Knock Me Down

Chapter One

On my second day in Monaco I found an enchanting little cafe, tucked amongst the back streets where tourists never venture, the smell of their freshly baked delights guiding my nose to their door. The selection of pastries made my mouth water and it was a struggle deciding which to choose.

On this, my fourth day here, I'm currently debating with myself, daydreaming really, whether to try the tarte framboise or stick with a croissant. I can never resist those buttery layers of puff pastry that seem to melt in your mouth but today I feel like something a little bit sweeter, something a little bit naughtier.

'Ooofff'

I feel my ankle twist beneath me as I'm knocked to the ground.

'Son of a bitch!' The pain shoots up my leg and a wave of nausea crashes over me. I start to feel dizzy and hot. I know this feeling, having fainted a few times before, normally at the sight of blood and the smell of TCP. I put my head between my knees and look down at the floor, trying to control my breathing. The last thing I need is to faint right here on the pavement. How embarrassing would that be, on top of being knocked to the floor in a crumpled heap?

'Shit, I'm so sorry, was completely distracted and didn't see you. Are you ok? You look a bit pale.' A British voice with a slight accent, full of concern, causes me to look up.

I inwardly groan. Terrific, I've been knocked down by none other than Lando Norris, my favourite F1 driver. I, like every other fan, I'm sure, has dreamt about this moment, being flat on my arse was not what I envisioned.

'I'm sure I will be' I say as I go to pick myself up, but my ankle does not want to support my weight and I quickly sit back down, 'or not' I jest, grimacing in agony.

'There's a cafe right round the corner, lets get you there and we can elevate that foot and put some ice on it. Here, use me as a crutch.' He puts my arm around his shoulder and pulls me up.

Lord have mercy, 40 years old and I suddenly feel like a 16 year old school girl being spoken to by her crush. My mind is suddenly blank and I'm sure my mouth is moving up and down like a fish, no words coming out.

'Thank you, that's actually where I was headed' I finally manage to say as he walks and I limp beside him, trying to keep as much weight off my throbbing foot as possible.

'Was it the coffee or the pastries that tempted you?' he asks, 'Their pain au chocolat is to die for, I'd quite happily eat a whole tray! It would be well worth the torture John would put me through to work them off' he laughs.

'I don't like coffee so definitely the pastries.... Even though I have to do an extra session in the gym afterwards. You're right about that, they are worth it.'

'Don't like coffee' he repeats, 'what kind of heathen are you? I can't function without my morning Latte. Who doesn't like coffee?!'

'I'm British' I chuckle, 'it's tea, all the way. Preferably with a scone, jam and lots of clotted cream, but I'll settle for pastries.'

'Don't say that too loud around here' he warned with a smile 'you never know who's listening'

'The pastry police?' I try and say with a straight face, but I fail and he laughs along with me.

As we round the corner, the café comes into view and I sigh in relief.

'Do I smell that bad?' he jokes.

'No, you smell amazing' I reply, realising way too late that I said it out loud. 'I mean.... Well...shit... you do though' I blush. Fuck sake, really? Get it together, you are a middle aged woman for crying out loud!

'I'm just glad I can sit down and get some ice on my foot, it really hurts'

'Here, sit in this chair and I'll sort you right out.' He walks off to go and talk to a lady who I can only assume is the owner. Returning fairly swiftly with the aforementioned ice, he places it gently on my ankle. 'Better?'

'Much, thank you. Thanks for looking after me.'

'Couldn't avoid playing the knight in shining armour to a beautiful lady, even if I did cause her to fall down in the first place.' He smiles. Gosh that smile, let me tell you, I've seen it numerous times in photos but up close it radiates over his whole face and his eyes sparkle with mischief. Wait, is he flirting with me? Surely not, I'm old enough to be his mother, technically speaking.

'Here's your tea and coffee, Lando, I brought over a selection of pastries like you asked as well. Are you ok?' She looks at me, 'you can stay as long as you need to, it looks quite swollen.'

'Thank you, that's very kind of you.'

'Oh, anything for a friend of Landos' She winks and walks away.

'Well, now you know my name. Can I ask after the name of the damsel I barreled into?'

'I know who you are' I admit 'I'm a bit of a fan' that's putting it mildly but to say anything else would come across as a bit of a bunny boiler. 'I'm Kat' I hold out my hand for him to shake. As he does so he notices the henna tattoo on my wrist that I had done on my first day here, the day after his win in Miami. It's four simple lines drawn at a slight angle, like the lines he has on his car and his new necklace to present his driver's number. 'Bit of a fan' he queries with his eyebrows raised.

'You won your first race... I wanted to commemorate it somehow, but in an understated way' I explained.

'I like it' he grins. 'It's kind of sexy.' There's that eye glint again. 

Help me.