Page 34 of Soaring Sweethearts

“Verity, can you get me a vase for these flowers?” Constance called to her sister.

“Coming right up.” Verity hurried into the kitchen and came back moments later with a cut glass vase half full of water.

Letting go of Doug’s elbow, Constance let her father pull Doug away into a conversation about the latest endeavors of the church’s soup kitchen. She arranged the flowers in the vase on the sideboard so that she could look at them through the meal. Where had Jack gone off to? Whatever was bothering him, she hoped he’d let it go. This was an important night for her. She wanted to make a good impression on Doug, and it wouldn’t help if Jack spent the meal out of sorts.

Moments later, two sets of heavy feet tromped up the stairs, and Ernie burst through the door with Jack in tow. Good. Ernie would help keep Jack distracted.

Taking off his hat and trench coat and leaving them on the coat stand, Ernie sauntered over to his accustomed seat and sat down, inviting Jack to sit next to him. The golden boy had arrived, and as always, they all fell into his orbit. Constance always felt invisible beside her dashing brother, even though she loved him to pieces. They were both adults now, but she couldn’t help feeling like a gawky girl in pigtails with missing front teeth when he made an entrance.

“Where’s Millie?” Constance asked, as Ernie leaned back in his chair.

“She doesn’t come back from Boston until tomorrow. Sorry, but you’ll have to make do with just me.”

“Coming through!” Mom burst out of the kitchen with a large platter with a steaming pot roast. As she set it down on the table, she announced, “Dinner is served.”

They all crowded around the table, and Doug pulled out a chair for Constance before taking the seat between her and her father and across from Mom. Ernie sat across from Constance. Jack was next to him, and the girls sat at the end.

Things got off to a good start after Pop offered a brief blessing.

“Everything smells delicious, Mrs. Pritchard,” said Doug, as Pop started cutting up and serving the pot roast.

“Please call me Bee,” said Mom. “And this is all Constance’s doing. She insisted on doing all the cooking with you coming over. I just helped get things out of the oven on time so that she could meet you at the door.”

“I didn’t know you were such a talented cook,” Doug said, his smile accentuating his dimple and making her wish she could summon the fluttery feeling he used to give her.

“Constance is good at everything,” Jack said a gruffly, as if Doug had insulted instead of complimented her.

Ernie furrowed his brows at his friend, and Jack swallowed and stared down at his plate.

Clearing his throat, Ernie picked up the mashed potatoes and handed them to Doug. “It’s true. My little sister is good at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Constance said, suddenly feeling overly warm.

“Oh? Name one thing you aren’t good at,” Ernie said, gesturing with a serving spoon.

Attracting a man, she was tempted to say. If she was such a paragon, why did men all keep their distance? She was shy and awkward and always afraid of saying the wrong thing. If only she had a bit of her brother’s boldness and charisma.

“Singing,” she said, picking the most innocuous flaw she could think of.

“I knew you’d say that,” Jack said, without looking up from his plate. “And it isn’t true. You have a beautiful voice, no matter what Josie Simmons said in fifth grade. She was jealous.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She was absolutely right,” Constance said, smiling and shaking her head. Jack could be such a sweetheart sometimes, even when he was mad at her.

“I’d love to hear you sing sometime,” said Doug.

Oh no.

“Would anyone like some more asparagus?” she asked, holding up the platter and hoping they would take her hint to let it go.

“I’ll have some,” Jack said, looking up from his plate at last and reaching for the platter. “Thanks.” He piled an absurd amount onto his plate before passing them to Verity. Then he looked up and winked at her.

There was a moment of electric connection, and she swallowed hard then looked away.

“What other hidden talents do you have?” Doug asked, oblivious.

“She used to write poetry when she was in high school,” said Ernie.

Constance resisted the urge to reach across the table and throttle her brother. As if she wasn’t already burning with embarrassment from the conversation about singing.