Page 142 of Until The Lights Go Out

“You secretly sponsor my old Formula Two team?”

He shrugged one shoulder.

“You still surprise me, every goddamn day Bauer.”

“Gotta keep it interesting, Andrews.” He smirked.

“What other things are you secretly throwing money at?” I crossed my arms as he walked toward me. His hand threaded around the back of my neck, gently tugging me to him. My crossed arms hit his chest as I stepped forward.

“Only good causes,” he whispered as he leaned down to kiss my neck. His breath was warm against my skin before his soft lips found purchase.

“Oh?” I asked indignantly.

“Only ones you would thoroughly support.” Another kiss on my neck making chills erupt across my skin. He knew it was a weak spot.

“Such as?” I pushed.

“The international mental health alliance,” he said, kissing my chin. “London’s women in STEM program at the local university.” He kissed the corner of my lips. “Ireland’s young athletes programs from a few cities.” Another kiss on the other corner.

“You just let people believe you had no heart, all those years?” I asked, pushing him back with a glare.

“I don’t care what people think of me, Maisey. I only care what you think.” His hand settled gently against the back of my neck, his thumb brushing the little wisps of hair that had escaped my ponytail. He smiled with that infuriatingly soft expression he’d somehow developed around me over the last few months. The cocky driver the rest of the world knew was still there, but somewhere along the way, I’d discovered the version beneath it. The one I had hoped was still there, the soft heart of the boy who wrote me letters and was always supporting me in his silent way. He had grown to the man I loved, the one who still didn’t fail to surprise me. He leaned back in, peppering kisses down my neck again.

“So worked up,” he murmured.

“I’m trying to be angry with you.”

“Are you succeeding?”

“You make it hard to stay mad at you. What are you going to do now that the world knows you’re not just a reckless playboy but a man with a heart?”

“Tell them that my heart belongs to you,” he whispered before sealing his lips to mine.

I pushed him back again with a soft glare. “God, you are such a sap.”

“You love it.” He smirked and leaned back in, waiting for me to close the gap this time.

“Yeah,” I sighed out, leaning in. Kissing Theo had become my favorite place in the world. Not because of the kiss itself—although that certainly didn’t hurt—but because of everything it represented. Every time his lips found mine, it felt like another version of us quietly disappeared. The frightened 17-year-olds standing on opposite sides of a racetrack. The strangers we’d forced ourselves to become. The years spent believing we’d missed our chance. Every kiss rewrote a little more of that history. His hand settled against my waist, warm and familiar, and my heart did the same ridiculous thing it still insisted on doing after all this time. It stumbled once before finding its rhythm again. I didn’t think it would ever stop reacting to him.

When I kissed him now, I no longer searched for proof that he was real. In the beginning, I’d been terrified he would disappear if I opened my eyes, that I’d wake up back in that lonely apartment with nothing but memories and old letters. There had been mornings I’d studied his sleeping face simply to convince myself he hadn’t vanished overnight.

That fear had softened with time. Not because life suddenly promised forever, but because Theo had chosen me.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Love, I’d discovered, wasn’t built in grand declarations or dramatic gestures—although leaving a Formula One race to find me was admittedly difficult to top. It lived in a hundred quieter moments: in coffee already waiting for me before early media calls, in his thumb finding mine beneath interview tables where no cameras could see, in the way he’d instinctively reach for my hand whenever my mind became too loud, in the notes he tucked into my luggage before every race weekend because he knew I still struggled on hotel nights. He loved me in all the ordinary ways that somehow felt extraordinary.

His lips curved into a smile against mine.

“What?” I whispered, laughing softly.

“You drift away when I kiss you.”

“I do not.”