Page 116 of Set to Love

“You still don’t sound too enthusiastic about it.”

The waitress appears before he can answer, asking for our order. Max gestures for me to go first. “Oh, I’ll have the strawberry cheesecake with some extra mochi please,” I say, ordering the first thing that catches my eye.

“I’ll have the mango, please,” Max says.

The second she walks away, the tension returns to the booth. Max folds his hands together slowly. “I’m happy,” he says quietly. “Or at least I should be.”

I lean back slightly, watching him carefully. “But?”

He glances toward the café window. “But I always thought becoming a lead would feel like crossing some finish line. That it’d be proof I’d officially made it.” His laugh this time is hollow. “Lately, I’ve felt like sooner or later the director is going to realize he’s cast the wrong person.”

My chest tightens painfully. “Imposter syndrome,” I whisper.

His eyes flick up to mine, surprised. “Yeah,” he admits.

“I know the feeling.” I blink slowly. “Most of this past year, I was losing in the first round of almost every tournament I entered.”

Max winces sympathetically.

“I started wondering if I belonged out there at all. I almost quit more times than I can count.”

“What stopped you?”

“Zoe. My parents. Lina. Theo.” A small smile tugs at my mouth. “My village basically refused to let me give up.”

Max grows very still across from me. “And now?” he asks.

“Everything’s changed. Since I arrived here, I’ve finally started to feel like I belong somewhere again,” I admit. “Having a set of coaches who are invested in me has made all the difference. I’ve stopped treating every setback like proof that I’m failing.”

For a moment, Max doesn’t say anything. Then a small, almost disbelieving smile appears at the corner of his mouth. “I was going to ask how training was going,” he says. “But you just answered the question.”

“I’m still adjusting.” I smile in return. “But I’m happy.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” he tells me after a second. “I know I’m late saying it. About Stratford. The wildcard. All of it.” His gaze holds mine steadily now. “I should’ve told you how proud I was of you much sooner.”

The sincerity in his voice makes my pulse stumble. There was a time when hearing those words would’ve been enough. I would’ve folded right back into him without hesitation. Now, I just sit here, letting the words settle instead of rushing to smooth things over.

“You know what the worst part was?” I ask finally.

Max’s expression shifts. “The voicemail?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I think I could’ve survived the pub if you had been having a bad night,” I admit. “It happens to everyone. But when I told you that I loved you and it barely seemed to register . . .” My breath hitches. “That hurt in a way I don’t think I’ve ever experienced before.”

Max closes his eyes briefly. “Katie⁠—”

“No, please, let me finish.” My voice trembles. “I need you to understand why I reacted the way I did.”

He nods once.

“At first, I kept replaying the conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. Like maybe I picked the wrong moment. Maybe I asked too much from you.” I press my palm flat against the edge of the table. “But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I wasn’t actually angry because you didn’t say it back.”

His brow furrows.

“I was angry because it felt like you weren’t even there with me anymore.”

The words settle heavily between us.

“You were physically sitting right across from me,” I continue quietly, “but your mind was miles away. The script revisions. Your delivery. Your notes. Whatever disaster scenario your brain had convinced itself was about to happen next. I kept trying harder and harder to reach you while you retreated further into your head.”