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“I want to try it,” said Amelia and Molly at the same time.

Alexandra dipped her head. “I don’t think you need to try anything, Izzie. Look who just walked in.”

Izzie turned around and spotted Staff Sergeant Jack Perry near the door with three other men. He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket as he scanned the room. She held her breath until his eyes fell on her. There was a beat, and then that sunshine smile lit up his face.

He gestured to his friends and then made a beeline straight for her.

When he stopped in front of her, he said, “Aircraft Woman Second Class Shelton, I hoped you’d be here.”

A laugh bubbled to her lips. “It sounds so formal when you say it like that.”

“What should I call you?” he asked.

“Most people just call me Izzie.”

“Well, Izzie, I’d be honored if you would call me Jack,” he said.

“Who are your friends, Jack?” she asked, feeling bolder than she had in ages.

“Sergeants Ben Martin, Harry Pitcher, Albert Proctor, and Jeff Browning of the USAAF at your service,” he said.

After Izzie made quick introductions of Alexandra, Grace, Molly, and Amelia, Jack leaned over to her. “I’d be delighted if you would say yes to a dance with me.”

Without another word, she put her right hand in his. He placed his free hand on the small of her back and led her into the flow of dancers, lifting her right hand in his as they began to fox-trot.

“You had me worried,” he said as they settled into the dance.

She looked up quickly. “Worried?”

“I was certain that I would walk in and you’d be dancing with some flight lieutenant or another,” he said.

She laughed at that. “I don’t think any flight lieutenant would ever condescend to dance with me.”

“Why not?” he asked, sounding offended on her behalf.

“First of all, he would outrank me by leaps and bounds.”

“All the more reason to impress you with his rank.”

“And secondly, that would require a flight lieutenant to have ever given me the time of day.”

“I can’t imagine a man who wouldn’t pay attention to you if he saw you,” he said.

She blushed. “Be serious.”

“I am serious,” he insisted. “You’re lovely.”

Goodness. She wished for a moment that she could freeze time and pull Lottie aside to ask what on earth she was supposed to do when a man spoke to her like this.

“Where in America did you say you’re from?” she blurted out.

“A town called Newton in Iowa,” he said. “You said you’re from London?”

She nodded. “A neighborhood called Maida Vale.”

“And what’s in Maida Vale?” he asked.

“My mother’s dressmaker’s shop,” she said. “That is, it was my mother’s. She died in November.”