Page 84 of Slow Burn Summer

“He might not even come,” Kate said, still wrapping her head around the idea of these strangers all wading in to defend her and Liv. She stood near to the door, flanked on each side byBridgertonbridesmaids.

“The absolute nerve of him,” someone whispered, and they all turned their heads in unison to see a bike approaching from the far end of the street.

“Quiet, everyone,” Claire whispered, like the floor manager on a costume drama. They were scattered in a line, a statue-still bracelet of color and drama.

An expectant hush fell over them, like guests waiting for the lights to flick on at a surprise party. There was no exact plan as balaclava man drew closer, one hand jauntily on his handlebars, the other reaching inside his jacket for his ammunition. It was as if he hadn’t spotted the difference that morning, distracted maybe, by his task. He was too close, slowing to a stop almost, by the time the crowd erupted, lunging toward him with a battle cry that filled the air with expletives and heaving bridesmaid cleavage. To give the guy his credit, his reflexes were sharp, throwing trifle down the front of his jacket as he whipped his bike around and pedaled hell for leather in the opposite direction. He’d probably have made his escape too, if it wasn’t for someone else coming toward him down the middle of the road.

“Charlie,” Kate breathed.

The rider tried to swerve but Charlie was faster, blocking his path, sending the bike in one direction and the rider sliding on his backside in the other. The crowd swept forward like a wave, encircling him to block all possible escape routes.

Kate stepped up and pulled the balaclava off his head, staringat last at the person who’d been making her life a misery. Messy blond hair, defiant gray eyes, a twenty-something nobody of note, not recognizable to her at all.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” someone hissed behind her, loud and disgusted. Claire moved forward to stand beside Kate, staring at him in disdain. “Ciaran?”

The guy on the road wiped his hands down his legs, smearing trifle and grit on his jeans.

“I was only doing it for you,” he said, scowling at Claire. “You’re so obsessed with your blog and your bloody love stories. This book, that book, every fucking other book.”

The crowd gawped. If theBridgertongirls had had their fans, they’d have flapped them furiously.

“Don’t even, Ciaran,” Claire said, hands on her hips. “Of all the people, my own sodding fiancé…” She raised her eyes to the skies. “I can’t believe this is happening. I want the ground to literally open and swallow me up.”

“Swallowhimup more like,” someone said. “Dissing love stories.”

“How are normal men ever supposed to compete with twatty book heroes?” Ciaran moaned, wiping trifle through his hair.

“By not throwing pudding at us, for starters,” an older woman in a straw hat shouted from the back.

“Or terrorizing us every day,” Kate said.

“Maybe you should read some of those love stories instead of insulting them, you might actually learn something,” Claire said.

“You could start with Kate’s book,” one of thePeakygirls said, taking an elegant drag from her elongated cigarette holder, even though there was no cigarette in the end of it.

“It’s not mine anymore,” Kate said, not prepared to go down that particular road again.

“Oh, trust me, everyone gets that after yesterday, but it kindofisstill yours too,” Claire said. “You were really heartfelt on TV. I felt like such a cow. I think most booklovers would have done the exact same thing if they’d been in your position. I know I would.”

A ripple of agreement went round the crowd, and out of the corner of her eye Kate saw Ciaran try to get to his feet and sidle away. Charlie was behind him, a heavy hand on his shoulder to hold him down.

“Not until they say so, pal.” He looked at Kate to give her the choice, and the crowd fell quiet, many of them enthralled by Charlie’s cool presence. They had no idea who he was or where he’d come from, but they were totally here for whatever it was zinging between him and Kate.

Kate stared at the trifle-splattered man spread-eagled on the road. He was no further threat to Liv. She turned to Claire.

“It’s your call,” she shrugged.

Claire stared at her fiancé, the look of a truly disappointed woman. “Just go to work,” she sighed.

Ciaran clambered up, a sticky, undignified mess, and when he opened his mouth to plead his case, Claire held her hand up, not ready to listen. The crowd parted for him to leave, their arms folded, their faces all set in the same “don’t mess with the book community” expression.

He scuttled away and picked his bike up, giving it a shake before pedaling off, not daring to glance back.

“There’s not enough flowers in the world to make up for this one,” someone shouted after him.

“Or diamonds, or chocolate,” one of the bridesmaids chippedin.

Kate cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, “Or books,” and the women erupted into noisy whistles and applause.

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