“I mean pilots.” She nodded toward the wings on his uniform. “I don’t see pilots.” Out of every job in the Royal Air Force, pilots were the most nomadic in regard to where they slept, and geography wasn’t the least of it. They also had a tendency to die with a frequency she couldn’t stomach.
“Shame.” He clicked his tongue.
She tugged on her luggage, and he released it.
“It is most assuredly my loss,” she professed, the words ringing true in her own ears. She shouldn’t go. That didn’t mean she didn’t want to. Longing resonated through her like a church bell, hitting hard and loud, only to come again in softer echoes the longer she stood there looking up at him.
Was every American as handsome as he was? Surely not.
“No, I mean it’s a shame that I’ll have to resign. I do love to fly.” A corner of Jameson’s mouth quirked a little higher. “Wonder if they need more officers over at Sector Command?”
The other pilot scoffed. “Stop flirting—we’re going to be late.”
Scarlett arched a singular eyebrow at Jameson.
“Let me take you to dinner,” he asked again, this time softer.
“Stanton, we really have to go. We’re already late.”
“Give me a second here, Donaldson. Come on, Scarlett, live a little.” Those eyes of his stayed locked on hers, unraveling her defenses.
“You really are insistent,” she accused, straightening her spine.
“It’s one of my finer qualities.”
“It hardly argues that I should acquaint myself with your less-than-finer ones,” she muttered.
“You’ll like those, too.” He winked.
Oh, lord. That single action nearly wiped out any and all reasoning she had left. She snapped her mouth shut to keep from sputtering and prayed the flaming heat in her cheeks didn’t give her away. “You’re honestly going to stand there until I agree to go to dinner with you?”
He seemed to ponder that for a second, and she fought the urge to lean closer to him. “Well, you’re still standing here, too, so I figure you might actually want to have dinner with me.”
She did, damn him. She wanted to see him smile again, but she might not survive that little wink twice.
“Stanton!” Donaldson shouted.
Jameson watched her like she was a play and he couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
“Well, if you’re not, then fine, I’ll go—” Constance started, stepping forward and jarring Scarlett out of her staring contest.
“I’ll go to dinner with you,” Scarlett blurted, mentally cursing her sister’s gleeful little smirk.
“Are you going to make me turn in my wings first?” He smiled, and her stomach filled with another zing of electricity.
“Would you?” she challenged.
His head tilted to the side. “If it got me a dinner with you…I just might.”
“Stanton, get in the bloody car!”
“You’d better go,” she urged, stifling a grin.
“For now,” he agreed, his eyes dancing as he backed away. “But I’ll be seeing you, Scarlett.” He flashed her another smile and disappeared into the car.
They pulled away a heartbeat later, vanishing down the road toward the airfield.
“Thank you for the help, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at Constance as they headed into the hut.
“You’re quite welcome,” Constance answered unabashedly.
“You’re supposed to be the shy one, remember?”
“Well, it had appeared that you had taken my role for the moment, so I assumed yours. It’s rather fun to be the bold, outspoken one,” she mused, smiling over her shoulder as she waltzed through the door.
Scarlett scoffed but followed her conniving little matchmaker of a sister.
I’ll be seeing you, Scarlett. Trouble, indeed…if he survived tonight’s patrol flights. Her chest tightened at the all-too-real possibility that he wouldn’t. Cardiff had been bombed last week, and patrols were becoming increasingly dangerous with the Nazis’ advance. This vise of worry was the precise reason she had a no-pilots rule, but there wasn’t much she could do but head to work and wait to find out if she would ever see Jameson again.
Chapter Four
July 1940
Middle Wallop, England
Dappled sunlight filtered through the leaves of the giant oak tree and flickered over Scarlett as she lay below on a thick plaid blanket, thoroughly enjoying her first day off in almost a week. Not that she minded keeping busy. There was a certain rush to being at work that she found utterly addictive.
But there was something to be said for a miraculously cooler day, a stiff breeze, and a good book.
“I’ve just finished,” Constance said, waving a folded piece of paper from her seat at the picnic table.
“Not interested,” Scarlett responded, turning the page so she could sink further into the misadventures of Emma. Her choice in literature was yet another thing for her mother to pick apart, another example of failing to meet their impossible expectations.
“You’re not interested in what Mummy has to say?”
“Not if it has anything to do with Lord Ladder Climber.”
“Do you want me to read it to you?” Constance leaned toward her sister, bracing her hand on the bench so she didn’t tumble off.
“Not particularly.”
Constance sighed heavily, then turned on the bench. “Okay then.”
Scarlett could practically taste her sister’s disappointment in the air. “Why don’t you tell me about the other one, instead, poppet?” She glanced over the cover of her book to see Constance’s eyes light up.
“Edward says that he loved our time together, and that he’s hopeful he can coordinate his leave with ours again soon.”
Scarlett propped herself up on her elbows. “You could always meet him at Ashby. I know you both love it up there.” She loved the small estate, too, but her affection was nothing compared to how Constance felt about the place where she’d fallen in love with Edward.
“We do.” Constance sighed, running her fingers over the envelope. “But it’s not worth the time to travel. It’s easier to meet him in London.” She looked off into the distance, as if she could see Edward’s brigade group from there. Then her eyes popped wide, and her gaze darted back to Scarlett’s. “You look beautiful,” she blurted. “Try to relax.”