Page 51 of Slow Burn Summer

“We couldn’t be wetter,” Charlie said, unfazed. “At least it’s warm rain.”

Kate’s fingers finally closed around the key. If this had happened with Richard, she’d have been on tenterhooks and felt somehow responsible for the weather, and he wouldn’t have made any attempt to lighten her load. Over their years together they’d fallen into a pattern where she facilitated and made his life as easy as possible, and anything that played against that narrative always left her feeling as if she’d somehow planned inadequately. Even something as uncontrollable as the weather.

“Got it,” she said, throwing the front door wide. “Come in.”

Pink Cottage didn’t have a hallway; they were straight into the living room, dripping onto the old oak floorboards.

“I’ll grab towels,” she said, kicking her sandals off and running barefoot up to the bathroom. She’d used the biggest of the towels for her shower that morning, and there was only a small extra supply piled on a driftwood shelf. Not nearly enough for two unexpectedly drenched adults. Her eyes landed on the chunky white terry-toweling robes hanging on the back of the door as she stepped out of her soaked dress, and she wrapped one around herself, cocooned.

A glance in the mirror told her she looked as much like a drowned rat as she felt, makeup washed away, hair coiling heavy around her neck. She could use a hot shower, but was too aware of Charlie waiting downstairs so wrapped a towel around her hair and headed back down.

“There’s another of these robes on the bathroom door,” she said. “Have a shower if you like, I’ll put your clothes in the tumble dryer.”

He was back within ten minutes, his clothes and her sundress jumbled together in his hands. She ignored the shiver down her spine and grabbed them from him.

“So, there isn’t a tumble dryer,” she said, having investigated while he was upstairs and found only a collapsible clothes drying rack in a cleaning cupboard. It was far too warm to light a fire, so they were left with no option but to hang their clothes to dry slowly over the rack in the kitchen.

“I feel as if we’ve joined a cult,” she said, gesturing between their matching outfits as she filled the kettle.

“Sorry, it’s a bit weird,” he said. “Definitely not in the agent handbook.”

She started to laugh as she added tea bags to the pot. “I just had an image of how much Fiona would hate being caught in this situation. Or worse, your dad! I definitely wouldn’t have wanted to be in bathrobes with your father.”

The thought of Jojo charging around Pink Cottage in a bathrobe didn’t work at all. He was considerably shorter and less rangy than his son, yet somehow he’d seemed to take up more space.

“He’d have been like a small, trapped bull,” Charlie said, standing close to the window to study the steel-gray skies. “I’ll walk into town when it blows over and sort a hotel.”

“You’re very welcome to the sofa,” she said, aware they were being awkward around each other and not sure how to make things less weird, because in truth he looked as if he’d just wandered down for breakfast in his Amalfi villa and it was massively distracting. He was just naturally luxurious on the eye and it had her on edge. “I can’t vouch for it, though, it might be lumpy as hell.” She opened the fridge. “And the establishment would like to make it known that it can only supply egg-based meals, and”—she picked up a bottle of red that had been left for her and inspected the label—“Pinot Noir.”

He accepted the mug of tea she passed him. “Let me make a few calls,” he said. “It’s a tourist hotspot, somewhere nearby will have a room.”

They didn’t. Not available places, in any case, being the height of summer, a heat wave, and romance festival weekend.

“Looks like I’ll have to take you up on the sofa, if the offer still stands?” he said, pushing his hand through his hair.

“Honestly, it’s fine, we’re adults. You came all this way, I’m not about to chuck you out in a storm.” She twisted her hair around her fingers, nervous.

“I’ll cook.”

“No arguments here,” she said, holding her hands up. “I can’t remember the last time someone except Liv made me dinner, and I’d never tell her but she’s a pretty terrible cook. Her kids are always glad when Nish is on weekend cooking duty.”

He opened the fridge, and she clutched her mug of tea, suddenly overwhelmed with the forced intimacy of the situation.

“I might go and grab a shower,” she said, turning away. In the bathroom, she threw the lock and leaned against the door. So they were spending the night together in Pink Cottage. That was okay, wasn’t it?

27

“What the hell are youdoing in Cornwall, Charlie?” Fiona dispensed with a greeting and went straight for the throat.

He looked at his mobile, surprised by her sharpness. “Giving Kate a hand?”

“Putting your hands all over her, more like.”

Charlie looked over his shoulder, half expecting Fiona to materialize in the small kitchen. He was alone, the sound of the running shower upstairs assuring him Kate was out of earshot.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, letting a slightly pissed-off tone creep in.

“I’m talking about you two gazing into each other’s eyes and holding hands like lovesick teenagers at the damn festival today,” she said.

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