Sweet like Wine: Love Your Dimples Even More-Chapter 83 - 51: In the Depths of Fate (Part 2)

Afterward, the series of retrospective actions that were even more difficult for Summer Fairmont to accept were also talking about himself.

Summer Fairmont didn’t have the habit of caring about other people’s affairs.

So after waking up, she let it go.

This time was no different.

Waking up in the abandoned whiskey warehouse of the Brunschwig Distillery, Summer Fairmont behaved as if she had never read the handwritten letter from Hieronymus.

As cold and expressionless as always.

It was just reading the beginning of a letter, then tossing it aside, how big of a deal could that be?

No one could tell from Summer Fairmont’s face what she had been through the day before.

Lochindaal had an intense aura of human warmth.

Local folks often held small gatherings in the hotel’s restaurant and bar.

If you liked peace and a modern living environment, this hotel would be highly unsuitable.

Dragging a big suitcase inside, heading to a guest room on the second floor, there wouldn’t even be an elevator or anyone to help.

This place was fit for those wanting the most authentic 19th-century whiskey town hotel feel, or simply like Sean Lowell, who sought human warmth.

The dining position where Sean Lowell sat had a window directly facing the bar, providing a clear view of those drinking at the bar, though people at the bar rarely looked into the restaurant.

It was still early, not time for meals or evening drinks, so there were hardly any people in the restaurant and bar.

The independent bottler had ordered two glasses of rare edition 1979 Macallen single malt whiskey from Speyside, Scotland Highlands, waiting for Summer Fairmont.

Sean Lowell, sitting at the dining table eating oatmeal, immediately saw Summer Lowell walk straight to the bar and sit down next to an empty seat beside a tattooed blond muscular man, speaking something inaudible to Sean Lowell.

The wellness punk, Summer Fairmont, seemed adaptable, whether with Artie Vaughn or with a muscular man, there was no sense of inconsistency.

Sean Lowell had only taken two sips of his oatmeal before he sat in the restaurant like a statue, his spoon suspended in mid-air, neither putting it down nor moving along.

Because when Gordon Sterling arrived, barely settling his emotions, they were completely shattered at the sight of Summer Fairmont.

The world claimed The Jilted sought nothing, untouched by mortal matters, yet only Sean Lowell knew how much he yearned for and was infatuated with human warmth.

Sean Lowell couldn’t control himself, bursting with the impulse to go straight up and hug Summer Lowell.

But how would he explain it?

How could he avoid causing a new crash scene?

Through a glass window, Sean Lowell’s eyes, like a fixed camera angle, stared motionlessly at Summer Fairmont.

Sean Lowell kept his spoon suspended in mid-air, observing the entire process of Summer Fairmont communicating with the independent bottler, entirely unaware of any impropriety regarding his hand’s position.

Perhaps Sean Lowell wished time could freeze at this moment, allowing him to endlessly watch his sister.

Yet he feared time truly freezing.

In his heart, that light, so fond of laughter, so warm, and with each word full of positive energy, seemed to have forgotten even how to smile.

Regardless if the muscular tattooed man laughed heartily or gave her a thumbs-up, Summer Lowell remained expressionless.

The "richness" of expression rivaled that of a robot.

Energy in this world is conserved; when you continuously stare at someone, a kind of energy may be transmitted through your gaze for the observed person to receive.

As Summer Fairmont was leaving Lochindaal, she glanced toward the window’s direction.

She almost reached the door but turned back to raise her phone, took a photo of the place where she had just sat, and then turned around and left.

...............

"What the hell are you doing? Growing so big, yet can’t even drink porridge? Do you need yours truly to feed you?"

Gordon Sterling was always concerned about Sean Lowell, so he had to come down first to check: "A perfectly fine person, not like Medusa is staring at you, how can you so easily turn into a statue?"

Gordo, with his superbly plump right hand, pressed Sean Lowell’s suspended hand into the oatmeal bowl.

"Gordon, I saw Summer Lowell."

"You’re not feverish, why talk nonsense? Hurry up and drink the porridge."