Page 32 of Soaring Sweethearts

“The lovely Constance Pritchard.”

Shit.

Hank whistled. “No wonder you don’t want us to know. Ernie will not be happy about that.”

As if Jack didn’t know.

“You’ve got it all wrong. Constance is practically my sister.”

“Uh huh,” said Hank, grinning.

“I’ve known her since we were kids. We’re friends. Always have been.”

“Sure, you are,” said Hank. He turned to Bill. “Methinks he doth protest too much. Do you agree?”

“Oh, he definitely doth.” Bill’s shoulders shook with laughter.

Damn it all. Why did they have to meddle? This was none of their business. Jack’s ears burned, and his collar was too tight. He tugged at it, mind scrambling for a way to deflect.

Glancing around, Hank pulled a small flask out of his inner jacket pocket and poured some amber liquid in Jack’s coffee. “Take a drink. It will do you good.”

It was only two in the afternoon, but to hell with it. Jack took a sip and then another. He should never have gotten up this morning. Then none of this would have happened. If he could wind back the clock, he would.

The spiked coffee burned as it trickled down his throat. Instead of providing relief, it only made him hotter. He loosened at his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, trying to ignore the bead of sweat trickling down his back.

“Will you look at him?” said Bill, leaning back and crossing his arms with a satisfied smirk. “Red as a beet. Poor Jack’s got it bad.”

“Constance Pritchard,” said Hank. “That’s a tough one. Luckily, I have some experience falling for a woman from a disapproving family, and you can benefit from my hard-won wisdom.”

Jack rolled his eyes. His situation was completely different from Hank and Rory’s. First, they were attracted from the very start, whereas Jack had no idea whether Constance felt anything for him at all. Second, it was much easier to ignore a disapproving father you didn’t know than a disapproving brother who also happened to be your best friend.

“Does she know how you feel?” Hank asked.

Bill leaned in, chin in hand and eyes wide.

“Of course not, because there’s nothing to know. You two are imagining things.”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” said Hank, fiddling with his queen and then casually moving it out to threaten Jack’s bishop.

Jack moved a pawn to block without thinking.

“You need to tell her.” Hank took the pawn with a knight.

“Yes, you do,” Bill agreed.

“I’ll never tell her. She can never know.” Jack picked up his bishop to take the knight. Then he realized his mistake.

His two friends stared at him avidly. He’d been outmaneuvered both on the board and in the conversation. It had been all too easy to finagle an admission from him, and somehow Hank had him in checkmate in two moves.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, he knocked over his king in capitulation. “Fine, you’ve got me. So, what do you want from me?”

Hank and Bill exchanged a look. Pouring a little more amber liquid into Jack’s coffee cup, Hank crossed his arms and looked on expectantly while Jack took a deep drink.

“Now,” Hank said, “why don’t you tell us everything from the beginning?”

12

The pot roast was ready, as was the carrot cake Constance had baked in honor of Doug’s visit. It was his favorite.