The Abandoned Wife's Second Chance (Scarlett and Jasper) novel Chapter 91

Chapter 91

(Scarlett’s POV)

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I’m twenty again, standing in my dorm room with my suitcase open on the bed. My hands shake as I fold clothes I’ve never worn before – sweaters, thick tights, boots for walking through snow.

–

The Switzerland exchange program. Six months in Zurich that has me nervous and excited in equal measure.

I pick up the wool scarf I bought for the trip – soft gray cashmere, nothing like the colorful ones / saw in the mall. I’d practiced wrapping it different ways – around my neck, over my hair, and just slung over my shoulder – until my legs started to ache, and my eyes burned, and yet still am not satisfied.

After the twentieth attempt, I call it quits. Dragging my suitcase out of my bedroom, I bid farewell to my parents, and hop in a taxi.

The airport buzzes with early morning travelers. I check my boarding pass for the third time, nerves eating at my stomach. This exchange program could make my career. International relations majors don’t get opportunities like this every day.

“Scarlett?”

My blood freezes. I know that voice.

I turn slowly, and there’s Jasper Blake, standing three feet away with his mouth open. His suitcase sits forgotten on the airport floor.

“Jasper?” My voice comes out in a squeak. “What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. He’s staring at me like he’s seeing a ghost, his eyes wide and

stunned.

“I… I’m on the same student exchange program,” he finally manages. “Different department. Legal consultation.”

We’ve known each other for two years, shared classes, studied in the same library. But he’s looking at me like he’s never seen me before.

“Do I look weird?” I touch my scarf self–consciously. “I know it’s different. I just thought-

“You look beautiful.”

The words slip out of him in a rush, soft and filled with wonder. His cheeks flush red the second

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he realizes what he’s said, and that makes my heart skip a beat.

Beautiful. Jasper Blake called me beautiful.

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This is the first time. He’s never called me beautiful before. I feel more self–conscious, heat suffusing my cheeks.

“I mean-” He scrambles to backtrack, but I’m not listening anymore. I’m lost in the way he’d looked at me, with wonder, awe, and amazement.

My heart hammers so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

The dream shifts. We’re in Zurich now, walking through Christmas markets that smell like cinnamon and mulled wine. Snow crunches under our boots, and fairy lights wrap around every

tree and building.

I’ve been wearing scarves for three weeks now, and it no longer feels strange. The Swiss winter demands it, and I’ve learned to wrap them in different ways – loose and casual for classes, elegant and structured for dinners out.

Jasper walks beside me through the market, stealing glances when he thinks I’m not looking.

“You’re staring again,” I say, stopping to examine hand–knitted mittens at a vendor’s stall.

He doesn’t deny it. “I can’t help it.

”

The honesty in his voice makes me look up. His eyes are soft, almost reverent.

“It’s just a scarf, Jasper.”

“It’s not the scarf.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You look… I don’t know how to explain it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. And the scarf… it makes you glow, almost as if you’re holding a light inside you or something.”

My breath catches. In three years of knowing Jasper, he’s never said anything like this to me.

The dream shifts again. We’re at a restaurant overlooking the snow–covered city, sharing dinner after long days at our respective offices. I’m wearing the blue wool scarf he bought me the week before, soft and warm against the winter cold.

Jasper reaches across the table and adjusts where it’s slipped loose around my neck. His fingers brush my throat, and electricity shoots through me.

“There,” he says, his gaze tender. “Perfect.”

But he doesn’t pull his hand away. We sit there frozen, his palm warm against my skin, my heart beating so hard I fear it might burst any second.

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“Scarlett,” he suddenly whispers.

“Hmm?”

“When we get back to the States…”

“Yes?”

“Will you still wear them? The scarves?”

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The question catches me off guard. I realize I haven’t thought about going back to basic t–shirts and hoodies. The scarves have become part of me, the act so natural, it’s as if I’ve been wearing it for years. “I think so,” I say. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels right, somehow.”

His answering smile is breathtaking. “Good. I’ve gotten used to seeing you like this.”

The dream shifts one last time. We’re at the airport again, six months later, getting ready to fly home. My suitcase is heavier now, filled with souvenirs and gifts.

Jasper stands beside me at the gate. The way he looks at me is different now. It isn’t just attraction or fascination in his eyes, but something more primal, possessive. It makes my chest tight and my palms sweaty.

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