Page 49 of Slow Burn Summer

“I read an advance copy of your book on holiday in Portugal a few weeks ago,” Sally rasped, in a voice Kate would have recognized in her sleep. “You’ve got a dazzling future ahead of you, my darling.”

And then she was gone, clutching the arm of her assistant. Sally’s books were myth and legend among the romance community, her inimitable heroes and ballsy heroines the bedrock of the genre for the last thirty years.

“Oh my God, I love Sally Rose with my whole heart,” she said, watching her retreating figure. “I should have said something, anything. Did I even say thank you? Oh shit, I didn’t, did I? I was dumbstruck by the sight of her. She’s going to think I’m a monster.”

“You curtsied, I think she got the message. Prue will be straight on the phone to get a cover quote for the next print run,” Charlie said. “Speaking of which, I bring news.”

“Go on?”

He put his plate down and gave her his undivided attention, sending heat prickling up her neck.

“It’s made tomorrow’sSunday Timeslist, Kate. Straight in at number three.”

She gasped, wide-eyed, and he put a cautionary finger against his lips. “You can’t breathe a word until it’s out in print.”

She stared at him, her fingertips pressed against her mouth to stop any noise escaping. He nodded, triumph in his whiskey-cola eyes, enjoying being the one to deliver the news every author dreams of, even pseudo ones.

“I can’t believe it, Charlie,” she whispered, euphoric. “They won’t change their minds?”

He turned his mobile around to show her Prue’sconfirmation email, the flurry of out-of-character exclamation marks and whoops.

“Wow,” she murmured. “This is really special, isn’t it?”

He whistled low under his breath. “It sure is. Everyone’s excited.”

She sat for a few quiet seconds thinking about Sally Rose, and the readers she’d met in the tent, and the impendingSunday Timeslisting. It was all such terrific news, validation that the book was knocking it out of the park.

“Okay?” Charlie said, watching her carefully.

She nodded, then shrugged. “It’s…I don’t know. I’m being selfish, really. I just wonder how it would feel if it was genuinely mine, you know? If I’dactuallywritten theSunday Timesbestseller that Sally Rose loves.” She stopped, then started again. “I feel like a fraud among all these people.”

“Right.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Kate, how many people have told you just today how much they love the book? The woman who said it took her mind off her husband’s illness, or the girl who’d read it to her neighbor who can’t see to read anymore? None of those things would have happened without you.”

She took a cooling drink of water, trying to let Charlie’s conviction shore up her own. Her face must have told him she wasn’t quite there yet, and she really needed to get over this attack of nerves before she went back inside the tent.

“You’ve seen Russian Matryoshka dolls?” he said.

She frowned. “Liv had a set when we were kids.”

“Right,” he said, his knees skimming hers as he turned to look her straight in the eyes. “See the book as the smallest doll in the center.” He bunched her hand into a fist on the bench between them. “Then there’s the author,” he said, blanketing her fist with his own hand. He nodded for her to add her other hand to the top of the pile.

“That one is you,” he said, and then he placed his bigger, warm hand over hers like a protective cap. “This is me, then the publisher. We’re one team, all working together to protect the book and get it out there into the hands of the people who matter the most. The people queuing in that tent.”

She looked at his fingers, strong and capable over hers, and then she looked up into his dark, deadly serious eyes and believed him.

“It’s a good thing,” she said, letting out a long, slow breath.

“A really good thing,” he said. “Now come on. Kate Darrowby’s public awaits.”

26

And boy, did they await.Her after-lunch queue snaked its way among her neighbors, made up of avid readers hauling trollies full of books, bloggers with prizes for her to sign, handmade albums with beloved quotes pulled from the story. She was hugged, she held someone’s baby, she video-called with someone’s best friend on the phone in France, and she signed, signed, and signed. Her face ached from smiling and her back ached from being constantly up and down, but she loved every last second.

“What’s that noise?” she said, toward the end of the afternoon.

Charlie handed her a fresh bottle of water. “Rain. I did say it was on the way.”

The woman at the front of the queue grumbled about the weather and handed her book over, then narrowed her eyes as she studied Charlie for a long second.

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