A Wind’s Whisper of Love

That evening, I curled up alone in the dimly lit room of a shabby inn, the bitterness welling up as I replayed everything in my head. This wasn’t the first time Jasper had crossed the line.  

There was the time I found a long strand of hair—a woman’s hair—clinging to the front of his sweater. Then another when a smudge of lipstick stained his tie, faint but unmistakable.  

Each time, Jasper had some smooth, almost plausible explanation to wiggle out of it.  

Yet somehow, I was always left feeling like the unreasonable, jealous girlfriend.  

But this time? This time, I wasn’t going to let him off so easily.  

Frustrated, I turned to the internet and posted a plea for advice:  [My boyfriend loves me, but he seems to enjoy flirting with other women. How do I fix this for good?] 

The responses poured in quickly.  

Suggestions ranged from sincere advice to outrageous schemes, but one reply stood out from the rest.  

A user named ‘Sweet Orange’ suggested:  

Sweet Orange: [Play him at his own game. Flirt with his best friend. Do it right in front of him—let him choke on his own jealousy.]

Fight fire with fire? Now that was an idea I could get behind.  

Jasper had plenty of friends, but none closer than Andrew Wallace.  He was loyal to a fault and Jasper trusted him implicitly. Andrew would be the perfect target.  

The next day, I knocked on Andrew’s door.

When he answered, I flashed a grateful smile. “Hi Andrew. I haven’t had the chance to thank you for helping me last night. If you hadn’t found me, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. So, thank you.”

“And I’ve got something for you,” I added. 

From my bag, I pulled out a Rolex Submariner—a sleek, limited-edition watch worth five figures—and handed it to him.

Andrew’s eyes widened in shock. “Charlotte, this... this is too much. You sure about this?”

The watch had originally been meant for Jasper—a surprise gift he’d even picked out himself. But before I had the chance to give it to him, he’d gone and messed everything up.

Well, his loss.

I couldn’t help but smirk at Andrew’s stunned expression.

“Friendship is priceless, Andrew. I’d be really happy if you accepted it.” 

I grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl on the counter, peeling it slowly as I glanced around.  

The apartment was modest, to say the least. A small sofa sat beside a single bed, which was tucked against a wall. Next to it stood a simple clothing rack, overloaded with neatly pressed shirts. Unlike Jasper, Andrew had always been frugal. Growing up in a rural town, he’d learned to stretch every penny. Even now, with a decent salary, he lived like a man who knew the value of money.  

This apartment—a government-subsidized rental—was one Jasper and I had helped him find years ago.  

The space wasn’t glamorous, but it was functional: a combined living room, kitchen and bedroom.  

“Wow, where’d you get these? These oranges are sour,” I scrunched my nose and popped a piece into Andrew’s mouth while teasing. My fingertips brushed lightly against his lips, making him flinch almost imperceptibly.  

“By the way, tomorrow’s your birthday, right?” I said casually, watching his reaction. “Should I bother showing up?”  

“Of course, you should! Do you even need to ask?” Andrew replied, his tone suddenly serious.  

“You’re my best friend, Charlotte. Of course, you had to come. I expect you to be there. No, I insist.”

Money really could work wonders. One Rolex and the man was ready to bare his soul. I leaned back against the counter, tossing the orange peel into the trash.  

“But, I don’t want to see Jasper,” I said, trying to sound indifferent.

“Are you planning to avoid him forever?” Andrew’s fingers fiddled with the watch as he avoided my gaze. But something in his tone suggested he wasn’t happy. “Don't kid yourself, Charlotte. You can’t never forget him.”

His bluntness stung, but I chose to stay silent, rolling the orange in my hand like a stress ball.  

The next day, when I thought that most of the people at the party had arrived, I called Andrew. 

“Hey, can you come pick me up?”  

The celebration was at a seafood restaurant Andrew had picked—a small, unassuming place with affordable prices and generous portions.  

Ten minutes later, his beat-up sedan pulled up outside the inn I was staying.  

Sliding into the passenger seat, I caught Andrew’s eyes darting toward me, then quickly away. His gaze lingered for a fraction too long on the neckline of my burgundy lace dress.  

“It’s snowing outside. Aren’t you cold dressed like that?” he muttered, his tone half-reproachful.  

I’d chosen my outfit with care: the dress hugged my figure perfectly and the faux fur jacket added just the right touch of elegance. Paired with high-heeled boots, the look was bold, eye-catching and undeniably out of place in the middle of a snowstorm.  

But that was the point.