Fired Up

Valeria's POV

The past few days had been quiet—almost too quiet. Lewis was in Canada, preparing for the Grand Prix, and I had settled back into my routine in Madrid. But no matter how much I tried to focus on work, on Mateo, on anything else, my mind kept drifting back to him.

"Mamá, ¿cuándo volveremos a ver al hombre del coche rápido?" (Mom, when will we see the man with the fast car again?)

Mateo's voice snapped me out of my thoughts as we drove home from school. I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, catching his curious expression as he kicked his little feet against the seat.

"Lewis está trabajando, cariño," (Lewis is working, sweetheart,) I answered gently, keeping my tone casual.

He hummed in response, as if thinking it over, before nodding. "Pero volverá, ¿verdad?" (But he'll come back, right?)

I hesitated. I didn't know what to say, because I wasn't even sure myself. I wanted to believe he would, that this connection we had—whatever it was—wasn't just a fleeting moment. But I also knew better than to make promises I wasn't sure I could keep.

"Veremos, mi amor," (We'll see, my love,) I said finally.

____

The next day, when I picked up Mateo from school, he ran up to me, beaming.

"¡Mamá, mira lo que dibujé!" (Mom, look what I drew!)

He held up a piece of paper, his little hands gripping it proudly. It was a drawing of a car, and next to it, a figure with a helmet in one hand. My heart clenched the moment I recognized it.

"¿Quién es?" (Who is it?) I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

Mateo shyly looked down, then peeked up at me. "Es el hombre del coche rápido. Dijo que vendrá otra vez, ¿no?" (It's the man with the fast car. He said he'd come back, right?)

I swallowed, forcing a small smile. "Le gusta mucho su coche, ¿eh?" (You really like his car, huh?)

Mateo nodded enthusiastically. "Mucho. Es más rápido que el de papá." (A lot. It's faster than Papa's.)

I let out a quiet laugh, ruffling his hair. "Vamos a casa, campeón." (Let's go home, champ.)

___

On Saturday morning, I met Clara for coffee at our usual café, the kids playing near the table as we sat in the sun. It was supposed to be a relaxing moment, but I found myself checking my phone more than once, waiting for a message I didn't even know would come.

I barely noticed Clara watching me until she let out a dramatic sigh.

"Valeria, cariño, no puedo contar cuántas veces has mirado tu teléfono en los últimos diez minutos." (Valeria, darling, I can't count how many times you've checked your phone in the last ten minutes.)

I immediately straightened up, slipping my phone into my bag. "No es cierto." (That's not true.)

Clara smirked. "Mhm, claro. Y tampoco es cierto que ese mensaje que esperas es de alguien con un casco y un coche muy rápido, ¿verdad?" (Mhm, sure. And it's also not true that the message you're waiting for is from someone with a helmet and a very fast car, right?)

I rolled my eyes, but the warmth spreading across my cheeks betrayed me.

"No estoy esperando nada," (I'm not waiting for anything,) I muttered.

Clara just grinned knowingly, taking a sip of her coffee. "Si tú lo dices." (If you say so.)

I sighed, shaking my head. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was waiting. Maybe, just maybe, I was hoping for something more.