Page 52 of Slow Burn Summer

“Still not with you,” he said.

“Don’t lie to me, Charles, you forget how long I’ve been in this industry. What were you thinking of, making eyes at each other over lunch? Thank God you were at least out of public sight, but people in this industry talk, and trust me, they are.”

He’d been at the center of enough gossip and rumors for her comment to hit a nerve. “Who is, and what are they saying?”

Her irritated sigh rattled down the line. “I’ve put the agency’sreputation on the line for this book, this isn’t the time for your hero complex. Do I need to remind you how much everyone involved has to lose if this thing publicly unravels?”

While she’d been speaking, he’d been thinking. The only thing that could possibly have been misconstrued was the Russian doll moment at lunch; she was way off the mark with her assumptions. He didn’t owe her an explanation, though, and he wasn’t about to apologize. He tuned back into the tail end of Fiona’s rant.

“People love to talk. One photo of the two of you together would be enough to set the internet sleuths on the case.”

However much he didn’t appreciate Fiona treating him like a teenager, there was an undeniable element of truth to what she’d said. People did love to talk, and clearly already were. He didn’t like the idea of someone watching him and reporting back; they would never have treated his father with such disrespect.

He sat at the table for a while after the call ended, bruised by Fiona’s words. Had he compromised everything by coming here? He’d fallen into the habit of making his agenting decisions based on what he thought his father would do, and in truth, Jojo probably wouldn’t have been in Cornwall right now. He’d made the choice to come here based on his own instinct, not his father’s. It had felt right, in the moment, and right in the tent that afternoon, but sitting in a robe in the small, quiet kitchen…suddenly not so much. He dropped his head in his hands, weary.

—

“I think you win theaward for best omelet I’ve ever had,” Kate said, laying her cutlery down on her empty plate. Charlie had managed to create a decent dinner out of very little—simple cheese omelets and a green salad—but cooked well enough to elevate the meal beyond emergency. The view helped: any mealeaten beside the open window overlooking the harbor stood a good chance of being a winner.

“Cooking was makeshift therapy for me when I moved back in with my father,” he said. “I don’t think he’d ever even used the oven; he had every restaurant in town on speed dial.”

“I can imagine he was a challenge to live with,” she said, trying for tactful. Jojo had approached life with flourish, someone who gesticulated wildly and made decisions on the hoof.

“That’s one way to put it,” Charlie said. “I was no picnic myself either, though, in his defense. Moving back into my childhood bedroom with a shattered career and an impending divorce made me pretty sour company for a while.” He shrugged. “You play the hand you’re dealt. I was lucky to have him as a safety net.”

Kate had sensed a shift in Charlie’s mood when she came down from the shower. He’d put his clothes back on, even though they must have still been damp, but it wasn’t that so much as the dispirited set of his jaw.

“I certainly know how that feels,” she said, thinking of Liv as she refilled their wineglasses. “Liv is mine.”

Dusk had fallen over the harbor outside the open window, the air heavy with the scent of the ocean after a storm. Lanterns shone in a few of the trawlers and people milled around, emerging after the rain.

“Fiona called while you were in the shower.”

Whatever she’d said had clearly knocked Charlie’s mood off-center. “Is everything okay?”

The low lamplight cast shadows across his face. “I shouldn’t have come here today,” he said.

“Did she tell you that? Because I’m glad you did. I was struggling and you saved the day.”

“Me and my hero complex,” he huffed, shaking his head.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said, unsure how she’d said the wrong thing.

He sighed and rolled his shoulders. “I know. But the last thing either of us needs is people seeing us together and jumping to the wrong conclusion. Or seeing us together at all. I didn’t think things through.”

Kate had seen confident Charlie and wise-cracking Charlie, but she hadn’t encountered unsure Charlie before. Did Fiona even realize the impact she had on him?

“The book is the only thing that matters here. I lost sight of that for a while back there.”

“I don’t agree,” she said, deciding not to hold her opinion in. “Of course the book matters, but you matter too. And I do. You don’t have a hero complex, you just saw I needed help and stepped up.”

“My father wouldn’t have come,” he said, unwilling to let himself off the hook.

“You’re right, he probably wouldn’t,” she said. “And to be honest, he wouldn’t have been able to do what you did today. Your father was many brilliant things, Charlie, but he’d have caused total chaos in that tent today. I needed you, not Jojo.”

He lifted his dark gaze to hers across the table.

“You’re better at this stuff than you think you are,” she said softly, because his troubled eyes told her he still needed to hear it.

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