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HONEY LIKES TO THINK OF HERSELF AS A TEACHER WITH THE APTITUDE OF A TIGHTROPE WALKER BALANCING ON A THREAD OF COTTON-CANDY LICORICE—steady and sure in her lessons, but full of spun sugar and just enough excitement to keep her students engaged.

This is due to her children, of course; they are typically well-behaved, never the sort to stir up any classroom commotion or auditorium shenanigans the way Mr. Williamson's class across the hall always seems to do. Even the little ones with impulsive tendencies like Sylvester, who had recently received an ADHD diagnosis, are able to thrive under her tutelage. To Honey, it was all about discovering each student's unique learning style—some needed the careful delicatessen of an acrobat, while others thrived on the sweet, spun sugar of a liquorice treat.

Today, however, nothing seemed to work.

Monty was giggling behind the textbook he was supposed to be reading, curly brown hair falling into his eyes as he tried to stifle his mirth. On the table across from him, Chester wiggled in his chair with such boundless energy that it looked as though he might launch himself into the stratosphere at any moment and never come back. Even Petunia, the quintessence of a perfect student, couldn't stay composed enough to talk about verbs and adverbs without sneaking peeks at Sylvester and bursting into laughter herself.

Ordinarily, a few soft-spoken chides and pitched accommodations would propel them back to focus, but today, nothing Honey tried seemed to have any effect.

If nothing else, Honey had a glimmering notion as to why their antics had taken such a wild turn. She didn't need a magnifying glass or a detective's hat to solve the mystery of the ruckus in her classroom.

All Honey had to do was tune in to the name that danced through the air like a parade of confetti, twirling through every whisper and giggle: Max.

Max—no surname needed to know which, of course—won the Bahrain Grand Prix, and her children, utterly convinced that they were the best of friends with him after a single encounter, celebrated his achievement as though he'd always been a part of their classroom. Exercise sheets were abandoned for cheering scribbles celebrating 'Max the Champion,' lunches uneaten as crayon masterpieces took center stage, and recess became a grand finale of the race, complete with over-the-top sound effects and victory laps around the playground.

And though Honey would never begrudge anything that made worry-prone Anwen beam from ear to ear in such a way, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern. Her students seemed to be getting a tad too drawn in by the dazzling world of Formula 1, when their focus should be on the very thing that had made meeting the Red Bull drivers possible in the first place—their education.

It wasn't until the fifth period, when Honey opened Nikolaas' workbook to find all of Max's laptimes meticulously recorded and analyzed where equations should have been, that she realized she'd better wrangle their wandering minds back to their studies before they completely veered off course.

She clapped once; at once, all eyes snapped to attention.

Sylvester, always the first to get swept up in the magic of silence, perked up eagerly. "Miss Honey!" the blonde-haired boy blurted, his voice bubbling with excitement. "Remember last week when you asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, and I said, 'Miss Honey, I really don't know'? Well, guess what—I figured it out! When I grow up, I will totally be Max!"

Honey opened her mouth to speak, but another voice cut in before she could respond. "Like Max," Petunia corrected, her voice full of the wisdom only a child could possess. "Max is already Max. So, what you really mean is you want to be like him, not be him!"

Sylvester nodded with growing excitement. "You're so right, Nunia! I can be a driver like Max and still stay Sylvester, can't I?"

"Of course!" Petunia's crooked-toothed smile lit up her face. "When you're racing around like Max, promise you'll take me for a ride in your super cool car!"

Nikolaas scrunched up his nose—a telltale sign Honey knew all too well.

"Alright, class," Honey laughed nervously. "We need to have a serious discussion—"

But, of course, Nikolaas interrupted her with a scowl. "You can't, Petunia!" He declared, full of indignation. "You need a Super License to drive a race car, not just any license. And Verstappen, he changed the rules! He was only 17 and 166 days old when he got his, the youngest ever, so the FIA made a new rule—you have to be 18 now. And you're just 6!"

Sylvester scratched his hair with confusion. "But Neeks, you're only 5! Didn't you say you will be better than Shoe Maker? How when you are littler than Petunia? You can't even reach the pedals!"

"Michael Schumacher!" Nikolaas protested, visibly aggrieved. "He's the greatest F1 driver there ever was, ever, winning seven World Championships! And I'll be even better! Being 5 doesn't matter—Miss Honey said if I eat all my vegetables, even those slimy cooked carrots, I'll reach the pedals soon enough, and then I'm going to be the youngest F1 champion ever. Younger than Vettel! He won in 2010 at 23 years and 134 days, so even if I get it at 23 years and 133 days, that'll still be a new record! But I'll do it even earlier than that, won't I, Miss Honey?"

His cheeks flushed like bright red apples by the time his fervent speech ended, his brows tightly knotted with frustration. Knowing it was pointless to try and steer him otherwise, Honey just smiled, letting him dream as big as he wished. "And if you do all your homework," she added softly, smoothing his inky black hair.

"And if I do all my homework!" Nikolaas added passionately.

"That's nice, Nicky," Charley said without glancing up from her drawing—while everyone else's paper was crowded with blonde stick figures, hers featured Sergio, grinning as he claimed second place in the race. "But I think Checo is the best, greatest driver in the whole world."

"You only think that because he's Mexican like you!" Sylvester teased.

"Maybe being Mexican just makes you the best at everything," Charley replied with a wise nod.

Nikolaas scrunched up his face. "Sakhir 2020 was super cool!" he agreed. Sylvester giggled, "Neeks, you were like, two years old when that happened! How do you even know about it?" Charley jumped in, "He probably watched it with Miss Honey on YouTube."

"Miss Honey!" Monty shouted. "Why don't you watch YouTube with us?"

Charley laughed, "Because we don't live with her! Nicky does!"

"I bet Miss Honey lets him watch all the races he wants," Sylvester said with a big sigh, most likely mourning the screentime limits his parents introduced recently.

"Let's refocus—" Honey attempted to steer the conversation back to the original topic of discussion, but Nikolaas straightened his posture.

"Grandma Judith buys me F1 TV Pro for my birthday." He said. "Every year. That's how I watch all the races—live. You have to watch them live, or you won't know what happens right away," he explained, his tone very matter-of-fact. "If it's on late, Miss Honey wakes me up early in the morning so I can watch them as soon as possible." His eyes lit up, and his voice got a little faster. "If I get good grades on all my tests, Grandma Judith said she'll take me to Silverstone this year. I already know where we'll sit—Stowe corner. July 12th, 1987. That's when Nigel Mansell faked passing Nelson Piquet on the outside, but he actually cut back inside and passed him and won." Nikolaas finished with a small, satisfied nod, then wrinkled his nose. "Piquet is gross—"

"Alright," Miss Honey gently interrupted before Nikolaas could dive deeper into his racing facts, placing a soft hand on his thin shoulder. "To do well on your tests and get to Silverstone, you'll need to focus and study hard, right?"

Nikolaas didn't answer. His eyes shifted back to his notebook, but she knew he was still listening, even if he didn't say anything.

Aware that Nikolaas wouldn't engage unless the topic stayed on racing, Honey shifted her focus to the entire class, searching for the right way to broach the conversation without thwarting their excitement.

This is the tightrope of an educator: finding the right balance between strictness and approachability, wobbling between authority and a source of comfort. Forming genuine connections with her students was as vital as the lessons she shared. A misstep in her approach could easily send them retreating into their shells—a fate far more terrifying than deviating slightly from the curriculum.

Like a gentle breeze weaving through the tall grass, Miss Lovelace's lessons fluttered into Honey's mind like glimpses of fireflies on a warm summer night. When it comes to children, Miss Lovelace had told her back then, there's no need for childish treatment or condescension; they are capable of understanding far more than the adults who underestimate them. So Honey straightened her skirt, cleared her throat, and said, "Class, I have to admit that I've been feeling a bit worried today."

Faces full of concern turned towards her.

"Oh, no!" Petunia exclaimed. "What's wrong, Miss Honey?"

"I'm just a bit concerned about the lack of participation and focus I've been noticing today," she explained. "I understand that we are all very excited and happy for Max, but it's important to remember that our education is also crucial."

"But Miss Honey," August called, his eyes wide, "Mr. Max winning is a huge deal! We're his friends, and you always say we should cheer for each other!"

Honey nodded—she could not be upset with August for pointing out her own advice. "You're absolutely right," she conceded. "Supporting each other is as vital as sunlight to flowers, but we also need to prioritize our growth. That means staying focused on our studies and making the best use of our class time, something I noticed we struggled with today."

"We were just making cards for Max, Miss Honey," Anwen said, holding up a colorful card she had made. "Like that time we made cards for you when you won the teacher of the year award. Can we still give these to him? I'd feel really sad if we couldn't show him we care."

Honey's heart softened like wax in the sun at Anwen's sincere gesture. "Of course we can still give them to Mr. Verstappen," she replied. "But it made me worry as your teacher that we may not be using our time effectively in class."

Anwen, easily moved to tears and the first to blame herself at every turn, nodded, her eyes welling up with emotion. "I'm sorry, Miss Honey, it was my idea..."

Honey came to her side, smoothing down her hair. "Oh, Anwen, it's okay. I'm not upset with any of you—I'd just like to make sure we're all making the most of our time together. I do think we can come up with a solution that works for everyone."

Honey's gentle reassurance seemed to calm Anwen down, as she sniffled and nodded in agreement. "How about this: I will give you all 15 minutes to finish up your cards for Max, then I will collect them all and make sure he receives them. I'm sure he will appreciate the effort and thought you put into making them. However, we will need to move on to the extra lessons at the end of chapter seven afterward. Is everyone okay with that?"

The offer was met with enthusiastic nods from the students.

"Miss, may I have 20 minutes, please?" Chester asked, his hopeful gaze fixed on her. She was aware of his color-blindness and the extra time he needed to select the right colors for his card. Honey didn't hesitate—"Alright, 30 minutes it is! But remember, we need to focus on our work afterward."

Chester's face lit up; Honey grinned with love, taking a moment to look at all her students working diligently on their cards before heading to the storage closet to retrieve more art supplies.

Hopefully she'll find a way to reach Max Verstappen tucked away somewhere between the Dandelion crayons and the zigzag scissors.

When Honey was much, much younger than Nikolaas is now, she had a great, massive appetite. She simply loved to eat—for no reason more than that, of course. So, as she grew older, she made a promise to learn the art of cooking every delectable dish her stomach could dream of. After her adoption, she started with simple dishes: fragrant, saffron-kissed rice. Slow-cooked lentil stew. Yogurt-coated fritters. Eventually, simmered goat curry and poultry simmered in a buttery sauce; root vegetables, potatoes, lentils, and tomatoes all melded together.
Evidently, carrots were the only vegetable she seemed to never perfect.

Nikolaas insisted so; the boy made his displeasure known all throughout the meal, refusing to even take a single bite. Honey had anticipated this, plating the carrots separately with a sprinkle of brown sugar and cinnamon in hopes of enticing him to try them. But Nikolaas remained stubborn, pushing the carrots away with a scowl, causing Honey to sigh in defeat at her inability to win him over.

Judith didn't bother for a moment to hide their amusement. "What happened to eating all of your vegetables to grow faster and stronger, kiddo?" They teased. Nikolaas didn't reply, but his indignation was evident in the way he turned his head away from the plate.

"He's upset because I won't send Mr. Verstappen the card he made," Honey explained absentmindedly to her mother, her mind more focused on sorting through her students' latest writing assignments. As expected, Anwen had earned the highest marks again, while Petunia, bless her heart, was still spelling things phonetically, as if letters were puzzle pieces she was just beginning to fit together.

"Oh?" Judith chuckled. "And who is Mr. Verstappen, my dear blossom?"

Honey paused, realizing she had revealed more than she intended.

Before she could dismiss the question with a vague response, Nikolaas spoke up.

"Max Emilian Verstappen is a Dutch and Belgian racing driver born on September 30th, 1997, currently competing under the Dutch flag in Formula One for Red Bull Racing," he said. "He has won three Formula One World Drivers' Championship titles, which he won consecutively from 2021 to 2023 with Red Bull. He is the son of awful former Formula One driver Jos Verstappen and kart champion Sophie Kumpen—"

"You have a new idol, kiddo? No more Vettel or Michael Schumacher?" Judith asked, and Honey breathed a little easier. Everyone around her seemed to grow insane whenever she met a man—no doubt if her mother discovered that Max was someone she had met in person, she would never hear the end of it.

Except Nikolaas shook his head, black fringe falling into his eyes as he replied, "No." He continued. "We filmed a video for the F1 channel. Verstappen and Miss Honey left together in his car. Headmaster Finchley said they were going to a restaurant, and then Miss Honey also brought Max to her office. You were in Newham for your Author Event, Grandma Judith. He left very late. Grandma Wendy was already asleep when he left!"

Honey's heart skipped a beat.

Nikolaas slid off his chair. "Bye, bye!" He waved to Honey before dashing away, tip-toes barely making a sound on the floor as he headed up the stairs to his room.

When she shifted her eyes from her paperwork, Judith was grinning a grin as wide as a Cheshire cat's. "Oh?" With her chin resting on their hand, Judith leaned forward on the table. "Is that truly the case? At twenty-six, my daughter has finally reached the age where she is sneaking men into her personal office after dark?"

Honey blushed. "No, no!" She said, scandalized. "Mr. Verstappen—we did not! We discussed everything in the car, and—it was not a date, we did not go to any restaurants at all—he did not come inside—"

Judith grinned. "How unfortunate. I would like more grandchildren."

"Mother!" Honey exclaimed, her face turning even redder. "How—Mother!"

Judith chuckled, a glint of amusement in their eyes. "I'm only teasing, dear." With an easy motion, they lifted the wire-framed glasses hanging from the collar of their blouse and set them gently on their nose as the cracked iPhone screen flickered to life. "Max Verstappen, you say?" they mused, a playful smile curving their lips. "Looks like quite the charmer."

Honey purshed her lips. "He is one of the drivers the children will be working with," she explained, trying to hide her embarrassment. Hesitating, she continued. "Do not tell Nikolaas—truly, do not—but Mr. Verstappen is very interested in sponsoring his karting career. That is what we discussed during our meeting; there's a lot of logistics involved, but it could be a huge opportunity for him."

"About damn time you let that child try!" Judith interjected, eyes lighting up with excitement. "I told you, that sort of love and passion cannot be ignored!"

Honey nodded quietly, cradling her mug of tea between her hands. "I know," she admitted, her voice a gentle whisper. No explanations were needed for why she hesitated to let Nikolaas chase after his karting dreams; everyone who knew her had witnessed how her stubborn panic often left her stumbling over words, even on subjects where her knowledge rivaled that of a library bursting with books.

"You must relinquish that fear, darling," Judith advised, lighting a herbal cigarette now that Nikolaas was no longer present. "Consider the multitude of opportunities squandered due to our reluctance to embrace uncertainty. Let him take flight; it is an inevitable part of parenting, my sweet."

Honey knew that, of course. It was entirely a different matter to put into practice. Silence passed, the empty seat next to Judith a vacant reminder of all the inevitabilities of life.

She sighed; from the stairs, the sound of Nikolaas watching another race recording drifted down, a comforting reminder of his presence.

Slouching in her chair, Honey mirrored her mother, her chin resting in her hand as she reflected on the bittersweet truth of Judith's words. "You know," she said with a faint smile, trying to ease the somber mood that had settled around them, "the card Nikolaas made was a drawing of him stealing Verstappen's seat at Red Bull. He said he would've won with a larger gap than him. It's amazing how such a little boy can have so much confidence and ambition already."

"You were just like that once," Judith said, voice carrying a tender nostalgia as they looked at Honey, memories swirling in her gaze. "You had grand dreams and never hesitated to pursue them. Perhaps it's time to rekindle that fearless spirit inside you, my honey. Be mischievous again—send him that card."

Perhaps, Honey mused. How lovely it would be if, someday, she could become someone more like Max and Nikolaas.

But, as was often the case, fear emerged victorious for Honey.

The anxiety fluttering through her fingers was so fierce that the numbers on the paper Max had given her wobbled and twirled, making it nearly impossible to read them. It simply wouldn't be appropriate to reach out for non-karting reasons; Mr. Verstappen hadn't precisely rolled out the welcome mat for direct contact on any whimsy, after all, much less something like her students wishing to bombard him with fan mail.

But Charley's message to Sergio would go unread, and Anwen had written such a lengthy letter to Charles Leclerc that they had to staple multiple pages together. Wouldn't it be a pity to let Chester's drawing to Daniel Ricciardo go unappreciated as well? It seemed like a shame to let the effort and creativity of her students go unnoticed by their racing idols. One message to Max couldn't possibly ruin everything, right? At worst, he will ignore her, or redirect her to an assistant.

But at best, he might actually take the time to read it and appreciate the sentiment behind it.

She typed each word carefully.

Dear Mr. Verstappen, she deleted; Greetings, Max! She disliked. Nothing seemed quite right. Not hi nor a hello, a good morning too much of a lie on her part given it was closer to midnight than anything else, and a good evening seemed too formal.

In the end, she settled for a congratulations.

The immediate response she received made her jump.

MAX VERSTAPPEN
haha thank you miss honey
today went even better than expected
the car was really nice to drive
every compound felt good
great start to the year LOL
i think we had a lot of pace
had no idea you'd watch
did you enjoy the race?

Honey wasn't sure which to do—smile, recognizing the same frantic excitement that seized Nikolaas whenever racing came up, now alive in Max, or sink into quiet shame for not wanting to admit that she hadn't actually seen the race.

She downloaded the F1 app on her phone instead. On her laptop, she scrolled through YouTube, seeking out the race highlights like a student cramming for a test.

HONEY CLARKE
It was incredible! Winning with such a large margin after leading from start to finish was beyond impressive—Nikolaas even asked if he could watch the race again before bedtime. I think he might be your biggest fan now!

MAX VERSTAPPEN
doubt he is a fan lol
he probably prepared a list of questions for me to answer about the race
and criticism of course
odd enough i started hearing his voice in my head every time it feels like i'll lock up
"bad verstappen. stop overheating breaks. vettel would not do this. bad bad bad."

Honey hid her smile behind her hand. It was exactly the kind of remark Nikolaas would've made.

HONEY CLARKE
He did write you an evaluation...
Spoiler alert: You nearly scored a perfect 10! But he docked a couple of points for reasons that went right over my head. I'm sure he will be pleased to discuss it with you in person next time you see him! Oh, and by the way, the class made you some congratulatory cards for your stellar performance!

Do you have a P.O. box where I can send them?
Do not worry if not. I can always hand them to you in person next shooting.

But Max did not reply with an address or a confirmation to save it for the next F1 Kids filming session. His reply was something entirely unexpected:

MAX VERSTAPPEN
oh I'll be there tomorrow then
see you soon miss honey

What? Honey thought, puzzled.
Isn't Max in the Middle East?

But he'd just wished her a good day instead of an answer, signing off with a smiley face emoji, as if everything were perfectly normal.

That night, sleep danced just out of reach, leaving Honey wide awake.

As dawn tiptoed in and the sugar-spun clouds stretched and parted to let the sun's warm rays slip through her window, Honey had no time to dwell on Max's unexpected message, though. With a speed-loving child to prepare for another school day and a breakfast banquet to whip up for her mothers, time pirouetted away from her grasp.

At the academy, Chester tumbled in with untied shoes and an unraveling tie; As Honey straightened Clementine's lopsided pigtails and negotiated with Charley to release a very bewildered duck, she couldn't help but feel grateful—grounded and surrounded by what she has always cherished most: normalcy. There was the daily joy of receiving dew-speckled flowers from Petunia's grandfather and the inevitable stop from Sylvester's flustered mother to share her son's latest escapades. Even listening to the gentle school bell chime settled her heart, happy to the start of yet another beautifully predictable day.

Beautifully predictable—until the evening drizzled with surprise like an unforeseen storm, and an Aston Martin, all gleaming curves and polished elegance, purred up to the parking lot as they awaited for the students to be picked up.

"Max!" Petunia screeched happily.

With a single spark, her students came alive.

When all the children crowded him, Max smiled as dazzlingly as the setting sun, and suddenly, normalcy seemed like a distant memory.

Honey stood back, hugging her clipboard tightly as she watched the man greet each of her students by name; she admired how Max's eyes wrinkled at the sight of August's wide-mouth awe and the way his expression seemed to brighten even the darkest corners of the parking lot whenever a new tiny hand reached out for a high-five. Congratulations bubbled over with excitement, and by the time Max stood in front of her, Honey had grown so terribly enchanted, she found herself unable to speak at all.

"Hi," Max greeted first.

Honey grinned, a laugh fluttering in her throat somewhere, straying from all the butterflies in her stomach. "Hi," she managed to reply.

"I'm here for the mail," Max joked, and if it weren't for Nikolaas' hand on her skirt steadying her, Honey might have been swept away by the warmth in his eyes.

"Long way to come for just the mail," Honey teased back.

Max chuckled. "What's that saying? Neither snow nor rain can keep a postman away," he joked, accent elongating vowels like taffy and flattening consonants into a smooth drawl. "I've got plenty of time before Bahrain next week, so I thought I'd pick up my parcel and say thank you in person."

Honey felt her cheeks flush at his words, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Well, I'm glad you made the trip safely," she said softly, feeling her heart flutter in her chest.

"Miss Honey," Petunia huffed, her cheeks puffed up with indignation. "If you had told us Max was coming to get his cards, I would've told Papaw to get more flowers for him!"

Sylvester nodded furiously. "Yeah, Miss! We could've made him a banner like yours!"

Honey recalled the birthday surprise they had prepared for her—all of the sweet jumble of misspelled words and smudged fingerprints that adorned the fabric. In her heart, she couldn't help but think that Max was probably accustomed to grander displays than homemade banners and wildflowers from a small-town classroom.

"For the next race, then," Max said to the kids. "I've still got more to win."

While the other kids cheered with joy, Nikolaas quietly reached into Honey's tote bag. "Tyre management," he said, handing Max the card he had made like a disappointed teacher returning a hopelessly scribbled test, his tone as flat as a tyre itself.

Max laughed heartily, throwing his head back.

Honey smiled at them, eager to catch snippets of their conversation about racing strategies and the upcoming race. But the familiar click-clack of office heels echoed on the worn stone floor of the academy, signaling Sylvester's mother had arrived to sign out her son for the day, and soon, the flood of other parents would follow. August's older brother was a teenager now, impatient and all grown up, while Anwen's mother lingered, always anxious to hear how her daughter was faring in class.

In no time at all, Honey was swept away in a whirlwind of farewells and fluttering promises to catch up later, students old and new alike clamoring for her goodbye hugs and one last conversation before the school day came to an end.

As the hustle and bustle faded into a gentle whisper, Honey reached for her phone, slipping into the comforting rhythm of her routine until a hand landed on her shoulder, startling her.

"Sorry," Max grinned at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Nikolaas said you were about to call an Uber. I figured I'd catch you before you did. How about we grab some lunch and celebrate a bit?"

She really liked Max's eyes, she decided. What went unspoken with him was told through his eyes and the crooked smile that widened as he awaited her response. Honey understood it wasn't about celebrating his victory; it was about sharing the joy with Nikolaas when they spoke to him about beginning his karting lessons.

Honey smiled, ready to agree, until a thought struck her.
"Mr. Verstappen," she said, pointing, "your car only has two seats."

His look of wide-eyed surprise sent a burst of laughter spark from her lips.

"I didn't think of that," Max admitted, rubbing the back of his ear. "I'll order the Uber."

She stared at him fondly. "Okay," she replied.

Max did not take them to a restaurant or in the direction of Honey's house. He took them to Nikolaas' favorite gelato shop instead, a quaint little shop where the owner knew the boy's order by heart after years of Wednesday afternoon visits. Nikolaas' eyes lit up; he did not wait for them before heading inside.

"Did he tell you about this place?" Honey asked.

"I've always liked this place," Max denied; still, the side of his mouth curled up. "But he might've mentioned that the build was constructed in 1979."

With a soft smile tugging at her lips, Honey glanced down as they made their way to the shop, Max swinging the door open with ease. The air inside greeted them with the sugary kiss of freshly made gelato, and there was Nikolaas, watching the gelato swirl into a cone with a blank stare, as if witnessing an ancient ritual.

"That means he likes you, you know," Honey pointed out.
Max grinned. How nice, she thought. How lovely.

"I hope he does," he joked. "Considering I'm the one paying for his entire karting career, I'd hate to find out he's just being nice."

Honey laughed, and for once, she let the uncertainty of spoken words float away like dandelion seeds; she pushed aside any fear that might tighten her stomach, leaving space for the luscious mango gelato to melt away any lingering doubts. Instead, she savored the sweet taste of fruit on her tongue and relished the warmth of Nikolaas's astonished face—gleaming with disbelief at the news of Max's support for his karting dreams—to wash over her, wrapping her in a blanket of happiness she hadn't felt in far too long.

"I really can do it?" Nikolaas asked quietly, his gaze unwavering, and he didn't beaming with happiness or giggle with exhilaration, but the gleam in his blue eyes was enough—will always be more than enough—for Honey to believe she would've never felt happiness like this if it weren't for him.

Max seemed to feel the same way, gazing at Nikolaas with a conviction—a faith no one else has ever directed to Nikolaas—that dissolved the last of Honey's reservations about the man who could change her boy's life forever. Pride nestled quietly in his gaze, even as Nikolaas turned his gelato into a comical mess and scowled at Max as if to declare he'd never smile at him again.

"You won your first race at seven," Nikolaas remarked, chocolate smudged around his lips, his blue eyes fierced with determination. "I'll be six."

Max's laughter grew louder at those words.
That pride would not go anywhere, Honey figured.
It would not go anywhere, even if Nikolaas never won any races at all.

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !
did the chapter feel useless? uh yeah it did. but did it make me happy? yes, and that is all that matters. nikolaas karting career about to be GOOOOOOATED and we get coach max YAYY ofc im going to write whatever breakdown red bull is going through. im thinking of writing honey and max jumping into whatever this is wayyy too fast and all the conflict catching up to them after

should be interesting!

Thank you for reading! Until the next update, bye-bye!