“My treat,” he said quietly.
“Jonathan, this place…”
“Is exactly where I want to have dinner with you.” He met my eyes. “Waldo, I just qualified on pole for the Monaco Grand Prix, and I’m sitting across from someone who knew me before any of this mattered. Let me enjoy that.”
“That’s got to feel incredible.”
“It does.” His smile became more genuine. “I’ll relax tomorrow evening,” he said. “Tonight I’m still waiting for something to go wrong.”
Everything on the menu was in French, with prices that confirmed my suspicions about the evening’s cost. Jonathan noticed my hesitation.
The waiter appeared. Jonathan ordered wine without consulting the list, with the easy confidence of someone who’d learned the rules by living inside them. I let him guide the rest, partly because I was out of my depth, partly because watching him navigate this world was unsettling in ways I didn’t yet want to name.
“So,” he said once the wine had been poured and tasted with appropriate ceremony. “Ten years. Tell me about the stories that mattered.”
“The stories that mattered?”
“The ones that made you remember why you became a journalist. The ones that kept you going through all the municipal budget meetings and school board controversies.”
I thought about it, swirling the wine in my glass. It was excellent, of course.
“There was a story about nursing home care three years ago. Tips started coming in about patients being neglected, families being overcharged. Took me eight months to build enough sources to prove what was happening.” I met his eyes. “Seventeen people died because of inadequate care. The investigation led to criminal charges, policy changes, and actual reform.”
“That’s what I’m talking about.” Jonathan leaned forward. “That’s the kind of work that matters.”
“What about you? What’s kept you going through all those years of midfield cars and broken promises?”
Jonathan was quiet for a moment, considering his answer as carefully as he’d considered his qualifying setup.
“The belief that I belonged here,” he said finally. “That sounds arrogant, maybe, but… I knew I was fast enough. I knew I could win if someone gave me the tools. And I suppose I wanted to prove that the investment, my father’s money, my family’s faith, all of it, wasn’t just expensive self-indulgence.”
“Your father must be proud now.”
“He is. He’s going to try and fly in tomorrow.” Jonathan’s smile turned rueful. “Business in London. And he’s also probably calculating the return on investment. Twelve years of funding my career, and now I’m finally in position to win races. It’s got to feel vindicating.”
The first course arrived, something delicate and beautiful that probably took hours to prepare. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the weight of ten years and all the choices that had led us to this moment settling between us.
“Can I ask you something?” I said finally.
“Anything.”
“Do you ever wonder what would have happened if we’d been braver? If we’d tried to make it work?”
Jonathan set down his fork, his expression growing serious. “Every day for the first two years. Less frequently after that, but… yes. Especially lately.”
“Lately?”
“Since I saw you in the paddock. Since I realized you were going to be here, covering this weekend that might be the most important of my career.” He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine. “I’m glad you’re here, Waldo. I’m glad you get to see this.”
The contact sent electricity through my entire nervous system, just like it had ten years ago. I should have pulledaway, maintained professional boundaries, remembered all the reasons this was complicated.
Instead, I turned my hand over, letting our fingers intertwine.
“I’m glad I’m here too.”
We talked through the remaining courses about everything and nothing, his travels, my stories, the surreal experience of being adults in a situation neither of us could have imagined in college. The conversation flowed as easily as it had back then, punctuated by comfortable silences and the kind of shared looks that suggested some things hadn’t changed at all.
By the time dessert arrived, the restaurant had emptied around us. We were among the last diners, lingering over coffee and cognac.
