Page 21 of Slow Burn Summer

She didn’t overthink it, just let herself feel the moment of realization that this crazy, unexpected adventure was actually happening. Clutching the book against her chest, she could feel her heart pounding against the backboard.

“What do you think?” he said, his eyes on the novel, and then her face.

“Do you even need to ask?” she said. “I know I didn’t write it, but honestly, I feel incredibly protective about it already, if that makes any sense?”

“You have every right to feel proud,” he said. “You and the author are a team on this, the public face and the private face.” He pulled his mobile from his pocket. “At the risk of you draping yourself over the nearest headstone, shall I capture the moment?”

She turned to him and grinned, still pressing the book to her chest like a proud mama. This was one photo she didn’t mind posing for.

“Can I keep this?” she said, turning the book over in her hands. It was an advance copy, missing the back-cover blurb and author photo as yet, but peppered with early author endorsements from names that made her swoon.

“Of course, it’s yours,” he said. “There’s something else too. I chatted with the author a few days ago. They’re open to anonymous email contact with you, if it would help?”

“Really?” Kate said, taken aback, thinking of the numerous occasions when Fiona had reiterated the no-contact clause.

“Really. I can pass on your email if you’re open to it.”

“God, yes. I’d love that, I have a million questions.”

“I’m not saying you’ll get all the answers,” he cautioned.

“Anything is a help,” she said. “Did you see Rachel’s email this morning?”

The publishing team always copied Charlie and Fiona into emails they sent her, and this morning’s PR update had been particularly startling.

Charlie nodded. “How do you feel about it?”

Rachel’s exclamation-mark-laden message had filled her withthe kind of fear usually reserved for leaning backward over a sheer drop.

“Oh, you know, full-on terrified,” she said.

“If it helps, I’ve talked to Glynn a couple of times, he’ll put you at ease as soon as you meet him. It’s one of those things that sounds more frightening than it is.”

“Like root canal, or a math exam?” she said, unconvinced. She’d read Rachel’s email aloud to Liv when it pinged in that morning and they’d both gone wide-eyed with panic at the sight of such a household name.

“Just think of it like a chat with an old friend,” he said.

“Sure, if my old friend happens to be a national treasure on live radio,” Kate said. Rachel from PR had been bursting about landing her a spot on the nation’s most-listened-to Sunday-morning show. It was a complete scoop on her part and no doubt earned her a good old pat on the back in the weekly meeting.

“I can meet you there if it would help?”

She shook her head. “I’m actually better on my own in terrifying situations,” she said. “I’ve been working on my author Q&A list with Liv, trying to practice my answers so they come naturally.” She sighed. “It feels like trying to learn lines without a script.”

Charlie didn’t quite meet her gaze. “I might not be the authority on agenting my father was, but script writing I do know a thing or two about,” he said. “And my unsolicited advice would be to keep things as simple and honest as possible. Draw on your own experiences of love and heartbreak rather than someone else’s—even the author’s, if they decide to tell you their story. Grief and love are universal. However lightly you press on that bruise, people are going to feel it and relate.”

Kate took a few moments to digest his unexpectedly insightful reply.

“There’s a line in the book about life being a series of unconnected scenes,” she said. “How sometimes things happen outside of the expected timeline of events, and they only ever exist in invisible ink. Then there’s an intentionally blank page for the reader to imagine or interpret.”

“It’s my favorite part of the book,” he said.

She looked at him, surprised, because it was hers too. “I love the way the author has trusted the reader to decide what’s written there.”

“You’re better at this than you think you are,” he said quietly.

She swallowed, absorbing the compliment. “I’ve probably spent too much time worrying about the small stuff.”

“Like your favorite flavor of cake, you mean?” he said.

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