Page 48 of Set to Love

“Sounds good to me,” I say, reaching into the back to grab my bag. “I think it’s been at least two years since I’ve spent a day at the beach.”

“That long?” Max asks. His attention settles fully on me, and for a second, my brain shuts down.

“Uh-huh,” I say, scrambling to reboot it. “When my family first moved here, the beach was a big novelty. I’d beg my parents to take me every weekend. But as an adult, it’s way too much effort. Seriously. In the hour it takes to get here, I could be hitting the gym or drilling my backhand.”

Max’s expression shifts, a shadow of guilt crosses his face. “We don’t have to do this today, Katie. If you need to train⁠—”

“No.” I shake my head, catching his eye. “That’s not what I meant. Before you showed up, it felt like every single minute had to be productive. I was so hyper-focused on fixing something—my serve, my drop shot, my approach shot. I’d forgotten there was more to my life than tennis.”

I offer him a reassuring smile, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Honestly? You’re helping me get out of my head. I have a big tournament this Saturday, and for once, I’m not stressing about it.”

“Katie, why didn’t you say anything?”

“Why? So you could cancel?”

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have dragged you out here. I get it. I’m exactly the same before an opening night—I need complete focus.”

I shift in my seat and slowly place a hand on his, feeling the warmth of the sun through the windshield. Max’s breath hitches. I reach across the console, intertwining our fingers and squeezing gently.

“Max, for the last week and a half, I’ve been playing better than I have in months. I’m moving better and hitting cleaner. Even Zoe noticed. And all of that. . . that’s thanks to you. I owe you. Big time. But now? No more work talk. Let’s just enjoy the beach.”

He studies our joined hands for a heartbeat. His thumb slowly traces a circle over the back of my knuckles, before looking back up at me with a soft smile.

“And actually . . . ” I glance over my shoulder, doing a quick mental inventory of the gear I have stashed in the back seat. Tennis skirts, tank tops, a couple pairs of shoes, and enough athletic tape to survive a natural disaster. Not a single swimsuit.

If Zoe were here, she’d be full-on yelling, Katie Keller, step away from the spandex. Go into that store and pick a bikini and a cute dress. Or else.

I’d better listen to my conscious. Or in this case, Zoe.

“We need to make one quick pit stop,” I finish.

Max follows my gaze toward the storefronts lining the street. “For something more beachy?”

“Uh-huh.” I gently unlace my fingers from his, grabbing my purse and reaching for the door handle. “Follow me.” I hop out of the 4Runner and lead him across the street toward a local surf shop that smells like coconut wax and new rubber.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing back on the sidewalk, swinging a paper shopping bag filled with my old clothes. It took some digging, but I managed to snag a navy-and-white striped two-piece swimsuit on sale. The best part is that they have boy-short bottoms. They’re the perfect compromise between cute and comfortable.

As I stand by the store window, I can’t help but catch my reflection and admire the sky-blue sundress I have over the swimsuit. I look good. But more importantly, I feel confident.

I’ve always struggled with clothes shopping. Athletic bodies just aren’t built for standard sizing charts. Most days it’s easier to hide in leggings and oversized shirts. But today, for once, I want to feel less like a tennis player and more like a girl on a date.

I take a steadying breath and step out onto the sidewalk. I see Max before he sees me. He’s leaning against a pillar near the shop’s entrance. His transformation is enough to make me stop in my tracks.

He’s still wearing a white T-shirt and baseball cap, but he’s ditched the dark jeans for a pair of high-cut khaki shorts. My gaze hitches on his feet, and I have to bite back a laugh. He’s committing the ultimate Florida fashion sin—white crew socks pulled straight up to his knees with his sandals.

It should be a total deal-breaker. But the way the cotton hugs his calves . . . Gah. Why do I have to have a thing for men’s legs in socks?

“I know,” he says, gesturing down at his feet with a playful shrug, completely aware of my stare. “It’s all very ‘dad on holiday,’ but I wanted to go for comfort.”

When he finally looks up at me, the words die in his throat. His fingers go completely slack, and his phone clatters onto the sidewalk with a thwack.

He just dropped his phone because of me. Me!

“Blimey, Katie,” he says, his voice dropping to a rough register as he closes the distance between us.

He stops just inches away. His gaze wanders slowly down the line of my collarbone, lingering on the bare skin of my shoulders before traveling back up to my face. The intense, dark heat in his eyes makes my pulse take a sudden, violent leap.

“You look. . .” His voice catches, and it takes him a full beat to find the words. “Absolutely gorgeous, Katie. Blue is a proper brilliant color on you.”