Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71396 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
I rest back on my elbows, watching the waves, when I hear footsteps crunching in the sand behind us.
“Excuse me? Sorry to interrupt,” a voice says.
I turn to find three people approaching—two guys and a woman, all in their twenties, wearing sun-faded Torquay Surf Club tees and sandy flip-flops. They’re grinning from ear to ear.
“Are you Reid Hemsworth?” one of the guys asks, already knowing the answer.
I sit up straighter and nod. “Yeah.”
The woman gasps. “Holy shit, we were at the Melbourne race! You were incredible.”
The other guy pulls out his phone. “Would you mind a photo? We won tickets in a contest through a local bar, and we were right near the Matterhorn paddock. Dude, it was epic.”
I smile and stand. “Yeah, of course.”
Lara rises with me, brushing off her shorts, and I can see the amusement dancing in her eyes. She offers to take the photo, and the three fans eagerly crowd around me, handing over their phones in succession as she snaps away. The woman insists on a selfie with just the two of us, gushing the entire time about how fast the car looked in Sector 3.
“You’re a legend, man,” the first guy says as they head off. “Good luck in Suzuka. We’ll be cheering for you.”
“Thanks,” I say with a nod.
As they disappear down the beach, Lara watches them go, still smiling. Then she looks at me, something slightly awestruck in her expression.
“I mean, I know you’re famous,” she says, voice teasing. “But that was kind of surreal.”
“Comes with the job,” I reply with a smirk, nudging her shoulder.
“Still,” she murmurs, eyes distant now like she’s thinking it through. “It’s different seeing it up close. Like, you’re not just Reid, my neighborhood best friend who used to steal my cereal and make me laugh when I cried. You’re also that.”
Before I can answer, Carlos returns, holding three bottles of beer and a snack box cradled in one arm.
“Success!” he announces. “I bring drinks and something weird I’ve always wanted to try.”
He drops onto the towel beside us, opening the box to reveal an assortment of Aussie snack samples. The centerpiece is unmistakable.
“Vegemite,” he says, holding it up like it’s a trophy. “I’ve heard legends and now it’s time to see if it’s worthy.”
Lara and I exchange a look, twin expressions of dread and humor. Vegemite isn’t something you just “try”—it’s a rite of passage. A thick, salty, yeast-based spread made from leftover brewer’s extract, it’s beloved by Australians and feared by nearly everyone else. Eaten wrong—meaning anything more than a whisper-thin layer—it’s practically a war crime against your taste buds.
“You’re not going to like it,” I warn.
Carlos shrugs. “I’ve eaten fried grasshoppers in Mexico. How bad can this be?”
He takes a small cracker, smears the tiniest bit of the dark spread onto it, and pops it into his mouth.
For a moment, nothing.
Then his face contorts. His eyes water.
“Why would anyone do this to themselves?” he croaks.
Lara bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over. I chuckle and hand him a beer.
“Told you,” I say.
Carlos sips furiously. “I am personally attacked by this experience.”
“Welcome to Australia,” Lara says, grinning. “Next up? Tim Tams. Those, you’ll like.”
Carlos waves a hand dramatically. “I’m going to need emotional support before I try anything else.”
CHAPTER 16
Lara
Sunlight pours through the wide windows over the kitchen sink and the scent of bacon and fresh coffee makes my stomach rumble. Mum hums under her breath as she flips pancakes on the griddle, while Reid stands nearby squeezing orange juice like he owns the place.
He kind of does, in a weird, nostalgic way. Reid grew up a street away but was over here at my house as much as I was at the Hemsworths’. We never knocked when we visited, just walked in and called out a greeting. I wonder how that might change going forward, especially since I don’t know that I want to walk in on Lance if he’s visiting his parents. That’s one of many examples when a wave of sadness hits me for everything that’s been lost, and I understand all too keenly that’s the chance you take when friendships turn romantic.
Carlos left early this morning to head back to Monaco, where he apparently lives. Reid explained that a lot of the FI drivers live in Monaco because it’s ridiculously safe, dripping in luxury, and perfectly positioned in the middle of the European circuit. Add in the fact that there’s no income tax, and it’s easy to see why half the grid calls it home.
It was a very fond farewell I gave to the charming Mexican driver, and I already miss his easy presence, the way he lightened everything without making it seem trivial.
Reid sets out the carafe of juice just as Mum calls out, “Breakfast is ready!”
We gather around the big wooden table, Mum and Dad on one side, Graham and Leanne on the other, Reid and I tucked in across from each other. The parents got back mid-morning and Mum insisted on brunch together. While it’s not odd for the Candlish and Hemsworth families to share meals, this feels a bit contrived. Like they’re forcing normalcy on us in a very not-normal time. However, I appreciate the sentiment behind it and suspect it’s all for my benefit to show that no one is upset with me for calling off the engagement.