Page 66 of Formula Dreams
I set my fork down, slow.“That so.”
“Relax,” he says, amusement in his tone.“I’m not interested in her in that way.”
“She can speak for herself,” I say.
“I can,” Francesca murmurs, a warning threaded through the words.
Carlos leans back, palms up.“Look, mate.I’ve got enough drama with my own team’s management to last me a career.Francesca’s my friend.The kind I’d take a penalty for.The kind I don’t screw over.I can tell you’re… whatever it is you are about her.It’s none of my business until it hurts her.Then it’s my business.”
It’s a threat but rather than pissing me off, I like that he’s protective of her.
I hold his gaze a beat.“Noted.”
Carlos nods like some unspoken box has been ticked.The tension in the air loosens a fraction, and the conversation stumbles before catching its rhythm again.
“So,” Carlos says, spearing the last olive, “tires for Silvercrest.Think we’re in for graining, or just the usual complaining?”
I shrug.“Bit of both, depending on who’s talking.”
Francesca smirks.“Which means mostly you.”
That earns her a look, but it’s Carlos who chuckles and leans forward.“Speaking of complaining, did I ever tell you about the time I fainted in the simulator?”
Francesca’s eyes widen.“No.What?!”
He grins, sheepish.“Long session, no breakfast, and it was a little too warm.I came out of a hairpin, blacked out, and when I woke up, they were all crowded around me.It was embarrassing.”
I snort, shaking my head.“Bet the telemetry looked impressive.”
“Oh, yeah,” Carlos says, laughing now.“Apparently, I had the cleanest lap of my life right before I passed out.Still get reminded of it anytime I say the car feels heavy.”
Francesca presses a hand over her mouth, laughing so hard her shoulders shake.“Please tell me someone got video.”
“Of course,” he says with mock despair.“Gets resurrected in the group chat whenever I need humbling.”
Her laugh turns into a wheeze, tears shining in her eyes.Against my better judgment, the corner of my mouth twitches.“Careful, Accardi—you’re going to make people think we enjoy each other’s company.”
She bumps my knee under the table, still grinning.“We don’t?”
I glance at Carlos, then back to her.“Maybe a little.”
“Those are some big feelings you’ve got pouring out,” Carlos deadpans, and we all laugh.
It shouldn’t be this easy to like him.It annoys me that it is.
By dessert—three spoons, one ridiculous slice of lemon tart—we’re fully back in neutral.We talk mostly about racing, but every once in a while, Carlos and Francesca talk family—funny stories that make my heart both full and empty at the same time.Truly happy that they have wonderful families, but always the grim reminder that I don’t.
“Right, then,” Carlos says finally, pushing back his chair.He pulls a few notes from his wallet and tucks them under the bill before I can reach for mine.“My treat.Since I invited her first.”
“I’ll get the next,” I say as I rise from my chair.Francesca does the same.
“Yes, you will,” Carlos quips before looking between us with a glint that’s admittedly quite brotherly.“And you’ll both behave yourselves at Silvercrest.Save the fireworks for the track.”
Francesca laughs softly and I suppress a smile.Carlos is in the know now, and it’s not as bad as I thought it would be.
Outside the restaurant, the night breathes cool against my face.Carlos hugs Francesca quick and clean, then offers me his hand again.We shake like friends.No point-scoring.No posturing.Just agreeable terms we both can live with.
“Good night, Barnes.”
