Tangled in Trophies- Lando Norris

21. Practice and Papaya

Evangeline tightened the strap of her credential lanyard, the bright orange McLaren badge hanging against her chest. She glanced down at it again, as though the proof of her being here would somehow vanish if she didn't. The morning air was already thick with energy, a tangible pulse of excitement and focus that echoed through the Imola paddock.

Lando had been true to his word, and after a warm—albeit slightly awkward—reunion in the hotel lobby last night, he had assured her she'd get the "full experience." She just hadn't quite expected that experience to start so early.

Evangeline had arrived a little after sunrise, guided by a McLaren team liaison who seemed as enthusiastic about Formula 1 as she was indifferent about tennis. He'd dropped her at the paddock's entrance with a map and a warning about the busy schedule ahead. Now, standing amidst the bustle of engineers, drivers, and media, Evangeline found herself navigating a world both foreign and overwhelming.

"Not bad, huh?" Lando's voice cut through the hum of activity, pulling her from her thoughts.

She turned to find him grinning, his McLaren polo untucked and his hair slightly disheveled, as though he had rolled straight out of bed and into his team kit.

"It's... loud," she said, gesturing vaguely to the chaos around her.

"That's not loud. Wait until the engines fire up," he teased, his grin widening. "Come on, I'll show you around before things get crazy."

Evangeline followed him as he navigated the maze-like paddock with practiced ease. The other teams' hospitality units towered around them like glass fortresses, their polished exteriors a stark contrast to the gritty determination she could feel in the air.

"So, this is where all the magic happens?" she asked, nodding toward the various motorhomes.

"This is where the strategizing happens," Lando corrected. "The magic's out there." He pointed toward the track, visible just beyond the paddock gates.

He led her to the McLaren motorhome first, where she met a blur of team members who greeted her with a mix of curiosity and respect. It was clear Lando had mentioned her—though whether he'd done so as "Evangeline Vittori, tennis champion" or just "Evangeline" was anyone's guess.

From there, they moved to the garage. Evangeline wasn't sure what she had expected, but the sheer precision of it all took her breath away. Engineers swarmed around Lando's car, the papaya-and-blue machine gleaming under the fluorescent lights.

"Your chariot," she murmured, nodding toward the car.

Lando chuckled. "It's not as glamorous when you're crammed inside at 200 miles per hour."

An engineer handed Lando a headset, which he immediately passed to Evangeline.

"Here, try this."

She hesitated, then slipped the headset on, immediately engulfed by the crackle of radio chatter. Voices discussed tire pressures, wing adjustments, and telemetry data with a level of intensity that made her stomach tighten.

"Impressive, huh?" Lando asked, watching her expression.

"Intense," she corrected.

"It's just practice. Wait until qualifying."

He spent the next hour guiding her through the intricacies of the team's operations. She met his race engineer, Will, who seemed equal parts amused and exasperated by Lando's antics, and a handful of mechanics who were too busy to do more than nod in her direction. Lando, however, seemed determined to make her feel at home, pointing out every detail of the garage setup with a casual confidence that belied the seriousness of the work happening around them.