggy state, almost choking on his smoke. He stubbed out the cigarette, walked to the passenger door, and tapped on the glass.

Emily wasn't startled; she recognized Michael's tall, broad silhouette even without her glasses.

Pressing her face close to the door, she found the window button and lowered it, her voice hoarse, "I can't find my glasses."

"They're with me." Michael took out her glasses, fiddling with the frames. "You're really tired, huh?"

"Of course, didn't you see what time we went to sleep last night..." Emily grumbled.

Michael waved the glasses, asking, "Want me to put them on for you?"

Emily nodded, closing her eyes as he brought the glasses to her.

A shadow loomed over her, and she caught a faint scent of smoke. Before she opened her eyes, a soft kiss brushed her lips.

She opened her eyes abruptly to find his face inches from hers.

Backlit by the sunlight, his features were sharp, his gaze intense.

The cicadas in the trees filled the air with their song, echoing in her chest, making it feel full and heavy.

She pursed her lips and murmured, "Why did you steal a kiss?"

Michael stepped back, returning to his playful, unserious demeanor. "That's the 'fee' for keeping your glasses safe."

His hands tucked into his shorts pockets, he clenched his fists, trying to quell the surge of emotion within him.

He had simply seen her close her eyes and couldn't resist the urge to kiss her.