Page 90 of Slow Burn Summer

“You were luminous this morning,” he said. “People turned up because they wanted to be part of your story.” He brushed the back of his fingers along her jaw. “I want to be part of your story.”

“You’re my whole book, Charlie.”

He lowered his head and kissed her, slow and searching.

“You’re sure about L.A.?” she said.

“I knew even as I boarded the flight,” he said. “All I could think about was coming home to you.” His fingers stroked herspine, his other hand in her hair. “I tortured myself with thoughts of you and some husky-eyed guy.”

“I’m so sorry about him,” she laughed softly. “I prefer whiskey cola anyway.”

He kissed her full of champagne-tomorrow promises, and she kissed him back with you-make-me-actually-shiver wonder.

“You’re killing me in this dress,” he murmured, making her laugh and melt against him, because the freedom to finally say the things they wanted to was headier than the champagne in their glasses.

She closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder, feeling as if, for the first time in forever, she was exactly where she should be.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, quiet against her ear.

“Where will we go?” she said, not wanting to move out of his arms.

“Wherever life takes us.”

“Can it be Cornwall?”

“It’s a long way to go for dinner.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a flat, gift-wrapped package. “I got you something.”

She pulled the string and opened the paper, revealing a leather-bound notebook. Opening the cover, she fanned the blank pages.

“For our deleted scenes,” he said, sweeping her hair over one shoulder, his fingertips lingering on her collarbone.

She pressed it against her heart. “We might need more pages.”

“I’ll buy more books,” he said.

Epilogue

Fourteen months later in one of London’s flagship bookstores…

The release of a newHugh Hudson novel always created a frenzy of excitement among his loyal army of thriller fans, never more so than for his long-anticipated first book after the loss of his beloved wife, Eleanor. They’d been impatiently patient, turning out in their pre-Christmas droves to welcome him back at book signings up and down the country.

Kate had been queuing for over an hour by the time she neared the front, a hardback under her arm. She’d stuck a cap on and pulled her hair back, not that people tended to recognize her these days. Things had gotten a little wild in the weeks following the whole Kate Darrowby thing, so she’d erred on the side of caution to make sure no one saw her as anything but an avid Hugh Hudson fan, which, to be fair, she absolutely was.

She watched as he chatted easily to the couple in front of her, signing four or five books for them at the same time. The signing table had been placed just far enough away from the queue to allow fans to have him to themselves for a couple of minutes, and a Christmas tree set up to pose beside for a photo with the man himself.

Kate took her cap off as she approached his table. “I didn’t recognize you out of your T-Rex costume,” she said, handing him the hardback book.

“Kate Darrowby, as I live and breathe,” he laughed quietly, his rich, Welsh baritone instantly recognizable. His eyes lingered on the book title, different to all of the thrillers he’d signed that day.

“It’s good to see you,” he said. “How’s life in Cornwall?”

Kate couldn’t keep the smile from her face. “It’s bliss. Charlie worried it might feel isolated, but people visit all the time, Alice especially. You should come and see us in the spring.”

Hugh and Kate had been working together over the last year on the next Kate Darrowby book, exchanging chapters instead of emails these days. It was a work in progress, one they both found profoundly satisfying.

“Thank you, Hugh, for everything.”

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