Pole Position: Between Logic and Passion

We left Florence the next day, early in the morning. Charles practically jumped out of bed, excited like a kid on a school field trip.

We caught a flight to London, where the karting event would take place. It was one of those weekends organized by a bunch of driver friends — chill, competitive, full of banter.

Charles was buzzing. He talked non-stop about the races, the track layout, how he was going to destroy Lando. I just watched him, smiling, trying to ignore the tight knot growing in my stomach as we got closer.

At one point on the plane, he looked at me with that grin that always made my heart skip.

“It’s going to be fun, tu vas voir,” he said. “You’ll see.”

----

We arrived at the karting track and the energy was electric — laughter, engines revving, drivers already trash-talking each other before even putting on helmets. I recognized most of the faces scattered around the paddock. Familiar grins, a few surprised looks, but no one said anything out loud.

Carlos and Max were the first to come over.

“Look who decided to show up,” Carlos teased, pulling Charles into a quick bro-hug before turning to me with a smile. “Amy. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Surprise,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Neither of them mentioned the fact that we’d arrived together. Either they hadn’t noticed — unlikely — or they were being polite. For now.

Charles was immediately swept into conversation, arms flailing as he recounted something, probably dramatic and exaggerated, and I let myself step slightly back from the group, just watching.

It didn’t take long for Lando to join the group, with Gasly trailing right behind him.

Lando’s eyes landed on me almost instantly, and his face lit up with that familiar mischievous grin. “There she is,” he said, pulling me into a quick hug like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Got my strategist right here.”

Before I could say anything, he threw an arm around my shoulders and steered me away from the group. “Come on, I need your opinion on something,” he added, already dragging me toward the lineup of karts.

I glanced back over my shoulder briefly — just in time to catch Charles watching us. His smile faltered for a second, subtle, almost imperceptible.

----

Lando stopped in front of his kart, crouching down to check something near the tires. “I’m thinking about adjusting the rear pressure a bit, maybe half a psi down. What do you think?”

I blinked, thrown for a second by how quickly he shifted to race talk — and maybe also by the fact that Charles was still somewhere behind me, probably watching. “You dragged me away from the group to talk tire pressure?” I asked, arms crossed, trying to sound amused.

Lando grinned up at me. “Well, that. And I missed your brain.”

“Okay,” I said, crouching beside the kart with him. “You’re running too much rear pressure, especially with this surface. You’ll lose traction in the second sector. Drop it half a psi, maybe one, and watch your entry lines into turn three. You’re braking too late.”

His eyes lit up, like he’d just found his secret weapon. “God, I missed this.”

I barely had time to smirk before a familiar voice called out behind us.

“Oi! That’s cheating!” Max shouted, walking over with Carlos right beside him. “No bringing your strategist to a fun race.”

Carlos laughed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, what happened to equal machinery, huh?”