And my breath hitched.
It was aboutme.
The day he had seen me, the one he had talked about before the FIA Awards Ceremony. When we crossed paths. The moment he’d been referencing since I met him.Ten years ago.
I would have been thirteen.
August 23rd, 2015
Spa-Francorchamps, Belgium
There was a girl today.
I don’t know her name, but I know I won’t forget her.
She was standing in the paddock, just outside the F3 garages in a jean skirt and team shirt. I only saw her for a moment, just a glimpse as I was heading to the motorhome, but it was long enough.
She was tiny, barely coming up to my shoulder, her hair coming loose from her braids under her cap, face flushed.
What stood out to me that made me stop and stare was the determined look on her face. She looked focused. She looked killer, despite how young she appeared to be. Shewas watching the screens, standing on her toes to see the times popping up, lips moving like she was analyzing them.
She looked like she already knew what she was looking for. A young teenager, maybe thirteen or fourteen, but she carried herself like she already belonged here, in F1.
I don’t know why I noticed her.
Maybe because I recognized that look. That kind of hunger. That absolute, unwavering certainty that she was meant to be here. That she was already working through the steps she needed to take to get here.
I had done it. She could, too. I wanted to believe that for her.
But maybe it was something else? Because when I saw her, when I really looked, I had a strange, ridiculous thought.
That girl is going to change things.
That girl is going to shake this whole world up.
That girl is going to be someone.
And God help everyone when she does. I hope I get to see it happen one day.
My heart stuttered, tripped and stumbled down whatever descent was left for me to hand myself over to this man. As if I could love him more.
Hands gripping the journal like a lifeline, with my pulse thudding in my ears, I stared at the ink in disbelief.
I knew that day.
Irememberedthat day.
I had just finished my first season in Italian F4 and had been given special permission to tag along with my brother’s team in F3. I was supposed to be observing. Watching. Learning.
But I had been glued to the monitors the entire time, analyzing data, whispering to myself, dreaming.
I had no idea he had seen me, or that the man I was destined to spend my life with was there, noticing me and writing about me in his journal.
I was special to him, even then. Special in a way I had never been to anyone before.
My lips pressed together to stop a quiet sob from escaping, but Callum reached forward, gently closing the journal, his hand warm over mine.
He didn’t say anything. He just lifted my chin pressed the softest kiss to my lips, and held me there.
