Page 63 of Slow Burn Summer

“I’ll take the sofa tonight,” she said when he reappeared.

He looked at her levelly. “No, you won’t.”

“It’s fair. You had the sofa in Cornwall.”

“If I remember rightly, we shared it,” he said after a beat, holding her gaze long enough for heat to climb her neck.

“All the same,” she said. “I’ll take it tonight.”

He didn’t push the conversation, probably leaving it to pick up later.

“There’s some supplies in the car, I’ll go grab them,” he said, heading out and leaving her alone in the second-floor apartment. It felt somehow as if they were in the eye of a storm and had taken refuge in a stranger’s home, both of them edging around the place as if they had no right to be there. She wandered out to the glass balcony again and drank in the view, the crown of her head warmed by the morning sun. Raising a hand to her eyes, she watched Charlie down below, a confident, broad-shouldered guy and his expensive sports car, fitting seamlessly into the exclusive scene as if he belonged there. She’d rarely seen him out of business dress; there was an off-the-clock intimacy to his jeans and T-shirt. He looked up and waved when he caught her watching him, sliding his aviators on as he slammed the boot.

“Right,” he said, nudging the front door open a couple of minutes later with brown bags balanced in his arms. “Here we go.”

She followed him to the kitchen and watched him unpack the shopping onto the kitchen surface. Steaks, a preprepared salad, a bottle of red wine.

“Tiramisu.” He pulled a clear tub from the bag. “My neighbor is Italian, she feeds me when she’s made too much for her family. I think she worries I don’t eat enough since my father died.”

Kate couldn’t imagine anyone feeling sorry for Charlie. He exuded an air of resilience and quiet authority, but perhaps that was just the side of his personality he chose to share with her. Hisprofessional side, maybe? The idea lodged itself in the back of her head for further examination later, that he might hold something of his real self back for the people in his life who weren’t business acquaintances. Was that what they were? On the face of it, of course they were, but it felt like something more too, something intangible and nebulous and complicated.

One thing was for sure—she’d never needed his advice more than she did right now, with her reputation in tatters online, and Liv inadvertently throwing fuel on the social media fire too. She needed to take these couple of days for what they were, a chance to regroup and work out how to put the fire out.

Charlie unloaded other things from the bags. Bacon and eggs, milk, butter, cheese wrapped in waxy paper with string. She filled the empty fridge, working in easy tandem with him.

“Steaks for dinner, then,” she said, sliding them onto the shelf. “How do you like it? You should know I’m one hundred percent going to judge you based on your answer.”

“Rare,” he said. “Medium rare at a push. Any more than that and I’m wishing I ordered the fish.”

“You passed the test,” she said, closing the fridge. “Never trust a well-done guy, it’s a basic life hack.”

He fiddled with the radio system built into the kitchen wall and big band jazz filled the air, the first real sign of his father having spent any time in the place. He sighed before turning it down to background noise.

Kate made coffee, and they sat out on the balcony sofa with their faces turned up to the sun, feet propped on the low table.

“I know we have a lot to work out, but can we just sit for a while?” she said.

He lounged beside her, the press of his arm warm beside hers.

“No arguments here.” He rested his head back on the cushion and closed his eyes. Low music filtered from a hidden outdoor speaker, obviously connected to the in-house system.

She opened a door in her head and mentally pushed all thoughts of home and work inside it. The book, Alice, trifle-gate…all on the other side of the door and locked away until she was ready to face them.

She sipped her coffee and studied Charlie’s profile instead, watched his brow smooth as the music washed over him, the sooty sweep of his lashes resting on his cheek. He was a charismatic man, always thinking two steps ahead; now it was as if someone had momentarily pressed his “pause” button, and as the minutes ticked by, Kate realized he’d fallen from resting to sleeping.

Keeping the door inside her mind well and truly locked, she put her empty cup down and leaned her head on his shoulder, tucking her legs up and closing her eyes too, letting his serenity become her own. In all of the chaos that had surrounded her life since publication day, it was an unexpected oasis of sun-warmed bliss, and she gave herself over to it and snoozed.

34

They were awoken by bothof their phones going off at once, notifications from Prue that the publisher’s official statement had just been released.

We realize there has been some speculation around the publication ofThe Power of Loveby Kate Darrowby, and we hope to clarify things by sharing some of the thought processes behind the publishing decisions.

As always, everything begins with the arrival of the manuscript, in this case a beautiful, impactful love story by a world-renowned author who wishes to remain anonymous. Readers will be aware that ghostwriters and pseudonyms are a regular and transparent part of the day-to-day business of bringing books to market, and although those mechanisms were applied slightly differently in the case ofThe Power of Love,we believe it still sits within the spirit of the usual parameters.

Our priority as a publishing house is to deliver stories we believe in into the hands of readers who will love them, and reviews have certainly proved this to be the case withThe Power of Love.

They say it takes a village to produce a book, and that’s never been truer than the case in point. We’re grateful for the incredible support readers have shown the book, and we ask that the author be allowed to retain the privacy and anonymity they’ve requested.

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