The bell above the chicken shop door jingled as you stepped in. You were supposed to be the picture of professional charm—host persona on, witty lines ready, and perfectly in control of the room. But today, sitting across from Lando Norris, that plan felt like it had blown up somewhere between the fries and the soda machine.
He slid into the seat opposite you, that lopsided grin already making your chest tighten. The sort of grin that made headlines, and somehow had the power to make you forget your own name.
“Hey,” you said smoothly, reaching for your notes like they’d save you. Soon enough you got into character going for the strong cards“I heard it’s quite hot in there.”
He blinked, confusion flickering across his face. “Uh… it gets very hot, yeah. Sweaty and…”
You leaned in, tilting your head, lips twitching into a smile. “Even hotter if I was in there.”
He bit his lip, awkward and caught off guard, eyes darting just enough to keep that charming mischief.
The cameras were rolling, but suddenly they felt irrelevant. Just you, him, and the tension of words unsaid.
“So,” you continued, trying to act casual, “big spoon or little spoon?”
“I’m big,” he said confidently.
“Ah, okay. Great.”
“Sometimes small,” he admitted after a pause, smirking slightly.
You nodded, pretending to write a note. “Sometimes small,” you echoed, smiling.
“Nah,… I’ve never tried actually.”
“Never tried?” You nearly choked on your soda. “You’ve never tried being little spoon???? What?? Are you serious??”
“Nah.”
“Okay…”
“We can try,” he added quickly, leaning back, that playful sparkle returning.
The banter flowed naturally now, effortless. You asked about his goals, casual yet probing, like a journalist who happened to be completely distracted.
“What’s your ultimate goal? Apart from this,” you said, waving vaguely at the shop.
“To fall in love,” you replied before you couod think it through.
He smiled, warm and soft, the kind that made strangers stop mid-step outside the window. “That’s cute.”
“Yea,” you shrugged lightly.
“Aww,” he said, shaking his head.
“Isn’t that everyone?” you added, half-teasing.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re struggling.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. Every sentence he said was like a ping on your heartbeat, every grin a little electric shock.
Then, like the moment had paused just for him, he leaned in, casual but pointed. “I know you followed me a long time ago. I didn’t follow you back.”
You almost choked on your fries. “Wha-… yeah, that’s true. I was gonna bring that up.”
“I was just playing hard to get,” he admitted, shrugging like it was nothing.
“Maybe you’ll… follow me back? Actually, don’t follow me—”
“Actually, I do follow you now.”
“You do?”
“Yea.”
“Oh… I didn’t even notice—sorry.”
“Cool.”
“I’m just playing hard to get… I actually think we should follow each other,” you said, leaning in, eyes sparkling.
“Keep it a secret?” He smirked leaving back
“Yea.”
“I’m down.” He gave you that cheeky smile, impossible to ignore.
The conversation drifted, effortless and teasing.
“How far do you live?” you asked eventually, leaning back, sipping soda.
“I live in Monaco.”
“Ugh… I don’t know if I can do long distance,” you teased.
“Yeah,” he shrugged.
“Is it nice there?”
“It’s lovely,” he answered.
“They do the racing there, don’t they?”
“Yea.”
“That’s quite good for you—it’s quite convenient, you can just walk outside—”
“I know. I literally wake up like a minute before I’m gonna drive,” he said, laughing.
“Really? Don’t think you should be doing that. Maybe that’s why you’re… not… winning—”
“What?”
“What?”
He laughed, leaning back in the booth, eyes twinkling in a way that made it impossible to focus on anything else.
And for a few moments, the world shrank to a booth in a chicken shop, the cameras rolling but irrelevant, his teasing words and yours mingling in the air. You weren’t just a host anymore—you were the girl who made him laugh, who made him pause, who maybe, just maybe, he wanted to see more of beyond the cameras.