Insisting I wear it, actually, although I wasn’t exactly complaining. Mainly I was too busy admiring Jack’s suit, which was a dark charcoal with the most subtle gray pinstripe imaginable, and draped perfectly over his body.“My other vice,” he said, when he caught me peeking at the lining of his jacket as it lay on the bed, tossed there while he fiddled with his tie in the mirror. “I had a few suits made in London while I was there. This was the most recent one, it’s the closest to still being in style I guess. Really the only one lightweight enough to wear here. Or back home, except in January or February.”“You really had them made from scratch? Like, bespoke?” I tried to picture Jack standing while all those measurements were being taken, and realized it was no problem as long as I pictured him with a kind of childish glee at the absurdity of it all.“Mm-hmmm. You get spoiled though. It’s like flying first class. You can never go back to coach after that. I can never buy suits off the rack again.”“Let’s hope you never have to, unless you lose your luggage again sometime.”
