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“Everything feels very right.”
“I think it can feel even better.”
“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, and I picture him biting his lip as he flies through the chicanes, the asphalt covered in bright red, white, and blue.
“Yeah. I think we should turn it up even more.”
Edmund taps me, raises his eyebrows in question, and I give him the gesture for don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. I don’t mean the engine. He’ll see in a minute.
“I think the car might blow up if you turn it on any more, up any more, I mean,” Cole answers.
“Well, I think you were right when you said we needed to lock things down.”
“Message unclear, come again?”
“Yes, please. Just as soon as the race ends.”
“Em…” he warns.
I glance up at my television monitor, and I see the networks are broadcasting our radio messages. I can’t hear what the commentators are saying, but clearly, they’ve all caught on to the unusual banter.
I feel like I’m broadcasting a version of Charlotte and Steel’s torrid love affair here, but mine’s better than fiction.
I check all of his data one more time. Everything on the car looks good.
I check the screen, he’s in a good spot on track.
And then I give a huge middle finger to every fear of failure, every consequence, every minute of lost time we’ve wasted without each other.
“Cole?”
“Yes, GG?”
“The only place I ever want to run again is into your arms. I know what I want, it’s the same thing I’ve always wanted. I’m locking you down, Cole Ballentine. Marry me?”
I can see all the heads in the paddock turn towards me, but I don’t hear anything except the white noise in my headphones as I wait for his response. A thousandth of a second, twelve-seconds, four hours, I have no idea how much time passes because my world stands still.
Finally, his familiar, throaty voice is my ear.
“Baby. My gorgeous girl. I’m gonna marry the shit out of you.”
I feel like I’ve just won the race myself because there are hands all over me, hugging me, patting me on the back, fingers mussing my hair up. Someone behind me wraps their arms around me in a bear hug and lifts me out of my stool for a second. The whole crew is cheering, and cameramen are racing down the paddock to capture the moment.
Cole’s car zooms past us just in front of the pit wall, and he comes on the radio again, “For the permanent record, I’ll be asking you again because I’ve waited six years to do it. And you’re going to say yes.”
“I will,” I answer him, my cheeks aching from smiling so hard. “Right now, though, you win this race.”
“Copy that, baby.”
There are a dozen or more reporters and cameras pointing at me when Mallory arrives, pulls me off my stool, and we squeal like schoolgirls. “I get first dibs on the post-race interview,” she hugs me again.
“Yes, yes,” I laugh.
“Looks like it’s going around,” she holds up her left hand and shows me a beautiful diamond engagement ring on her finger, gleaming in the light.
“Oh, I’m so happy for you!” I cry and hug her.
“Right back at you.”
