Noah glances at Matt, looking for some bro-to-bro nod of approval, which Matt reluctantly gives.“Better not wear that cowboy hat, though.”
Noah beams back at Matt.“See you tomorrow, Dials,” he says and scurries out of the garage before Matt has the chance to strangle him.
“Let’s all call it a night, then,” I say to the room, folding down my laptop and arranging all my belongings into my tote.“Everyone!Same time tomorrow?”
The rest of the crew start to clear up their things.It was a slightly lighter mood in the garage today.Matt even tried toact like a nice, normal human being, coaxing some laughs out of the crew.We might be the shittiest team on the circuit, but there is a little hint of hope with the upgrade.Let’s just pray it does well in testing.
As everyone clears out, a guy in a bright orange delivery driver outfit walks in with several paper bags filled with food and two six-packs of beer.His eyes brighten as he spots Matt Warner moving toward him with a crisp hundred-dollar bill, and it becomes quickly apparent that this wasn’t dinner just for Matt.
I hesitate.He bought the crew dinner?
“Matt, what is this?”I say, my voice dropping, but he ignores me, posing for a selfie with the delivery guy, before they slap their hands together in an enthusiastic shake.
“Well,” Matt says, pausing as the last member of the crew leaves through the side door, and we are suddenly, despite all my best efforts, alone once again.
“I thought I’d get dinner for everyone, but I guess I forgot other people have lives.”He laughs, but the smile never quite reaches his eyes.“Got room for a bunch of ribs and an ice-cold beer?”
“Ribs!”I jump up and examine the insides of the bags to find enough ribs, slaw, and warm bread to feed half the pit lane.My stomach rumbles.I look back at Matt, whose mouth is fixed in a straight line, a hand in his hair, and my heart bruises for him.I can’t run off and leave him alone with all this barbecue, which smells, frankly, insanely good.I hesitate, as we catch each other’s eye, and I make the call.
“You know what?I have enough room for ribs.”
You can do this, Chloe.This is a good way to normalize things.
I put my purse down and pull a foil pack of ribs from one of the bags, tipping my head for Matt to join me.“Come on, then.Is there any barbecue sauce in there?”
He grins gratefully, knocking the cap off his beer with his palm on the edge of the wood crate.The motion brings a heady wave of nostalgia, watching Matt do that on a fence post at Silverstone.We’d snuck in for MotoGP and F1, the first time hiding in the bed of his dad’s truck.Then later, the two of us took a wire cutter to the chain links and slid in free, drinking our own beers in the stands as though we were paying customers.We did it each year until Matt got invited by Rossini as a guest.I couldn’t get the clips off the fence posts by myself, so I sat in a tree, alone, able to make out about ten meters of track.
“Still don’t have a bottle opener, huh?”
“I’m just having the one,” he says, mistaking my nostalgia for concern, nodding at one of the six-packs.
“Race day is five days away,” I say, awkwardly smiling at him before I tear the rack of ribs in two.I look back up at him and grin.“You can have one and a half,” I say mock sternly.
“You got it, boss.”He shoots me a cheeky smile and hands me an open can.
I stare out across the brightly lit garage, then turn to him.“Actually, shall we take this outside?”
“Good plan, Bug,” he says, lifting his food as we wander out into the mellow light of the pit lane and settle on two closed crates.It’s quiet.There is some activity in the McLaren garage a few doors down, but otherwise it’s empty out there.The heat has been cooking the track all day, and there’s that familiar thick smell of baked tarmac, mixing with the sweet smell of barbecue sauce.
“NowI feel like I’m in Texas,” I say.
“That heat.That smell,” he says, nodding.
“And the pork,” I reply.“This is exceptionally good shit.”
“I go there every year,” he says, chugging his beer.
“Yeah?”
The small talk.The pleasant chitchat.We can do this.
Matt lifts his beer and hesitates, before he says, “Stavros found it.”The comment sits out there in the night air, as I wait quietly for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t.He drinks.He sits quietly.
“He was a bit of a foodie, wasn’t he?Didn’t he have a restaurant in his hometown in Greece?”I remark, trying to keep him talking.He nods, looking like he’s deep in thought.
“Did you ever go there?”
“In Kefalonia?Of course I did.I was at the launch.Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.We practically lived there during the offseason.”His smile at the memory fades as soon as it appears.
