𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐒 | 𝐋𝐍𝟒

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐗

Later That Night — Eindhoven

It took a bit of back and forth, but eventually, Milaine won.

Lando had insisted that he was going to cook. But she immediately declined, not wanting a mess like last night..

So now, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, just... watching.

Milaine moved with ease, tossing pasta in a wide pan with olive oil and finely chopped garlic, the air thick with the scent of fresh herbs. She wore a loose tee and a pain of comfy shorts, hair up in a knot that was already starting to fall apart. Her cheeks were slightly pink from the steam. She looked, unfairly, like she belonged in one of those quiet food vlogs—except she'd just told him thirty seconds ago to stop staring at her like a weirdo.

He hadn't stopped.

«You really don't trust me in the kitchen, huh?» he asked, amused.

She gave him a look over her shoulder. «You almost burned the chicken last night.»

«It was perfect, a bit overcooked but perfect»

«Barely eatable you mean.»

He grinned, because honestly? Watching her like this felt better than cooking anyway. She wasn't a world-class chef by any means—she'd admitted that herself—but this particular dish? She made it like she'd been born to. Some kind of creamy pasta with sun-dried tomatoes and pecorino and toasted pine nuts. He didn't know the name, just knew it smelled like heaven and she made it like it mattered.

«What's it called again?» he asked.

She stirred something confidently. «Tagliatelle alla Milaine.»

He laughed. «Oh, so you invented it.»

«Basically. I copied half a recipe and guessed the rest.»

He smiled, still watching her. The way she moved. The way her fingers flicked salt into the pot. She wasn't trying to impress him. That's what made it impressive.

Then, between bites of a stray pine nut she snuck from the pan, she said «You're leaving tomorrow, right?»

His eyes dropped for a beat. «Yeah. Morning. Gotta be in Zandvoort early.»

She nodded in understanding and he tilted his head. «You're coming, though... right?»

«Yeah» she said, without looking. «I kind of have to.»

He raised a brow. «Have to?»

«I got a message yesterday» she said, turning off the stove and grabbing a pair of plates from the rack. «From Viv.. Apparently I'm invited by the king himself»

«Wow Fancy, Perks of being an Olympic gold medalist» He smiled, he liked the way that nickname sounded..

She added «And I'm the one giving the pole position award.»

Lando blinked. «You?»

«syeah. Dutch grand slam winner, Olympic gold medalist, blah blah national pride—you know how it goes.» She looked over, giving a small shrug.

For a second, he didn't say anything. Just stared at the floor like he was chewing on it. Then he said «I'm getting that pole.»

She snorted. «Confident much?»

«I am getting that pole» he said again, firmer this time. Like a vow.

Milaine smiled faintly, then started plating the pasta.