Just a Waitress (Daniel Ricciardo)

Three

Sunday soon rolled around, the weekend flying by with a blur of cheesecake and pasta, but also a couple of Daniel Ricciardo smiles.

Admittedly, those wasn't a blur. Those were extremely vivid in my mind.

We hadn't had a proper conversation (if that's what you would call our encounter) since Thursday outside of the toilets (how romantic) except the polite greetings over the counter in between practice sessions on Friday and either side of qualifying on Saturday.

There wasn't much time apart from when he was getting his meals because of how busy he always was, how the whole team was, especially because of it being his home race, and the first race of the season.

Plus, there was also the extra discussion between Dan and his engineers over the new qualifying system, which, while they did conduct in the motor home, there wasn't much going on in relation to Dan and myself.

Well, if you didn't include my staring.

At least I'd managed to get over the stuttering and the drooling.

(Or, I thought I had anyway. You never know what could happen).

After qualifying, I managed to have a quick conversation over the counter, where I was able to gage his feelings towards the new qualifying system.

Which, let's be honest, he didn't like it. But then again, did anyone? Only Daniel, (and Daniil), had to keep quiet about their own feelings, because Christian had voted it in, influencing what they could say on air.

Sunday though, was most definitely the busiest day of the entire weekend.

So far throughout the week, there was a good half an hour to an hour before people started to show up, but today, people were here, ready for breakfast, straight after the food had been placed down.

And, of course, one of those people was Daniel himself.

"Hi," I smiled up at him, as I passed the man in front of him his breakfast.

"How you doing?" He grinned, leaning against the metal counter as he spoke.

"Stressed, busiest day since I've started the job." I laughed as I handed him a bowl of cereal.

"You've had the job, what four days now? Not quitting on me already, are you?"

"Of course not. Are you excited for today?"

"Hopefully we can move up a few more places, it was quite tight between fourth and us, in eight, so going forward is the objective." He nodded, turning to look over his shoulder when his name was called. "I've gotta go. I'll catch up with you later." He winked before turning away and walking over to the table in the corner.

"Just ask him out already, oh my god." Jenny muttered beside me.

"What?" I turned around to face her, eyes widening.

"Ask him out." She repeated.

"Next joke." I muttered out, followed by a sarcastic laugh.

Jenny persisted. "Why not? What have you got to lose?"

"My dignity? As if I could actually ask him out, he's Team Captain and I'm on the bleachers, and if I did ever find the courage, it's not like he would ever say yes." I rolled my eyes.

"Sorry, did you actually just quote Taylor Swift at me?" She laughed.

That put a stop to that conversation.

--

Watching Grand Prix's were stressful. No matter where you were, at home on the sofa, at a mates, down the pub.