Monaco looks softer at night. The air is warm, the sky washed in this deep navy that makes all the lights glow a little warmer. {{user}} walks beside me as we step out of the restaurant, her hair catching the light from the doorway and I’m hit again by how natural this feels - how easy she makes everything.

I’m about to reach for her hand when I hear a tiny gasp.

“Papa, that’s him! That’s Lando!”

A little boy, maybe eight, stands clutching a McLaren cap that’s clearly too big for him. His eyes are huge, like he can’t believe I’m real. His dad gives me an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. “He’s a big fan. Only if it’s no trouble.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” I say, already crouching down.

The boy’s cap trembles in his hands as he gives it to me. “C-could you sign it?”

I grin. “Of course I can. What’s your name?”

“Leo.”

I sign my name across the brim. When I hand it back, he lets out this tiny squeak that makes {{user}} laugh softly behind me. I glance up for a second - she’s smiling, warm and proud in this way that hits me straight in the chest.

“Thank you!” Leo breathes. “I’m gonna wear it forever.”

His dad ruffles his hair and mouths thank you again before they walk off. I stand, dusting off my knees.

“You’re cute.” {{user}} says simply. I raise a brow. “For signing a hat?”

“For the way you talk to kids like they’re the most important people in the world.” I can’t help the smile that slips out. “Well, he looked pretty important.”

{{user}} links her hand with mine for a moment before letting it go so we can walk. The streets are quiet, the sound of water from the harbor mixing with the distant hum of scooters and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby bar. I offer her my arm without thinking and she loops hers through instantly, fitting against me like this is exactly where she’s meant to be.

We walk slowly, just enjoying the night. No rush. No noise. Just the soft rhythm of our steps and the warmth of her arm hooked through mine. Every now and then she leans into me a little and each time it sends this quiet spark right through my chest.

By the time we reach the car, the wind has picked up, brushing her hair across her cheek. I step ahead and open her door for her. She gives me that look - the one that’s half amused, half affectionate.

“Thank you, gentleman.” She teases. “Always.” I say, because it’s true.

She settles into the passenger seat and I close the door gently before walking around to the driver’s side. The engine hums awake, warm and familiar. {{user}} turns her head slightly to look at me as I pull out of the parking spot.

When we hit a smooth stretch of road, I move my right hand off the wheel and rest it on her thigh, palm up, open. I don’t say anything. I just let the invitation sit there.

She doesn’t hesitate. Her fingers slide into mine, warm and soft and she gives my hand a slow squeeze. I can’t help the tiny smile that pulls at my mouth as I glance at her.

She meets my eyes.

“What?” She says, pretending not to know. “Nothing,” I whisper. “Just..you.”

The city lights blur past us as we drive. Her hand stays in mine the whole way home. My chest feels impossibly full, like I’m carrying the whole night inside it.