Page 89 of Set to Love

“Both.”

He adds them to our haul before we loop back out of the market. We head down a series of quieter side streets, where the glass-and-steel office buildings start to give way to older, soot-stained brick.

“Wait, there’s an actual Gracechurch Street?” I ask, slowing down as I spot the sign. “I honestly thought it was made up.”

“The street?” Max tilts his head, a bit amused. “No, it’s real. Why?”

“It’s from Pride and Prejudice,” I explain, feeling a little geeky. “It’s where Elizabeth Bennet’s aunt and uncle live. The Gardiners.”

“Ah.” Max nods, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I didn’t realize you’re a Jane Austen fan.”

“I have a confession to make,” I admit, dropping my voice as if we’re in danger of being overheard by the literary police. “I’ve read plenty of fan fiction, but I could never get into her writing. Please don’t tell the internet.”

Max chuckles, bumping his shoulder against mine. “Your secret is safe with me. I haven’t touched them either. I’m more of a Middle-earth, high-fantasy kind of lad.”

“I’m surprised nobody has adapted Lord of the Rings into a massive West End musical yet,” I say. “It seems like a natural fit.”

“Oh, they tried.” Max grins. “It flopped. Spectacularly. The score was incredible, though. I still have the soundtrack on my Spotify. We can listen to it over lunch if you want to judge it for yourself.”

“I just keep winning the lottery over and over today.”

“You and I both.”

We stop before a set of heavy iron gates, and Max pushes them open with a rhythmic creak. “Here we are. Welcome to St. Dunstan in the East,” he says.

My jaw drops. The roar of the city vanishes, replaced by a profound silence. We’re standing in the skeletal remains of a church.

The stone arches rise toward the open sky like ancient rib cages, and thick ivy drapes over the empty Gothic windows like velvet curtains. There’re even some trees growing directly out of the stone floor.

“Max,” I breathe, watching the sunlight filter through the canopy and dance across the mossy stone. “This is unreal. I didn’t know London had secret hideaways like this.”

“I discovered it by accident after an audition a few years ago,” he says, leading me toward a secluded wooden bench tucked under a stone window frame. “I figured after the morning you’ve had, you needed somewhere quiet.”

He sets my bag beside the bench before holding out a hand to help me navigate the uneven stone floor. As I finally sit, a groan of pure relief escapes me.

“Better?” he asks, sitting down close enough that our shoulders brush.

“Much,” I say, leaning my head back against the cool stone wall and closing my eyes for a second.

I hear the hollow crack of the baguette as Max breaks it in half. I open my eyes to see him handing me a piece with a slice of cheddar cheese. “Eat up, penguin. Let’s get some food in you before you grow roots and become part of the architecture.”

I take the bread, looking at him in the dappled light filtering through the ruins, and realize I’m happier than I’ve been in months. My tennis career finally feels like it’s turning a corner, and I’ve reconnected with the man who’s been haunting my thoughts for weeks.

“You’re staring,” Max says, though he doesn’t look away as he unwraps the chicken.

“Just taking it all in,” I admit, leaning my shoulder into his. “The church. The food. You.”

Max blinks slowly, his gaze drops to the container in his hand before he sets it aside on the bench. The playful energy from the market shifts into something more serious. “You’ve been on my mind a lot, Katie,” he says quietly. “Coming back to London was the right decision. But leaving you behind was the hardest part.”

The honesty in his voice makes my chest tight. I set my own food down, the appetite I’d just rediscovered instantly vanishing. “Telling you to go wasn’t easy, Max,” I say, staring at the crinkled brown paper bag between us. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I couldn’t see a version of us that worked if we’d both stayed in Orlando.”

I reach out, my fingers mindlessly tracing the edge of a pastry wrapper. “London is your home. It’s where your life is. You might not have resented me at first, but eventually, if things stopped working out, you would’ve seen me as the reason you gave up your dream.”

“Katie, look at me.”

I look up. Max has shifted on the bench, turning his body toward mine so our knees are almost touching. “I never would have resented you,” he says, his eyes searching mine. “Staying would have been my choice, and I would have owned it.”

I flinch slightly, but he doesn’t pull back. “It felt like you wanted me gone. Like you were dead set against even giving us a chance. I wanted to respect your wishes because I care about you,” he continues. “I’d hoped that you might change your mind. Because those two weeks we spent together, I’d never felt so understood by another person. I wanted to see where that went. I still want to see where it goes.”