CHAPTER TWELVE
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Mia
The Barcelona circuit hummed with testing activity—engines rumbling like distant thunder, data streams flowing across screens, the first real taste of the new car under proper track conditions.
It was unusually warm for February, the winter sun high and bright enough to soften the chill in the air and bake the asphalt into a faint haze of heat and fuel vapour, but the breeze still carried a sharp, wintry edge that made jackets necessary.
Mia moved through the garage with her usual clipped efficiency, tablet in hand, earpiece buzzing with Claire’s voice directing traffic.
She was here for media support: live social updates, post-session driver interviews, coordinating photo ops and quick clips for the team channels. Routine. Safe. Exactly what she needed.
Lucas emerged from the car after his morning stint, helmet off, sweat-damp hair sticking up in spikes. His race suit was half-unzipped, the fireproof base layer clinging to his chest. He looked alive—eyes bright, cheeks flushed from the G-forces and adrenaline.
“Good run?” she asked, stepping up with her tablet already open to the social schedule.
“Solid.” He wiped his face with a towel, grin breaking wide. “The aero package feels sharper—less understeer in Turn 3 and 9. I could actually carry speed through the esses without the rear stepping out.”
She smiled—genuine this time, the professional mask slipping just enough to show real interest. “You sound excited. Can you show me? For the posts, I mean. Fans lose it over the tech overlays.”
He hesitated for half a second—surprised she’d asked—then nodded. “Yeah. Come on.”
They huddled over a monitor in the engineering bay. The space was dimmer here, cooled by industrial fans, the air thick with the smell of hot brakes and rubber. Lucas pulled up the telemetry charts, zooming in on the throttle traces and steering inputs.
“See here?” He pointed at the graph, voice low and animated. “That’s where I reached full throttle out of Turn 10—response time’s down by almost three tenths compared to last year’s package. The car’s actually listening.”
Mia leaned in closer, shoulder brushing his accidentally. She didn’t pull away immediately. “That’s insane. Makes my job easier—‘LUCAS TAMES THE BEAST IN BARCELONA’ or something equally cheesy.”
He laughed—quiet, surprised. “You’re good at that. Turning numbers into stories.”
She glanced at him sideways. “You give me good material.”
A beat. The hum of the fans filled the silence.
Lucas turned slightly, facing her more directly. “Thanks for this, Mia. Last season I felt like I was just a face for the cameras—say the lines, smile, move on. You make it… real. Like someone actually cares what’s happening under the skin of the car.”
She met his gaze, the barriers from the pre-season meeting softened by the shared focus, the heat, the quiet of the bay. “Well, you’re a guy who actually cares about the drive, not just the win. That’s rare.”
He looked surprised by her candour, then something softer crossed his face. “And you? What’s driving you, Mia? Besides keeping the rest of us in line.”
She hesitated, fingers tightening on the edge of the monitor.
“Proving I belong, I guess. Growing up in a small town in New Zealand—everyone knew everyone’s business, and I was always the quiet one who had to work twice as hard to be heard.
Oxford was my escape. Now this is my world.
I don’t want anyone to ever question if I earned my spot. ”
Lucas’s brows lifted slightly, genuine surprise and respect flickering across his face. “Oxford? That’s… pretty impressive. You got a scholarship there, right? Full ride, if I remember the team bio correctly.”
Mia gave a small nod, gaze still on the screen. “Yeah. English Literature. I’ve always loved a good story—the kind that pulls you in, makes you forget where you are for a while.”
He smiled, soft and a little wistful. “I can see that. You’ve got a way with words—turning our telemetry nonsense into something people actually want to read.
Must’ve been incredible, though. Oxford on a scholarship?
What was it like? The whole thing—tutorials, punting on the river, late-night essays in some ancient library?
I never got near a university. Racing since I was twelve, so that path just…
didn’t exist for me. Always wondered what I missed. ”
Mia’s smile faded, polite but distant. She straightened a fraction, crossing her arms loosely. “It was… fine. Old buildings. Rain. A lot of reading.” Her voice stayed even, but the warmth from earlier had cooled noticeably. “Nothing special. I got what I needed from it and left.”
Lucas caught the shift—the way her shoulders tensed, the clipped brevity. He studied her profile for a second, then chose not to push.
“Fair enough,” he said quietly, offering a half-smile to ease the moment. “Anyway—back to the car. Want to see the sector-two comparison? It’s where we really gained time.”
Mia nodded, grateful for the pivot. “Show me.”
They leaned in again, shoulders close but not quite touching now, the telemetry graphs pulling them back into the shared language of speed and data. But the air still carried the faint echo of what hadn’t been said.
* * *
Lucas
The engineering bay felt smaller than it should have—the low hum of the fans, the distant clatter of tools from the garage, the way the dim light caught the faint sheen across her collarbones after a long morning in the paddock sun.
Just a soft, warm glisten on her skin, the kind that made her look alive in a quiet, effortless way.
Lucas was suddenly aware of every small thing about her: the way she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear with the tip of her middle finger, the slight crease between her brows when she concentrated on the screen, the way her lips parted just a fraction when something on the graph surprised her.
And the scent—soft rose with a trace of warm jasmine and honey that drifted off her every time she leaned closer.
It wasn’t overpowering; it was subtle, intimate, the kind of smell that caught in the back of his throat and made him want to inhale deeper without making it obvious.
It wasn’t the frantic, desperate pull he’d felt last season.
This was quieter. Steadier. The easy rhythm of their conversation today had cracked something open: no defensiveness, no interruptions, just the two of them talking cars like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And fuck, he liked it. Liked how she asked real questions, how her eyes lit up when the numbers made sense, how she didn’t treat the data like boring admin but like a story she actually wanted to understand.
He watched her trace one of the throttle lines on the monitor with her fingertip—slow, deliberate—and felt the familiar heat coil low in his gut.
Not urgent. Not frantic. Just… there. Persistent.
The same low throb he got every time she was close enough for him to catch that sweet, warm scent again, or see the way her pulse ticked a little faster at the base of her throat when she laughed at one of his dumb recoveries.
She made him want to stay in the conversation longer. Want to drag it out. Want to find excuses to keep her in the engineering bay instead of letting her slip back to the media pen.
He cleared his throat, trying to focus on the screen instead of the way her sleeve had ridden up just enough to show the thin silver bracelet on her wrist—the one she always wore, simple and understated, the kind of thing he’d noticed months ago and never mentioned.
“You know,” he said softly, voice rougher than he intended, “you’re the only person who ever asks to see this stuff. Most people just want the highlight reel. You want the why behind it.”
Mia glanced up at him, surprised but not entirely displeased. “Because the why is the interesting part. Anyone can say ‘I went fast.’ You actually feel the car. That’s what makes the stories worth telling.”
He gave a small, crooked smile. “You make it sound poetic.”
“Maybe it is, a little.” She shrugged, the movement small and self-conscious. “Or maybe I’m just trying to justify spending half my life turning lap times into Instagram captions.”
Lucas laughed under his breath—quiet, genuine. “Well, you’re bloody good at it. Better than good.”
Their eyes met again, longer this time. Not charged like before, but warmer, steadier. The kind of look that acknowledged the path they were both still navigating without needing to name it.
Then his phone rang—Sienna’s custom ringtone, bright and cheerful, slicing through the moment like a pit-lane limiter.
Lucas exhaled, stepping back to answer. “Hey, babe. Yeah, testing’s going well. Car’s feeling good. Miss you too.”
He kept his voice light, polite, distracted. Mia busied herself with her notes, turning to the monitor, pretending to study the data. But he saw the way her shoulders lifted slightly, the way she kept her face angled away.
When he hung up, the echo of Sienna’s cheer lingered like exhaust in the air.
“Sorry,” he said, pocketing the phone. Voice quieter now.
“No worries.” Mia’s tone was steady, practiced. “She’s sweet. Saw her posts—looks fun.”
He winced almost imperceptibly. “Yeah. She is.”
They wrapped up quickly after that. Mia headed back to the media pen for interviews; Lucas disappeared into the garage for debrief.
The space between them felt wider the moment they turned away.
* * *
Mia
That evening, back at the team hotel on the outskirts of Barcelona, Mia met Dana for the promised girls’ night.
They’d claimed a suite on the upper floor—room service wine, a rom-com flickering on the TV, the balcony doors cracked open to let in the sharp February air that carried a faint bite of winter chill and distant sea salt.
Dana poured generously, then flopped onto the couch beside her with a grunt. “You look less like death warmed up. Barcelona air doing wonders, or has that idiot finally stopped being such a prat?”
Mia rolled her eyes, but a small smile tugged at her lips. “Just work. Lucas and I are… getting along better. Today was actually nice. We talked cars, not drama. Felt normal.”
Dana snorted, raising her glass. “Bloody miracle. About time he grew a pair and treated you like a person.” Her eyes narrowed, playful but with real relief underneath. “I’m glad you two are sorting it. Even if I still want to knee him in the groin for the Sienna stunt. Complete twat.”
Mia laughed—soft, genuine. “He’s trying. I think. Or at least he’s not running from the work anymore.”
Dana clinked her glass against Mia’s, hard enough to slosh a little wine. “Progress, I suppose. Fuck knows we needed some. To no more bullshit and actual decent days ahead.”
They toasted, laughter echoing off the walls as the movie played on. Outside, the night air drifted in cool and clean, carrying the faint hum of the city below.
* * *
Lucas
Across the hall, in his own room, Lucas sat on the edge of the bed, scrolling through Sienna’s latest messages—photos from her day, emojis, plans for when he got back. He stared at them for a long moment, then opened his chat with Mia instead.
His thumbs hovered. Then he typed, simple and honest:
Thanks for today. The tech talk was the best part. See you tomorrow?
He hit send before he could overthink it.
Her reply came quick—quicker than he expected.
Can’t wait.
He exhaled, a small, relieved smile breaking across his face. It wasn’t much. But in the quiet of the hotel room, with the distant hum of the circuit still in his ears, it felt like enough.
For now.