Page 87

Fifty minutes later, after I manage to take the Jubilee Line in the wrong direction, I make it to London Bridge Station. I’d love to blame the exhaustion, but the truth is, I got cocky. After yesterday, I thought I’d gotten the hang of using the Tube, but apparently, my brain stayed on court two, and I should’ve checked the map.

The moment I lay eyes on Max, my breath catches. He’s leaning against a pillar by the exit, looking effortlessly handsome in a charcoal overcoat and tan checkered scarf.

This has all suddenly become terrifyingly real. He’s here. Only a few feet away from me. Longing, relief, nervousness, and a flicker of fear crash through me all at once.

Then he turns his head and spots me. Just like that, the uncertainty disappears.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “Is that a professional athlete?” he calls out, his voice cutting through the Southbank crowd. “Or did a very exhausted penguin just escape from the London Zoo?”

“I think I’m more of a Lego character than a penguin,” I wheeze, finally reaching him. “My knees have officially fused into solid blocks. They don’t bend anymore.”

“Come here, you Lego penguin,” he says with a laugh. He reaches out and hauls me into his chest. I collapse against him. For a glorious, weightless second, I don’t have to support my own body. My forehead rests against the rough wool of his coat as I take in his scent—cedarwood and pine.

“I’ve missed you so much,” I mumble into his coat, my arms wrapping tightly around his waist.

“Me too, Katie.” His voice is low, vibrating against my temple. He holds me for a beat longer than usual before pulling back to look me over. His eyes scan my face, then drop to my trembling legs. “You’re quivering,” Max says, his tone shifting to concern. “Did you do a proper cooldown? Rehydrate?”

I let out a huff that’s half-laugh, half-groan. “I’m fine. I just haven’t worked out that hard in a week. Plus, I did like twenty-thousand steps yesterday exploring the city. I’ll adjust.”

He looks at me for a long second, clearly unconvinced, then sighs. “You know best, Ace. But at least let me take your kit bag before you tip over.” He slides the heavy strap off my shoulder and onto his own, wincing slightly as the weight settles. “Blimey. What do you keep in here? Bricks?”

“Just the essentials,” I say, feeling a bit sheepish as I mentally tally it up. “Racquets, shoes, water bottles, snacks . . .” I grimace. “Okay, maybe I overpacked.”

“It’s okay, I don’t mind.” He adjusts the strap higher on his shoulder. “Though I’m a bit sore right now.”

I arch an eyebrow. Max is a dancer. He’s in top physical shape. “From what?”

“The trainer I’m working with is helping me build up my chest and shoulders. The directors hinted that if I get the part, I need to look more like a man who can bench press a small car than a dancer.”

“I think you already look like the perfect Eros,” I say, and I mean it. My cheeks warm at the reminder of the way his legs looked in those crew socks.

Focus, Katie. Focus. I clear my throat. “But if you really want broader shoulders, and quickly, you’re welcome to come play some tennis with me.”

“Hmm, maybe I will.” He hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me in close so I can lean some of my weight against him. “Can you manage the walk? Our destination’s about ten minutes away, but we can go somewhere closer if you want.”

“I can manage,” I promise, focusing on the steady rhythm of his stride. “As long as we can sit when we get there. And maybe stay sitting for three to five business days.”

“Don’t worry, we will.”

We make it another couple of steps before I stop. “Wait.”

Max glances down at me. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I smile. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.” Digging into the front pocket, I pull out the zip-top plastic bag I’d tucked inside before leaving Florida. “These are for you.”

Max sets my bag down before taking the baggie from me. A slow grin spreads onto his face as he opens it and pulls out the two postcards. “

A shark?”

“Uh huh.”

He turns it over and reads, “A reminder to look for something triangular, glossy, and symmetrical. Otherwise, it’s probably wood.” A laugh escapes him. “Looks like you’ll just have to keep taking me shark tooth hunting.”

“Someone has to stop you from collecting driftwood.”

“I still maintain they were all tooth-shaped.” He reaches into his pocket. “Speaking of shark teeth . . .” He opens his palm, revealing three of the tiny shark teeth we found linked together on a simple leather cord. “I showed my sister, and she turned it into this. I’m no good with arts and crafts.”

I giggle. “The intimidating keychain.”