#sal.writes

"And we're rolling in three, two..."

Lando claps his hands together in front of his chest, completing the count.

"Hello, everyone! Today we are here with Nike, McLaren Formula One Team's latest partner."

"And to celebrate this exciting new partnership, Lando and I are bringing you a live challenge."

"Live, huh?"

Oscar shrugs, palms turned up towards the ceiling, playing it up for the camera. "Just do it."

"Just do it."

"Okay." Oscar shuffles through his stack of cue cards. "So, the rules have been kept pretty simple, for our sakes."

"Thank God."

"We've got some cue cards with a word or phrase that both Nike and McLaren have in common. We'll have to give each other clues and guess what the card says."

"Right. Let's do it, then."

"Ah." Oscar wags a finger. "You mean just do it."

"That was a practice run."

"Sure it was."

"Okay! Oscar's guessing first." Lando squints at his cue card. "Hmmm. First clue is...Jarv."

"Jarv?"

"Uh-huh."

"Is it performance engineer?"

"Close! Performance engineer..." Lando grins, gesturing for Oscar to keep going.

"Performance engineer...ing?" Lando nods vigorously, flashing the answer in Oscar's direction. "There you go, performance engineering."

"I was going to use your engineer's name, but..."

"But?"

"I forgot it?"

Oscar pinches the bridge of his nose, which does little to contain his giggles. "That's quite the confession to make while we're live."

Lando shrugs, already a little bored with this. "Your go, Oscar."

"Alright, next clue: Three words, eight letters."

Easy. "I love you."

Oscar covers his face with the cue card. "Jesus Christ, Lando."

"What?" Lando looks between Oscar, cheeks flushed, and the social media team standing frozen behind the scenes, mouths hanging open.

An idea pings in his head when he clocks the Nike logo on the pair of runners they were meant to show off at the end. It really does look like the McLaren symbol. He counts off the letters with his fingers, just to make sure. "Oh. Just do it?"

Nobody confirms nor denies.

"Right, well. I suppose Oscar's won that one," someone says.

"Can I join you?"

George snaps his focus back to Max's face, framed by blurs of orange.

"Join me? Like around the farm?"

The juggling act hardly even wavers when Max nods, like he hasn't got the slightest bit of hesitation over what he's asking for.

"I have no problem with it." George knows that he should put distance between them after his actions last night, but he can't deny that he still wants. Wants for whatever might have been to happen, even when it was impossible. It was a bad habit he hasn't been able to kick since he was young. Since his karting days. "Unless you have some herbal massage you need to be getting back to."

"Massages are nice." Before George has a chance to overthink whether the comment has deeper implications or if a more innocent meaning was lost in translation, the driver follows up with another question: "Do you think I can jump across?"

Three persimmons land back on George's side of the creek, none of which survive the journey, as if for reference.

"You're welcome to try," he replies, driving the fresh fruit guts and seeds deep into the ground with the sole of his boot to throw off any foxes, keeping the grimace off his face.

George watches warily as Max makes his attempt, skidding on the muddied slope of the bank and catching himself moments before hitting the water headfirst.