Page 50 of Slow Burn Summer

“I was hoping he was going to have husky-blue eyes,” she leaned in and stage-whispered, more than loud enough for Charlie to hear too.

Kate froze, even as her internal voice told her to laugh it off.

“Oh, right,” she managed. “No, this is—it isn’t him.”

“Maybe next time. Can you make it out to Melanie, please?It’s a gift for my best friend, she’s been telling everyone they have to read this book.”

Kate looked down, thrown off her stride, and signed the bookTo Stephanie, with love.

“It’s Melanie,” Charlie said, glancing over her shoulder.

Kate bit her lip, unsure what to do, and he just shrugged and handed her a fresh copy off the pile.

“Any Stephanies in the queue?” he called, raising a laugh as he held the mis-signed book up in the air.

Overhead, the weather had taken an abrupt turn for the worse, rain drumming on the tent roof.

“Sounds like a good old Cornish storm is blowing in,” someone in the line said, as the crowd thinned with end-of-day weariness and the sudden desire to beat the weather home.

The festival clear-down crew moved in with an efficiency that had tables folded before Kate could even gather her belongings up to leave. Authors milled around chatting, many coming to see how Kate’s first signing event had gone, some even snagging a signed copy of the book. She felt included, part of something special, and more than a little out of her depth.

“Ready to go?” Charlie said, looking out of the tent at the pouring rain. Kate was in her sundress and Charlie in jeans and a T-shirt, not a jacket between them. “We’re gonna get wet.”

She threw her bag across her body and shrugged. “I don’t mind the rain. I already look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backward and that was the most exhausting day ever. A cold shower is kind of welcome right now.”

“All right, then…” he said, as if he wasn’t convinced she wouldn’t change her mind. “There’s a pub down the lane we can call a cab from.”

“No need,” she said. “Rachel’s already booked one to pick me up there, let’s make a dash for it.”

Turned out it didn’t matter whether they dashed or dawdled. The rain fell in solid sheets from the slate-gray skies, forks of lightning ripping through the clouds toward the sea in the distance.

“Oh my God!” she shouted, catching hold of Charlie’s hand when he reached out to pull her along beside him. Thunder cracked overhead and they picked their pace up to a run, water streaming down their faces, the road a river when they reached it.

“Just keep going,” he yelled. She was glad of his hand—she could barely see through the rain clinging to her lashes.

By the time they reached the pub they were drenched to the skin, hair plastered to their heads, clothes clinging to their bodies, gasping at the ferocity of the sudden summer storm. A familiar car flashed its headlights from the gloom of the car park.

“God bless my miserable cab driver,” she said.

They tumbled into the back seat, apologizing for the state of themselves as they landed in a sodden heap.

“Am I glad to see you,” she said to the driver. “You’re my hero for coming out in this.”

“A pre-booking is as good as a promise,” he grouched, navigating his way carefully along the rain-flooded road.

“Where are you staying?” she said, looking at Charlie.

He paused, looking at the weather. “I’m getting the train back.”

“Londoners,” the cab driver barked with pleasurable derision. “Line won’t be running till morning after this lot. Station floods at the drop of a hat, some smartarse built it in a dip. I’ll drop you both where I’ve been paid to and then I’m away home.” He glanced up into the gray sky. “June doesn’t do well with thunder.”

Kate softened into silence, managing not to comment on the everyday romance of him racing back for his anxious wife.

“Pink Cottage.” The driver stated the obvious when he came to an abrupt stop beside the gate.

They splashed out into the still-sheeting rain, Kate digging around in the bottom of her soggy bag for the front-door key.

“Sorry, I should have found it in the cab,” she said.

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