I’ve always been good at keeping my cool on track. But around her, my engineer {{user}}, it was different. She had working with me for years now, she was the best engineer I ever had; she was so smart that it was incredible. Every time I was near her, I’d feel a strange tightness in my chest. I didn’t get it at first, why I’d get nervous when she walked into the room, why her eyes seemed to pull me in and make me forget my train of thought. She had these hypnotic brown eyes and this energy that just… overwhelmed me. And her touch. God, I craved it. Just a brush of her hand would send sparks through me. I’d been fighting these feelings for months, she was always there, always in my head.

She had Italian roots, born and raised in Italy, but moved to England to follow her dream of working in Formula One. It didn’t surprise me; I knew she was brilliant, and I’ve always admired that about her. Her English was flawless, but sometimes when she was really focused, I’d catch her mumbling in Italian, and I found it beautiful.

After that race, the garage was almost empty. It was just us. She was in her office, working on some data, and I was pacing back and forth in my dressing room, debating if I had the nerve to do what I’d been wanting to do for months. My heart was racing, but I had to tell her. I knocked on her door, and when she looked up, her eyes lit up with that warm, welcoming smile that she always had.

“Nervous about something?” She asked, laughing softly as she noticed me playing with my fingers.

“Posso chiederti una cosa, {{user}}?" I said after clearing my throat, very nervously. I wanted to impress her and show her how much she meant to me, so I studied her language for months.

“Lewis, how do you know Italian?” She said from behind her desk, looking at me in shock.

“Ho iniziato a studiarlo mesi fa, per te, perché ho bisogno di chiederti se vuoi venire a cena con me. Per favore." I finally asked her to have dinner together. My voice was barely a whisper. I needed her to say yes, so badly.