Page 35 of Lights Out (Love in the Paddock #1)

We’re a close-knit family. I love spending time with my parents.

And Hadleigh and I are finally in the same town again.

She’s like my sister, and we meet up often.

We go out on Friday nights in South Beach, dancing until we’re ready to drop.

Grab coffee together. Treat ourselves to mani/pedis and lunch.

I’ll miss all of them so much.

And somehow, I’ll have to find a way to carve out a whole new life—in a new country—without them.

Buzz!

I glance down at my phone. It’s a text from my dad:

Going to be a few minutes late, sweetheart. Will meet you curbside.

I smile and text him back that it’s fine.

I make my way outside, letting him know where I am, and I’m hit with the heavy scent of jet fuel that is lingering in the air.

I come to a stop and let the exhaustion of the past week sweep over me.

I’ve flown from Bologna to Miami, Miami to Nice, and back.

I’ve worked for both The Downforce Network and myself, covering Formula 1 and Formula 2, my ultimate dream job.

I’ve signed contracts. Received information about my temporary apartment in London.

And now I have to prepare to move across the Atlantic, which will happen next week.

And I’m secretly dating one of the hottest Formula 1 drivers in the world.

This is CRAZY.

I take a moment to send a message to Caleb, as I promised I would when I got to Miami:

I’ve arrived! Cleared customs and am waiting outside for my dad to pick me up.

Within a few minutes, he responds:

I knew when you were home. Your location changed to Miami. Yeah, I was watching it. I had to know you were okay.

My heart quickens a bit thinking of him tracking me. We have each other’s locations turned on in Connectivity so we can see where the other is whenever we log in. Caleb Collings is typing …

I hate that I can’t see you in Spain this weekend.

AHHHHHHHHHHH!

Another message follows that one:

The truth is, I hated that I couldn’t see you after the race on Sunday.

Caleb Collings is typing …

I miss you, Isla.

HE. MISSES. ME.

I can’t contain the warm feeling spreading through my body. I text him back:

I miss you, too. I hate that I won’t be able to see you until Montreal.

My smile fades. That’s two weeks from now.

Caleb texts me back:

We’ll make video chats work. No matter what the time-zone difference is.

I stare at his words. Caleb is all in on this. As am I.

I see my dad’s Cadillac SUV swing around the bend, so I text him a quick note:

My dad is here. I’ll message you when I get home.

Then I drop my phone into my bag right as my dad pulls up next to me on the curb.

He gets out of the car, and I take him in.

He’s wearing his dress shirt and trousers.

His russet hair has flecks of gray in it, his skin is tanned from rounds of golf and playing pickleball—Dad’s latest obsession—and his hazel eyes regard me warmly as he approaches.

“Hi, Dad!” I say eagerly.

The first thing he does is wrap me up in a big bear hug, the only kind Mitch Foley knows how to give. “Look at the newest star for The Downforce Network,” he says proudly.

I chuckle at that. “Not true. Newest correspondent is more like it.”

He lets go of me and picks up my suitcase. “Trust me. They don’t make arrangements like this for a regular freelance correspondent. They are locking you in. I’m so damn proud of you.”

Multiple feelings rise within me. I’m glad I’ve made him proud. I’m blessed to have a father like him who helped make me the person I am today.

And I’m really going to miss him when I start my new life in Europe.

We get into the car and make the usual small talk as we head back home to Miami Beach. How was the flight? Monaco? Have you slept at all? And me asking return catch-up questions. How was your week? How was work? Did you and Mom play a lot of pickleball?

When we pull up to another stoplight at an intersection, Dad clears his throat. “Isla, coming back to F1,” he says slowly, almost as if he’s easing into the topic. “I don’t know how to say this other than to just say it. I’ve always been a straight shooter with you, and I’m not going to stop now.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Um, okay. Go on.”

He keeps his gaze straight ahead on the traffic lights. “I know you. You’re my only child. I know your expressions, the pitch of your voice. I watched that interview with Caleb Collings, and you didn’t respond to him like an ordinary interviewee.”

Panic grips me. I force myself to remain very, very still and wait for him to resume speaking.

“I think you like him,” Dad says. “Your whole face lit up when he began talking about candy. But I thought, okay, he’s an attractive man in a dangerous job. It would be hard for a lot of women not to respond to him.

“But then I saw pictures from the Emilia Wentworth-Hay party,” he continues. “You had your hand on his arm, and when you pulled back to look at him, I saw it. You like him.”

I gulp. My heart thumps with anxiety against my ribs.

The light turns green, and Dad eases ahead with the flow of traffic. Sunlight streams down from the blue sky, and we drive next to the ocean, but everything begins to disappear from sight as I worry about what my dad will say next.

“The fact that you aren’t denying it is alarming,” he says softly.

“ Alarming ?” I finally say. “Why would you use that word?”

He nods. “Alarming is the right word. Because Isla, if you’re thinking about getting involved with him? Or God forbid, you’ve already lit that match? You’re going to regret it. Because pursuing anything with Caleb Collings is the biggest mistake you could ever make.”