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He grinned while lifting his phone toward me. “Smile.”
I blinked just before the camera flashed.
“Theo!” But he was already taking another picture, laughing quietly to himself while I rolled my eyes. Theo looked at me through the screen like he was trying to capture proof of something sacred. Like this version of me mattered.
“You’re ridiculously pretty when you’re happy,” he murmured absentmindedly while recording a short video of me climbing out of the kart.
My chest squeezed painfully hard. Because no one had ever looked prouder of me than Theo did right now. Even when I was covered in sweat and adrenaline and healing in tiny invisible pieces right in front of him.
36
THEO | PRESENT
“Do you think I should wear my pink blazer and skirt or the bright blue one?” Maisey asked, standing in the bathroom, holding up options for herself. This morning, Serena Koloman would be driving my car in FP2. It felt odd getting ready to head to the garage on a practice day but not be the one getting in my car. Maisey was buzzing with excitement. She was so beautiful, it felt overwhelming some days.
“Okay actually, let me just try on both,” she decided, tugging off my sweatshirt that practically swallowed her. I had a feeling I was never getting it back, but I didn’t really mind at all. My dream girl was wearing my team on her chest and my number on her back, that was the best damn thing to ever happen.
“Why did you change your racing number, by the way?” she asked as she pulled on the pink matching outfit and looked at the discarded hoodie on the counter.
“Oh, uh—” I scrubbed a hand over my face.
“Come one Bauer, numbers are sacred. What made you change from the one you had when we were kids? What significance does 93 have?”
“Well…”
“Oh, oh, I know! It’s the number of sports cars you want!” She giggled, making my heart beat loudly in my ears. “No, no! I got it, the highest number of those cheese-filled pretzels you could eat in that little hole in the wall restaurant in London you were obsessed with! Number of times that you wished you were a bird?” She was gasping between breaths, laughing so hard her smile reached all the way up to her eyes.
“God, no.”
“OH! Number of—”
“It’s your birthday,” I ground out, feeling embarrassed. I changed my number once I got my F1 seat. Some do if their number is taken, but my old number wasn’t. I just wanted to change it to hold her with me. To drive for her, after she couldn’t.
“You—” She stood frozen, a hand going over her mouth. “Oh my God.”
“It’s stupid, it’s—”
“You love me!” she cried, jumping up.
“Of course I do.”
“You have loved me.” She was walking toward me now, only her skirt and her pretty pink lace bra on. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pressing her body to mine. My hands instinctively went around her waist, smooth skin under my hands.
“Yeah Maisey girl, I have loved you for a rather long time.” I pressed my lips onto hers, wanting to kiss her forever.
“Hello everyone, and welcome back to the PitSpark Paddock Report. Today, we are joined by Theo Bauer during FP2.” Maisey beamed at the camera before turning toward me, copper hair catching in the harsh fluorescent paddock lights like fire. “Theo, can you tell us why you’re not in your car today?”
The tiny smile pulling at her lips told me she already knew exactly what I was going to say. She was queuing me up perfectly, guiding the interview along with that effortless charm she somehow made look natural. I leaned back a little against the barrier behind us, headset hanging loose around my neck while the roar of engines thundered through the paddock around us. Mechanics rushed past, carrying tire blankets and equipment carts, the scent of fuel and hot rubber heavy in the air. Somewhere down the pit lane, someone dropped a tool loudly enough to echo. Everything around us was chaotic. But Maisey somehow always felt calm inside it. Even now, I could still see the excited energy humming underneath her skin. She’d been buzzing with that energy all morning, trying to catch Serena before the session started, practically bouncing beside me on the walk through the paddock. Unfortunately, by the time we got there, Serena had already been swept away by Simmons and Angel for briefings and final prep before getting in the car.
“Well,” I said, glancing briefly toward the garage where Serena’s helmet sat waiting on the counter, bright under the overhead lights, “we’ve got a bit of a change today because we have a very special guest driving my car during FP2.”
Maisey’s eyes lit up in encouragement, nodding me along gently. God, she was good at this.
“Serena Koloman is an F3, F2, and Formula E champion,” I continued. “She’s been showing really incredible results over the last few years, and honestly, she’s just…a force. Today’s her first time driving a Formula One car, which is always a really special moment.”
“Do you remember your first time in the car?” Maisey asked softly. “Can you tell us a little about that?”
I smiled despite myself at the memory. “Yeah. Very vividly, actually.” The garage behind us erupted briefly as another car rolled in, mechanics immediately swarming around it while radios crackled constantly through the noise. Maisey shifted slightly closer so the microphones could still pick us up over the sound, the sleeve of her jacket brushing lightly against my race suit.
