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“Can’t complain. It’s a bit slow today, but your friend Mr. Hawley is here.”

Jack smiled. “Hank? I haven’t seen him in ages.” Since his friend left the airmail for a job with Curtiss Aeroplane and Motor Company, their paths hadn’t crossed nearly as often. It would be good to catch up with Hank.

“He had lunch with Mr. Curtiss, who just left. You should head on in. I’m sure Mr. Hawley will be happy to see you.” Nick opened the door to the dining room, and Jack clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Nick. Good to see you.”

“Enjoy.”

Jack headed into a room whose walls showed barely any blank space, they were so crammed with memorabilia—photos of famous pilots, propeller hubs, framed squares of airplane linen from famous crashes, trophies, even a handful of paintings of airplanes in flight.

There were maybe a dozen men scattered around the room in lively conversations. The members were mostly war veterans. After the war, some took up barnstorming. Some became test pilots. And some flew the mail. Each and every one of them had been bitten by the flying bug and knew they would never recover. Like birds, they flocked together, chattering and preening in a good-natured rivalry, always vying to outdo each other with new and astounding tales of daring.

Jack spotted Hank at a table in the back, relaxing with a cup of coffee. With an uncanny resemblance to Douglas Fairbanks, it was no wonder Hank had won the heart of famed socialite, Aurora Belmont, or “Rory” as her friends called her. He was a hell of a pilot too. Some men had all the luck.

“Well, Hank Hawley, as I live and breathe! To what do we owe the honor?”

A wide smile spread across Hank’s face. “Thompson! I hoped I’d see you here. Have a seat.” He gestured at the empty chair across from him.

Jack sat across from his friend, setting his chess board on the table beside him. “Care for a game?”

“Sure. Why not?”

The waiter came by, and Jack ordered a coffee and a ham-and-cheese sandwich.

“So, how’s family life treating you?” Jack asked, as he set up the board.

“Rory and the kids are up in Newport, visiting her parents. I was looking forward to having a little time to myself, but the truth is I miss them like crazy.”

“Solitude is not all it’s cracked up to be,” Jack said, putting the last pawn in place. “Your move.”

Hank placed a pawn to the center of the board. “No, it is not. By the way, when are you going to settle down, you old dog?”

Moving his pawn to counter, Jack sighed. “Not any time soon.”

“Still no one special in your life?”

“No. No one special.” Except Constance. Not that he was going to breathe a word about her. Hank was a good friend, but there were some things a man had to keep to himself. Besides, Hank might tell Ernie, and then where would he be?

Moving a knight to protect his pawn, Hank turned his penetrating gaze on Jack and furrowed his brow. “You’re not still pining for that witch that broke your heart, are you?”

“Who, Myrtle?”

Hank nodded.

“No, definitely not. I dodged a bullet there.” The ache of her rejection was nearly gone these days. He was still mad as hell about how she left him, but it didn’t sting like it used to, though that might have had something to do with a certain other woman who was tugging at his heart strings.

“Glad to hear it. She didn’t deserve you.”

The last thing Jack wanted to talk about was his feelings about women. He needed to change the subject, and fast.

“Tested any exciting new airplane designs lately?” Barely looking at the board, Jack moved a bishop.

Smiling, Hank shook his head. “You know I’m not at liberty to discuss,” he said, bringing out his other knight. “Mr. Curtiss would have my head.”

“And how is it working for the famed Glenn Curtiss?”

“A hell of a lot better than working for the Postal Service. I can tell you that much.”