Chasing Daisy

to.
    We run outside to wait for Luis, Kit and Nils to pull up and watch as Luis leaps out of his car and punches the air. He runs straight over to the mechanics and I want him to see me there, cheering and laughing with the rest of them, but he doesn’t look my way and my stomach momentarily falls flat as he jogs inside to be weighed before the podium celebrations. A couple of minutes later he appears up above us, waving and clapping the crowd. All around there is the sound of whistles and horns going off. There’s such a buzz about the place, and it feels like all the spectators are behind Luis and his incredible race win.
    The national anthems start up and everyone falls silent, then the trophies are handed out. Luis kisses his and raises it up high as we all cheer again, and then it’s champagne time . . . Luis, Kit and Nils drench each other first before spraying the crowd below. I haven’t seen Luis this happy, I don’t think ever, and as he reaches down to drop the champagne bottle to Pete, he catches my eye. I beam up at him and he winks at me with those twinkly brown eyes. Seconds later, the drivers file off for the press conference.
    Did he really run out from the race in Monza to come and find me? I’m floored as the reality of this sinks in. Is my nonna right? Does he have feelings for me? Butterflies flit through my stomach and for the first time I wonder if I could have feelings for him, too.

 
Chapter 27
     
    Frederick and Ingrid have got me working at a daytime function in Hampstead and I’ve been toying with the idea of texting Luis to see if I can drop over to his place for a drink afterwards.
    He’s probably not in. But it is a Wednesday afternoon . . . Perhaps he’s at team HQ? Shall I? What the hell.
    HI, DAISY HERE. R U IN? WORKING IN HAMPSTEAD - CLD POP ROUND?
     
    Send.
    I feel nervous. Why ? It’s only Luis, for Christ’s sake.
    But I’ve been thinking about him a lot since last weekend. He’s starting to get under my skin, and I don’t know how I feel about it.
    Ooh, a reply:
    SURE. I’M AT . . .
     
    He adds the address.
    Short and sweet. Too short and sweet? Does he even want to see me? Stop overthinking it, Daisy. But, of course, that’s easier said than done. . .
    I finish the rest of my shift, then change out of my uniform into jeans and a jumper. I double check with one of my colleagues that he lives on the road that I’m thinking of, then set off down the High Street, trying not to be lured into French Connection and Reiss along the way.
    I turn left on Downshire Hill and walk in the direction of the heath. On my left, the tall, white Regency houses are beautiful, nestled away from the footpath under leafy trees the shade of burnt amber. Does he seriously live along here? I count the numbers on the houses I can see, until finally I come to Luis’s. I swing open the black wrought-iron gate and walk up the stone footpath. It’s early evening and the house lights are already glowing in the encroaching darkness. I feel like I’m inside a fairytale and suddenly feel nervous again.
    Will puts his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me to him, touching his lips to mine. ‘See ya later.’
    No. Why am I thinking about Will now? Guilt passes through me like a wave on an ocean and I try to still it. I have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m just going for a drink with a friend.
    Yes. A friend.
    I knock and wait. Moments later I hear shuffling behind the heavy, aubergine-painted wooden door and then Luis opens it, his hands full of post.
    ‘Come in,’ he says, plonking the post down on an antique wooden side-table. There’s already a pile of letters there.
    ‘Don’t you ever sort your post?’ I ask, my brow furrowing.
    ‘When I can be bothered. Have you come round to nag me?’
    ‘No.’
    He grins at me. ‘Come on through.’
    ‘I like your house,’ I say as I follow him along the wide corridor. The oak floors knock underneath my boots.
    He leads me through to a bright, open kitchen. Large double doors lead out to a green garden beyond. I go straight over to look out. Growing up, I never had a garden. My garden was Central Park and, as a result, I’m always drawn to other people’s.
    It’s actually quite large. A dusky-green painted gazebo is down the far end, and there’s a magnolia tree in the centre which I bet is stunning in the spring.
    ‘Thanks,’ he replies. ‘Do you want a coffee? Glass of wine?’
    ‘What’s the time?’ I glance at my