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She gave a watery laugh. “Oh, I don’t know, Jack. Maybe a little. Sylvia keeps writing to me even though I haven’t really written her back properly in weeks.”

“Sounds like stubbornness is a family trait,” he said. “You know what I realized when Louis came back? I had something that he never would: memories of Mom and Dad and life in Newton that were all mine. I’d resented him for so long, I didn’t think I even considered that Louis might have regrets about everything he missed out on.”

He grasped her hands in his. “I’m not a perfect man by any means, but I can tell you I became a lot happier when I decided to stop being angry with Louis. I don’t pretend to know all of the intricacies of what’s happened between you and your sister, but you strike me as the sort of woman who would have the grace to forgive when forgiveness is earned.”

For the first time in her life, she wanted to be the woman he described. The one who could leave things in the past, who could give second chances and let go of grudges.

“Izzie,” he said softly, his thumbs stroking over the tops of her hands, “you never answered my question about where you had your first kiss.”

Her heart skipped. “The back of a cinema in Maida Vale. I was sixteen. It wasn’t very good.”

“I think we can do better than that, can’t we?” he murmured.

He closed the gap between them. His right hand slipped around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. He eased her head back a little, and she lifted her lips to him as though it was the most natural thing in the world to be kissed by an American staff sergeant in a forest clearing.

When he lowered his lips to hers, her eyes fluttered shut and she thought for a moment that her body would give way from the heat and spark and swoon of being kissed by Staff Sergeant Jack Perry. She leaned into their kiss, deepening it.

When, finally, he pulled back, he wore a rueful smile, his hair sticking up where her fingers had mussed it.

“I could do that all day, but somehow I suspect you have a very stern commanding officer who would disapprove.”

“Corporal Richardson. She’s not so bad really, but you’re right. She is expecting me back on base as some point,” she said with regret, patting down her own hair.

“Here,” he said, pulling a comb out of his uniform pocket.

“Thank you,” she said.

As she wrestled her curls back into place, he asked, “May I see you again?”

“Yes! Yes, I would like that very much.”

She handed him back his comb and watched him tame his sandy hair back into place before starting to pack up their picnic. As they folded the blanket, they agreed that they would write to one another and fix a date when both of them were granted passes off their base. Then he stood up and helped her to her feet.

As Jack tucked the blanket away, Izzie looked around, memorizing every detail of the clearing. It might not be where she had her first kiss, but it was where she’d had her best one.

8 May 1942

Dear Sylvia,

I hesitated to write to you after your last letter. It was not easy to read, in part because it has always been simpler to remain angry and not to think about what growing up must have been like for you. I remember you talking about all of the little jokes you used to have with Dad, but all I have of him are snatches of memories that, like ghosts, I can never really be certain were real. I should have realized what it might have been like to be you, four years older than me, as you lost him and saw our lives change.

I knew something of the story of Mum speaking to the Sheltons, but I don’t remember going with her. I don’t recall the shame or the embarrassment that you wrote of. Instead, my clearest early memories are happy ones of the shop and our flat with the little bedroom we shared or sitting on the sofa while you read to me and Mum finished off hand sewing in the evenings.

I realize now how that flat must have seemed like such a step down in our circumstances to you. How could you not resent it and the shop along with it? I don’t blame you for running toward a life with Hugo, but I wish you’d made room for Mum and me along the way.

I hated it when you left. You were my best friend. I looked up to you in so many ways, but when you met Hugo it was as though Mum and I never existed. Watching you marry him while sitting in the front pew rather than standing with you as a bridesmaid hurt, and when you failed to come by the shop or even telephone, it felt as though you were happy to wash your hands of us.

That is why I hated it so much when I found out that Mum left Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions to both of us. You left and I stayed, and she still didn’t trust me to take over the shop.

I know you think I worship Mum, but I was angry when I found out what she had done. You were right when you wrote that our mother was many things. She was brave, as you said, but she was also wrong. She should have advertised. She should have freshened up our designs. She should have continued to do all of the things that had helped her in those early years of the shop.

She should have trusted me.

Thank you for taking care of the shop while I am away, whatever your reasons were for saying yes. Again, there are probably a number of things I haven’t even considered you might have had to give up by agreeing to do it—although I am selfishly glad, for Mrs. Shelton’s Fashions’ sake, of your committee meetings—and it appears I have underestimated your energy when it comes to the business. I thought you would hardly last a month before you threw your hands up and left. For that, at least, I owe you an apology.

Regarding your fashion show, I would consider speaking to Miss Taylor, Mrs. Stevens, Mrs. Moss, Miss Burton, and Mrs. Lewis. If you can convince Mrs. Nickelson to agree to the show, I would specifically ask her to present a coat. However, the chances of Mrs. Becket agreeing are slim, as she’s as thorny as they come. You might also wish to speak to Mrs. Davies.

Miss Reid should have all of their addresses.