Page 88 of Slow Burn Summer

Dear Kate,

It seems to me that you’ve experienced everything about being an author except for actually writing a book, which is a shame.

I’ve something to run by you. The publishing team are desperate for more whereThe Power of Lovecame from, and the way I see it, it came from you and me.

I happen to know a thing or two about writing novels, and nothing at all about writing love stories, other than my own. Would you consider riding the author horse again, only this time in the saddle rather than underneath the hooves? Working with you has been the unexpected joy I have found in all of this and I’d selfishly love to continue our partnership.

Yours,

Hugh x

55

Kate arrived a little earlyat Charlie’s suggested meeting point, so she took a moment for herself on an empty bench in the square to people-watch. A jogger in 1970s-style piped terry shorts and huge headphones weaving around an older couple, grandparents perhaps, pushing the kind of vintage pram you might see in royal baby photographs. A woman in corporate dress and trainers, her thumbs flying over her mobile screen as she strode along the path without glancing up. A guy snoozing on the grass with his hat over his face and an open book flat on his chest. Kate absorbed the random snapshot of life, letting the relaxed mood settle her nerves. The vague scent of restaurant food being prepared for evening dinner dates, the distant, ever-present rumble of London traffic. A slow burn sense of anticipation.

Her eyes moved to the hotel entrance, the low-key elegance of the stone facade, navy canopies above the windows and timeless brass revolving doors. It was an if-you-know-you-know kind of place, loyal customers who only told a handful of people about it for fear of it becoming well known. Very Charlie, in other words, she thought, composing a text to Liv in her head.

A small dog veered close by on an extendable lead, and its owners took the hint and clustered around the other end of thebench, a young family with ice-cream-faced kids, a stroller, and the dog.

“Sorry,” the mum laughed as her toddler clambered up in the middle and almost upended himself onto Kate.

Kate smiled, reminded of Alice at that age, looking forward to experiencing the baby days again secondhand with Liv.

“It’s fine,” she said, taking it as her nudge to get going. “I was just leaving, you guys can spread out.”

She wandered toward the hotel, enjoying the flick of her skirt around her calves. She’d known straightaway what she was going to wear tonight, a midnight silk Max Mara–inspired halter-neck Liv had made for her a few years ago. It was a confidence-booster dress, cut to skim and flatter, backless with a thigh-grazing split on one side revealing enough skin to feel daring. It felt appropriate: she’d dared to do difficult things over the last few days—baring her soul on theGood Morning Show,stepping outside to confront balaclava man alone, or so she thought, this morning. And now she was here, tonight. Meeting Charlie in her favorite dress. She’d made several weighty decisions over the last few weeks, and she knew he’d been wrestling with some hefty ones of his own too.

Twenty years previously, she’d walked into Jojo Francisco’s office for a life-changing conversation. It didn’t escape her notice that she was here again now, walking into a conversation with a different Francisco, knowing that, one way or the other, it would change her life again.

Placing her hand on the brass door bar, she lifted her chin and stepped inside.

56

It was instantly cooler inthe quietly luxurious hotel lobby, scented with the heady old-school opulence of fresh flowers and decades of expensively perfumed clientele. Kate glanced around and spotted a sign for the Library Bar, her stomach vaulting as she took the winding steps up through a stone arch, following the sound of live piano music. Books lined the walls, and a few scattered customers sat in deeply upholstered leather chairs clustered around polished wooden tables. A focal-point bar formed the centerpiece of the room, intricate stained-glass panels backlit to create a soft, inviting ambience, a wall of spirits, mirrored shelves containing endless different liqueurs and cocktail ingredients. It reminded Kate of a grand old cruise liner, the kind of place you might take a seat at and order a glass of champagne. She couldn’t see Charlie at first glance, so she perched straight-backed on one of the tall barstools, shaking her head when the uniformed barman glanced across.

“I’m waiting for someone,” she said. She wasn’t concerned Charlie wouldn’t show, and it wasn’t many minutes until someone took the seat next to hers.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Smoky words, fingertips skimmed lightly down her exposed spine.

She turned to look at him, two strangers in a bar.

“Champagne would be lovely.”

The barman popped a bottle and poured them both a tall, chilled glass, leaving the rest in an ice bucket for them to help themselves.

“You look incredible.”

She sipped her champagne. Everything about tonight felt different, as if the world had tilted a degree or two on its axis, an invisible glitter of possibility in the air.

“How was your day?” she said, angling her body toward him, her knees grazing his. Every move felt choreographed, slow-burn sexy, a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

“It started out pretty wild,” he said. “After that it got a bit”—he wavered his palm flat in the air—“rocky. But this part”—he gestured between them—“this part is my favorite bit.”

“Funny thing,” she said. “My day started out pretty wild too.”

He sipped his drink. “Is that so?”

She toyed with the stem of her glass, thinking back over the craziness of the day. “All kinds of hell broke loose for a while, like a scene from a movie, and then this guy appeared out of nowhere to help me. He’s done it enough times now for it to feel like a habit, as if he has some kind of magic knack for knowing when I need him.”

---