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That made two of them. This wasn’t working at all. She glanced back at the Thompson residence, following Doug’s gaze. Once again, she tried to imagine herself living there with Doug, and everything in her rebelled against the idea. There was only one man she wanted to live happily ever after with in that house, and that was never going to happen in a million years.
Doug squeezed her hand and let go. “It’s cold out here. You should get inside.”
She waited a moment. Wasn’t she even going to get a kiss on the cheek?
No, it seemed not.
“Well goodnight, then.”
“Goodnight, Constance.”
Doug turned and walked away, leaving her no choice but to climb the steps and head inside. What a disaster.
6
What had possessed Jack to go golfing with Doug? He hated golfing. Mostly because he was no good at it. Golf was a rich man’s game, and he’d never been willing to waste his money on it. But here he was, khaki pants tucked into knee-high boots, wearing an argyle sweater vest over a crisp white shirt and a brown cap, feeling like an idiot while he waited by the door to the country club for Doug.
It was one of those rare, perfect spring days. The sunshine and mild breeze seemed to be taunting him as he watched upper-crust types glide past him with their clubs. He wondered if Myrtle’s husband golfed here. It seemed like the sort of thing he would do, the fiancée-stealing bastard.
Jack had the only Model T in the entire parking lot. It stuck out like a sore thumb, parked between a Rolls-Royce and a Mercedes. A Hispano-Suiza roadster rolled up and parked as he watched, its engine roaring beneath the long, sleek hood. Out came Doug. Of course.
Grabbing his clubs from the trunk of the car, Doug ambled over to Jack, and stuck out his hand.
“Jack, it’s good to see you. I’m so glad we’re doing this.”
Taking the offered hand, Jack shook. It was a firm, friendly handshake. For the hundredth time, Jack reminded himself that Doug was a good man and that he wanted things to work between Doug and Constance.
“I’m glad we’re doing this too,” he said with a bit too much false enthusiasm. “We’ve known each other forever. I don’t know why it never occurred to us to be friends.”
Doug nodded, turning slightly pink and staring at his toes. “Truth be told, I was always a little intimidated by you and Ernie. You were always so good at everything growing up, and I wasn’t much good at anything. Except math.”
Why did the man have to be so humble and likable? It wasn’t fair.
“And look where that’s gotten you,” Jack said, gesturing around at their surroundings.
“I’ve been lucky.” Doug shook his head with a sheepish smile.
He’d been more than lucky. “Nice car, by the way.”
The man reddened further. “My parents got it for me after I got my current job. It’s a bit ostentatious for my tastes, but Father said I needed a nice car to impress my clients.”
“Well, I’d trade my old, beat-up Model T for a bit of ostentation any day.” Jack did fine for himself. Truth be told, he could afford a fancy car if he wanted one, but he was saving up his money for his flight school. Besides, a fancy car wasn’t practical for his needs, especially when he was going to be parking it on the street in Brooklyn. Best to have a Model T like everyone else and not be overly concerned with the inevitable dings and scratches.
“Shall we go in?” Doug gestured toward the door.
“Sure.”
Jack followed Doug into a spacious lobby with dark wood-paneled walls. Large landscape paintings with gilded frames hung on the walls. The floor was covered in green carpet with an eye-bending medallion pattern in gold tones.
“Mr. Brown, so good to see you again. And who is your friend?” said the man behind the imposing oak front desk, eyeing Jack. Even though he was dressed like everyone else, Jack knew he stuck out like a sore thumb. For starters, he didn’t even have his own clubs.
“Jack Thompson. He’s going to be golfing with me today.”
“Of course, Mr. Brown. I assume you want Timmy for your caddy?”
“Yes, please.”
“Wonderful. I’ll have him meet you gentlemen out back. Enjoy your golfing.”
