He didn’t step back immediately. His hand lingered at her neck, thumb brushing once more, slow and deliberate, before dropping away. The sudden space between them felt like a physical ache.
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “I came in for the fucking headset.”
A shaky laugh escaped her. “Yeah. You did.”
He gave her one last long look—something raw flickering behind the calm—then turned toward the door. At the threshold he paused, fingers tight on the frame. “See you at pre-season testing.”
Her voice came out steadier than she felt. “Yeah. See you then.”
The door clicked shut.
Mia stood there, fingers pressed to her lips, still tasting him—salt, heat, the sharp edge of everything they’d been denying. She told herself it was the end of the season talking. Adrenaline. Relief. Closure.
She almost believed it.
Until she stepped into the Abu Dhabi night and the ache followed her—sharp, insistent, already promising trouble for next year.
SEASON II
???
CHAPTER TEN
Mia
Mia stared out the rain-streaked window of her small London flat, the city lights blurring into soft halos against the December grey. The Christmas break had been quieter than she'd expected—almost eerily so after the relentless buzz of her rookie season in Formula 1. No frantic press releases to draft, no last-minute media scrums to coordinate, no late-night inbox triage that bled into dawn. Just her, a stack of unread books, and the occasional notification ping that reminded her the world had kept spinning without her in the thick of it.
She had decided against flying home to New Zealand. The long haul felt too daunting, the jet lag too punishing when she had to be back in the office by early January. Instead, she'd video-called her parents on Christmas Day, their faces filling her screen from the sunny kitchen back in Amberley. They'd beamed at her, the same proud smiles they'd worn when she'd first told them she'd landed the communications assistant role with the team.
"Look at you, our girl in the big leagues," her mum had said, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. "Tell us everything—the glamour, the parties!"
Mia had laughed and embellished just enough: cocktail evenings in Monaco (she'd actually spent most evenings drafting sponsor quotes), rubbing shoulders with celebrities (a polite nod from Eddie Hale in the paddock counted, right?), champagne toasts under glittering lights (water in a flute during media briefings). They ate it up, asking for more details, more sparkle.
"And what about that Lucas fellow?" her dad had chimed in, eyebrow raised. "The one you mentioned once or twice. Driver, right? Sounds posh."
Mia had shrugged on screen, keeping her voice light. "He comes from money, yeah. A bit privileged, I guess. But overall... he's okay."
The words felt thin and inadequate the moment they left her mouth.
They were a careful sidestep around memories she still couldn’t bury: the almost-kiss in that dimly lit hotel room, and then the real one—after the lights went out on the Yas Marina Circuit in Abu Dhabi.
She didn't mention any of it. How could she?
* * *
The invitation from Dana had come as a surprise—a text on Christmas night:Boxing Day at ours tomorrow? Family's mad but the food's good. No pressure.Mia had hesitated only a moment before typing back yes.
Dana's family home was a rambling Victorian in a quiet Surrey village, all high ceilings, mismatched furniture, and walls covered in eclectic art. The moment Mia stepped through the door, she was enveloped in chaos that felt oddly comforting. Dana's mum—warm-eyed, apron dusted with flour—thrust a steaming glass of mulled wine into her hand before she could even take off her coat.
“Here, love, get this down you. You’re the one who keeps the team sounding smart in front of the cameras, aren’t you? Dana won’t shut up about how quick you are on your feet—and how you’re the only one who can make Lucas string two sentences together in press!”
Mia smiled, cradling the warm glass. “Thank you. It smells incredible.”
Dana appeared at her side, already laughing. “Mum, she doesn’t drink—”
“It’s okay,” Mia cut in quickly, cheeks warming. “I do drink. Just… not usually at parties. Or work things. Or anywhere loud. This is perfect, actually.”
Dana’s mum beamed and patted her arm. “Good girl. More where that came from.”
