Page 93

The buzzer rings a couple minutes after six. “It’s open,” I shout toward the door.

I know I should be more cautious about inviting whoever is in the hallway to just walk in, but if someone wants to steal my laptop, they’re going to have to deal with me throwing forty pounds of frozen legumes at them first.

The door swings open, revealing Max. He’s dressed down in joggers and a gray T-shirt, looking unfairly good for someone who just finished a workday.

“Cheers, Katie. Day three of London,” he says, holding up the takeout bags. “How’s it treating—” He stops mid-sentence as he’s slipping his backpack off his shoulder.

His eyes travel from the bags of garden peas on my ankles to the frozen corn on my knees, eventually landing on a bag of mixed stir-fry vegetables balanced precariously on my left hip.

His lips twitch. Then, he loses it.

It isn’t a polite chuckle either. It’s a full-on, doubled-over belly laugh that echoes off my high ceilings and might be loud enough for my neighbors to hear.

I frown, trying to maintain some dignity while a rogue bag of lima beans slides off my shoulder slowly toward the floor. “What? What’s so funny?”

It takes him a solid ten seconds to catch his breath. “I’m sorry,” he wheezes, pointing at my shins. “Should I bow? Or do I need a formal introduction before approaching the Queen of the Tundra?”

“It’s called sport science.” A beat. “And being on a budget.” I say, resisting the urge to move so I don’t cause a veggie avalanche. If a bag splits open, I’ll be cleaning up corn from the baseboards until Christmas. “Besides, these have better coverage than ice packs.”

He continues to laugh, shaking his head as he sets the heavy paper bags on the coffee table. “I’ve seen a lot of things in this city, Katie, but a woman armored in Bird’s Eye garden peas is a first.”

“Just hand over the pad Thai,” I say, reaching a chilled hand toward him. “And try not to defrost my ankles while you’re at it.”

I try very hard to look offended. Unfortunately, he’s laughing so hard I start laughing too.

“You’re adorable.” He looks down at me with an expression that’s half-pity, half-adoration and places the food on the table. “First,” he says, still grinning, “we’re taking photographs.”

“Max,” I whine.

“Future blackmail.”

“Max.”

“Fine. You are the Tundra Queen.”

He unpacks the food, then clears a spot at the end of the sofa, carefully moving the stray bag of lima beans to the floor. Before I can even ask, he sits down and pulls my freezing feet directly into his lap, his palms shockingly warm against my skin.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says, his thumbs already working into my aching arches with a rhythmic pressure. “I’m not letting my favorite stubborn tennis player faint from low blood sugar on my watch. So eat first.” He gently nudges the open container of noodles toward me.

I let out a groan as the knots in my feet begin to dissolve. I don’t need to be told twice. While Max focuses on my feet, I focus on the food. I eat as if I’ve been stranded on a desert island, the spicy peanut sauce and warm noodles finally starting to thaw the hollow chill in my chest.

“So,” he says, his voice losing its playfulness, “how rough was this reality check?”

I stare at the ceiling. I don’t feel like bothering him with my problems, but if we’re going to make this thing between us work, we have to be open with one another.

“An eight out of ten?” I stare at the softened peas sliding toward my ankles. “I knew coming here would be hard. I just didn’t expect to feel this far behind.”

Max’s hands still for half a second. “Katie,” he says quietly, “do you know what I saw when I watched you play in Coral Bay?”

I shake my head.

“I saw someone who fought through a tough, tough match.” His thumbs work another knot loose. “And when it didn’t go your way, you didn’t quit. As much as you probably wanted to, you took a little time, picked yourself back up, and started figuring out how you could become a better player.”

I let out a breath.

“The people who stop improving are usually the ones who think they’ve got nothing left to learn. You flew across an ocean because you knew you still did. I think that’s something to be proud of.”

“You sound like Drew,” I muse. “Are you two sure you’re not both conspiring against me?”