Page 67 of Set to Love

“Heading back to the airport?” I guess, quickly clicking my phone screen off.

“Unfortunately. London’s calling again.”

“You could send me in your place,” I say, leaning back on my stool. “I’d love to go, except I don’t know anything about physics and roller coasters. Only know how to scream when they drop.”

“It’s a tempting offer.” He looks like he’s seriously considering it.

“Can I get you some gnocchi and cannolis to go?”

Theo flashes a half smile. “Only if you can spare them,” he says. “I know you lot are busy.”

“We’re never too busy for you. I think Lina would kick my butt if I let you leave without a decent meal. You know how she feels about airport food—it’s overpriced cardboard.” I push myself off the stool, my ankle protesting as I make my way to the stove. I fill a pot with water and set it on to boil. Steam soon starts curling toward the ceiling. “Give me seven minutes. I’ll whip a fresh batch up for you now.”

“Brilliant.” He watches me for a beat, his eyes tracking the hitch in my step. “How are you doing, Katie?”

“Sore, but better than I was on Saturday.” I add the gnocchi shells to the hot water. “I’m still supposed to baby the ankle for the next week. Resting. Ice. You know the drill.”

“And your next match?”

I shrug, keeping my back to him while I place the lid over the pan. “I’m not sure. Coral Bay gave me a lot to think about. My mom’s hinted that if things don’t go well this year, I should consider going back to school to finish my degree. I’m starting to wonder if she has a point.”

The words feel strange coming out of my mouth. For so long, there was never a Plan B. Just tennis. I’ve never given any consideration to what life might look like when I hang up my racquet.

Theo frowns. “I don’t think you should make any premature decisions. If you hadn’t been forced to play two matches on an injured ankle, I think you had every chance of winning that tournament.”

“You’re kind, Theo. But you don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

“I’m not,” he says bluntly. His voice drops its playful edge. “You know me. I don’t do flattery, and I don’t mince words. I say what I mean, even if it gets me into trouble.”

“Kaori?” I ask, tilting my head toward the door.

He nods. “Among other things.”

I turn toward the refrigerator and pull out a tray of freshly piped cannolis, focusing on the task instead of the conversation.

“My point is,” Theo continues, “you’ve got the pieces. The athleticism. The shots. The work ethic. What you don’t have is someone putting all of it together.” He meets my eyes.

“You need the proper training environment.”

“My coach search hasn’t gotten off the ground yet.”

“About that. I have a friend who coaches. He’ll be in Lake Nona this weekend giving a clinic. I mentioned that I know someone who’d make an excellent hitting partner for the participants. If you play like I know you’re capable of, there’s a good chance he’d take notice.”

I hesitate. The opportunity sounds almost too good to be true. “Do you, uh . . . happen to know how much he might charge?”

Theo studies me for a moment. “Katie, is that honestly the first thing you thought of?”

I look away. Theo has never made me feel embarrassed about money, but he also doesn’t have to calculate every expense before saying yes.

He sighs. “I thought we’d fixed that particular problem. The sponsorship?”

I freeze. “You mentioned the possibility last week, but you never said anything else about it. I didn’t want to ask in case it fell through.”

He runs a hand over his jaw, looking genuinely annoyed with himself. “I’m sorry. I could’ve sworn I asked my assistant to ring you. It must’ve slipped through the cracks before my last trip. It’s all been arranged—if you want it, that is.”

“You actually found a sponsor?”

“I did.”