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Maybe it was for the best if she spent less time with Jack, at least until things were settled between her and Doug. She didn’t want to damage the fragile promise that things might finally be moving in toward engagement.

As they pulled into the parking lot at Heller Airport, she mentally composed herself for the day. Jack would fly out, and she could focus on her work, setting all this turmoil aside.

They parked, and he opened the door for her. She folded the blanket he’d given her and handed it to him. In silence, he took it from her, tossed it in the back seat, and closed the car.

Not wanting to part on such tense terms, she put her hand on his. “Jack?”

“Yes?”

Their eyes met, and that troublesome warm feeling coursed through her again.

“Be safe out there today, will you?”

His expression softened, and he gave her a little smile. “I will. I promise. And you’ll take care of yourself while I’m gone?”

She smiled, trying to silently convey all she felt in her heart. “Of course, I will. I’ll see you soon, Jack.”

“See you, Constance.”

As soon as they were through the door, they parted ways, and she headed toward her heavy oak desk outside of Mr. Dickson’s office. She purposely didn’t look as Jack walked off toward the locker room. He occupied far too much of her mind. And her heart, if she was honest. The old feelings had become more manageable with time, but it was never easy to watch him walk away. Even though she’d long ago given up on becoming Mrs. Jack Thompson, a part of her heart would always be his. She just had to hope the old feelings would fade with time as she started her new life with Doug.

8

Jack stole a glance back at Constance as he headed into the locker room. His heart squeezed at the sight of her settling in behind her desk, so serious in that conservative gray sack of a dress that nonetheless failed to hide her loveliness. Her carefully finger-waved hair framed her heart-shaped face. Her lips and cheeks were still pink from the morning chill. So beautiful…

He shook himself and deliberately turned back toward the locker room.

It was getting harder and harder to remember that she was his childhood friend and off-limits. Even when he tried to bring to mind her childhood pigtails and missing front teeth, the image faded, replaced by the captivating woman she’d become. He couldn’t rid himself of the growing yearning that he felt in her presence. Somehow, he had to find a way to eradicate those feelings. Constance was far too important to him.

He touched his breast pocket where a brass ring tied with a blue hair ribbon hid behind his handkerchief—the medal she gave him when he broke his arm. When he was a kid, he kept it in his box of treasures beneath a loose floorboard, one of his most precious possessions. When he signed up for the war, he couldn’t leave it behind. It took up residence in his breast pocket where it had stayed ever since. Many a lonely night in France, he took it out and held it in his hand to remember home as he read her letters over and over.

That was what Constance was. Home.

And a man shouldn’t risk his home over something as shallow and fleeting as attraction.

Yes, he was attracted to Constance. There. He’d admitted it. At least in his head where no one could hear. The temptation to kiss her was growing stronger by the day. Every time she touched his arm or leaned close, he ached to hold her closer still, to touch those soft pink lips with his own.

But she trusted him. Her casual touch meant she was at ease in his presence, knew he was safe to be near. Safe. That was what he had to be for her. He only had to hold out until he taught her to drive. Then he could buy himself some much-needed distance and figure out how to put these inconvenient feelings to bed once and for all.

Jack opened the door to the locker room, and steam billowed out. The familiar smells of man sweat, leather, and a hint of bleach assailed him as he headed toward his floor-to-ceiling cubby.

O’Donnell stood at the sink, shaving, a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Thompson! Is that you?” his tall, lanky friend asked with a subtle Irish lilt.

The door shut behind them.

“Yes, it’s me.” He dropped his ditty bag on the bench next to his cubby, rolled up his coat, and stuffed it in. Then he pulled his baggy leather flight suit off its hook and stepped into the legs. The thing was butter soft after all the use it had seen, though it still weighed a ton.

“My, my! Don’t we sound grumpy this morning!”

Damnit. He’d hoped no one would notice and ask questions. All he wanted was to be safely airborne and alone with his thoughts.

“Just woke up on the wrong side of the bed is all.”

Pulling the suit the rest of the way up, Jack slid his arms into the sleeves and then started buttoning the front.

“Jack Thompson doesn’t just wake up on the wrong side of the bed,” O’Donnell said, wagging his razor. “You’re usually unflappable. There’s something behind this. Did Dickson change your schedule again?”