"Last night, he kissed me."
Dalia turned her head to look at Shelley, who had just said this. They were sitting on a stone bench near the harbor; not far away, someone was repairing a small boat, and loud hammering sounds repeatedly echoed in the sea breeze.
"Are you saying...for the first time?"
Shelley nodded.
"How long have you two been dating?"
"Almost two months, counting from the day he said he would be my boyfriend. But we haven't had much time together. You think it's too late, don't you?"
"Not at all. I think it's great."
"I originally thought he just wanted to whisper something to me...I wasn't prepared at all. I wanted him to ask me to dance, but he never spoke up. Then, without asking for my opinion, he went and did this...How could he? The place was well-lit; someone must have seen us. If I'd known he was going to kiss me, I wouldn't have worn..."
"Alright, Shelley, did you like him kissing you?"
"I did."
"Then stop overthinking it."
"I just think it was my first kiss, and it could have gone smoother. After he kissed me for a while, he pulled away, and I thought, what if he kissed for a long time? Should I swallow the saliva I already had? Maybe that's why he pulled away. But if I did that and he heard it, it would be so embarrassing. Oh my god, was my first kiss really like that? It's all his fault for not giving me a heads-up. Otherwise...Dalia, are you laughing at me?"
"I'm not laughing. Think about what nonsense you're saying."
"Your first kiss must have been romantic and wonderful."
"I told you, it was nothing like that. Did you forget?"
"You never told me."
"Your mind must be too full to remember anything now. Shelley, who am I? How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Okay, maybe you're right. I'm overthinking it. But my mom was already married at my age..."
This time she finally felt embarrassed by her own words and lowered her head.
"You're always worried he doesn't like you enough. Are you reassured now?"
"I don't know...I think he must have had other girlfriends before. After all, he's nineteen or twenty, and well-experienced. Did he ever mention...?"
"Never. And I never thought to ask. That would be asking for trouble."
"I feel like I don't know him as well as you do."
"Don't worry, you have plenty of time ahead."
"And how about you and Mr. Shawl?"
"There's nothing between us. I'm grateful to him, but that doesn't mean I have to date him."
"It seems like he's not planning to leave Menethil anytime soon."
"Let him be. The mayor is happy to have him stay."
"Maybe he's staying for you?"
Dalia didn't answer. She didn't want to discuss anything related to Dean with Shelley. Shelley was completely part of Menethil. There were too many things in this world she didn't need to know.
"Are you sure Jorgen doesn't like you at all? When we were dancing yesterday, he glanced at you several times."
"I'm not staying here with you. If you're so unsure, just go ask him directly. Don't make it seem like everything is my fault."
"Sorry, I didn't mean that."
"I really have to go now." Dalia stood up. "Jorgen should be at the town hall now, where the mayor is talking with him and Dean. They'll be back this afternoon. You'll see him soon."
Dalia left. It might have been a bit rude, but it was the best way to handle Shelley in this situation. Shelley was always a girl who worried excessively about small things, and she had the habit of using Dalia as a mirror for comparison.
The question Shelley cared about most—whether Jorgen had had a girlfriend before—had only one likely answer: no. Dalia firmly believed this. She knew very little about Jorgen before he came to Menethil at sixteen, but she could make some deductions based on her memories. It was like being able to judge whether a beggar had lived a content life before ending up on the streets without needing any facts.
The first time Dalia met Jorgen was four years ago, on the same fishing boat where the dance was held. It was the busiest fishing season of the year, and the captain had hired a few temporary workers with Dalia's consent. Most of them were local people who had never held a steady job, hovering between day laborers and vagabonds. To Dalia, they weren't exactly new faces. But among these men, who might not shave for months and always viewed a half-empty bottle of liquor as their most immediate life goal, there was a young stranger. For temporary workers, the job was usually an inevitable torment before earning meager pay. They would unhesitatingly find every opportunity to slack off and complain, accepting the captain's repeated scolding with a mix of resignation and fear. This young man named Jorgen was different. He worked with skill and thoroughness; since there was nothing to criticize in his actions, his silence and status as an outsider became the reasons people grew wary of him. He didn't have eyes that seemed constantly sleepy or a fondness for lamenting his woes after getting drunk, so the other temporary workers didn't see him as one of their own. He didn't need others to command and shout at him to remind him of what to do, and his indifferent attitude toward excessive scolding made the older sailors, eager to assert their authority, resentful.
At the time, the captain brought Dalia onto the deck, gathered the temporary workers, and warned them they were working for the esteemed Miss Wharton, and any laziness or misconduct would be severely punished. This was routine, and Dalia had always hated it. On one hand, the captain was using her to bolster his own authority; on the other hand, she loathed the looks the temporary workers gave her. She could fully imagine what words these men would use to describe her in private. In her memory, Jorgen, though standing among the temporary workers, didn't seem like someone who belonged there. This had nothing to do with appearance or clothing. In his calmness, he also revealed a certain coldness; Dalia couldn't help but observe him for several seconds, and he avoided her gaze. It wasn't out of guilt or unease—the reactions expected of a temporary worker on a fishing boat—but because he was strongly rejecting her curiosity.
"Why fire him? Why?" Two weeks later, Dalia asked the captain, who wore a troubled expression.
"Don't you think he's suspicious? He looks like someone who would cause trouble."
"I'm not the one staying on the boat, but from what I've seen, he's the most diligent worker."
"But you don't know; he hardly ever talks to the other temporary workers."
"Isn't that a good thing? He won't be influenced by those men."
"Well, you could say that, but based on my experience..."
"You can't give a reason. My father entrusted this boat to you because he trusted you to find the best crew, not to manipulate it according to your preferences."
"Sorry, Miss Wharton. I didn't mean to offend, but you must be cautious of unclear outsiders. For your safety, please keep your distance from him. I can only do my job and pray he doesn't cause any trouble."
Trouble did happen. One afternoon, a month later, the steward informed Dalia to go to the seaside immediately. The fishing boat had just returned from a somewhat distant sea area; she saw three temporary workers with bruised faces tied together and kneeling on the shallow Shawl not far from the boat. Most of the crew remained on the boat, while the captain, Jorgen, and a few older sailors stood in front of the three men.
"What happened?" Dalia asked.
"These three scoundrels were gambling on the boat with another man, got into a fight, knocked him out, and pushed him into the sea. We didn't retrieve the body. After their crime was exposed, they even tried to fight back. What do you think we should do, Miss Wharton?" the captain said.
As a long-term servant of the nobility, it was customary to consult the master's opinion before reporting a crime directly. Dalia was equally reluctant to handle such situations. The three bound men didn't plead in front of her, which meant they had confessed. They looked at her with eyes full of despair and hatred, forcing her to turn away.
"Who discovered this?"
Facing Dalia's question, the captain glanced at Jorgen beside him and replied.
"When we first realized someone was missing, we suspected something was wrong. We questioned everyone one by one but got no answers. Then he said he could figure it out."
Dalia stepped forward slightly, looking into Jorgen's eyes. The captain nodded to Jorgen, signaling him to speak.
"They were very nervous at the time. I asked around and compared the time. When that man disappeared, only the three of them were with him."
That was the first thing he said to her.
"That's it," the captain said to Dalia. "I didn't fully understand the whole process, but since these scoundrels confessed, there's no problem. You should decide, Miss Wharton."
"Um...I'd like to ask your opinion." She said to Jorgen, "What do you think should be done?"
"Miss Wharton." The captain almost wanted to stand between her and Jorgen.
"I want to hear his thoughts. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't have caught them."
"Alright. As you wish."
The captain reluctantly stepped back, allowing Dalia to speak to Jorgen without having to lean sideways.
"I don't know the rules for handling these things here. However," Jorgen pointed at two of the men, "this isn't the first time they've pushed someone into the sea to kill them."
The two men started shouting at Jorgen, shuffling on their knees toward him. Even though their malice was clearly directed at Jorgen, Dalia couldn't help but take two steps back.
In her eyes, Jorgen didn't move at all, as if he believed there was an unbridgeable distance between him and the murderers. Although he was looking down, his gaze wasn't one of superiority. He had become accustomed to the sight before him: the struggle in the mud and sand.
Recalling these early memories, Dalia couldn't help but think: Shelley really accomplished something remarkable by becoming this man's girlfriend.