Page 3

Chapter 3

Main Street Defense

Noah

I t’s been two days since I kissed a girl in the Mega Max garage bay and got shoved off like a bad idea.

Now it’s 9 a.m., and I’m standing in front of a custom-built podium styled like a winner’s circle, waving to a crowd of small-town locals, and national cameras. This Grand Opening isn’t just the town's’ biggest event—it’s their shot at giving this quaint, quiet town a permanent place in the racing world.

Cedar Falls, population adorable, has apparently adopted me.

I see many folks wearing Verelli merchandise—caps, shirts, even a couple of custom jerseys. Mrs. Henderson—a sharp-eyed senior with a cane that looks like it could double as a weapon—already offered to find me a nice local girl.

Even Mayor Roy Lewis gave me a mug that says I Brake for Pie.

This is the opposite of Monaco, and weirdly, I don’t hate it.

Levi claps me on the back. “Try not to let all this adoration go to your head, Romeo.”

I smirk. “Too late.”

He launches into full tour-guide mode. “Alright, come meet some of the folks who helped make all this happen. First, my parents..."

I get a surprisingly tight hug from Levi’s dad, Robert Johansen. “So glad you agreed to come, son,” Robert beams. “Big day for Cedar Falls. We’ve all put a lot into this place.”

I smile warmly at him. Then I give Levi's mom a peck on the cheek. Nancy, pretending to be stern, appraises me like she’s still in her courtroom days. “Try not to break anything.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Next is Mayor Roy, still grinning like I’m the second coming of Mario Andretti.

Then Levi introduce me to Amy Bello, the physical therapist with a megawatt smile and a voice that could melt steel.

“Noah Verelli,” she purrs, drawing out every syllable like it’s chocolate. “You’re way better looking in person. That jawline should come with a warning label.”

I laugh. “And you come with a license to flirt?”

“I come with a doctorate in human anatomy,” she says, stepping closer, eyes gleaming. “So technically, I’m professionally qualified to admire you. Thoroughly.”

Levi coughs beside me. Loudly.

Amy doesn’t flinch. “We should get coffee sometime. Purely for orthopedic research.”

Then, I feel Dante Fagioli—owner of Fagioli Motorsports and my team principal—step between us. Charcoal suit, sharp jaw, salt-and-pepper hair, and a glare that could stop a traffic. I know that look—he’s in his protective mode. He steps in whenever an enthusiastic fan gets a little too familiar with one of his drivers. Before flirty turns into gossip, and gossip turns into headlines. He shuts them down fast. Clean. No distractions.

“Noah,” he says, voice low, commanding. “You need to go over the media run-of-show.”

Amy straightens, caught off guard but not backing down.

Dante doesn’t offer a hand. Just a tight nod to Amy, then a look at me like he’s already regretting this whole Cedar Falls detour.

I clear my throat. “Amy, this is Dante Fagioli—my boss, owner of the Fagioli team.”

“And Dante, this is Amy Bello—Cedar Falls’ resident Doctor of Physical Therapy. She keeps the whole town standing upright.”

Dante nods once, voice low and professional. “Dr. Bello.”

Amy’s dimples flash. “The title’s optional. Unless you’re trying to behave.”

I watch Dante’s jaws clench at her teasing but there’s no stopping her.

“You’ve got that edge, you know. The kind that makes a girl wonder what you’re like when you finally stop holding back.”

Calm as ever, Dante gives Amy one more look before shifting his stance, stepping toward her instead. “Walk with me.” He says it low, not to me—but to her.

Amy’s smile is pure fire. She raises an eyebrow, clearly amused, but follows without missing a beat. Dante places a light hand at her lower back, guiding her through the crowd like he’s used to taking control and expecting obedience.

I watch them go, noting the glint in Amy’s smirk and the tension carved into Dante’s jaw. I hear her voice drift back—light, teasing, unmistakenly entertained.

"So… are all F1 guys this hot, or did I just hit the jackpot twice?"

Dante doesn’t answer. But I catch the way his hand flexes at her back.

Yeah. There’s definitely something brewing there.

Next: Tara Haynes, poised and mysterious. She offers a handshake like a diplomat, cool and graceful. Levi tells me she’s the newest resident in Cedar Falls, part-timing at the local diner.

Then the legend herself.

“Mrs. Henderson,” Levi says. “Brace yourself.”

“We already met. You’re shorter than you look on TV,” she announces, squinting up at me.

“I’ll wear lifts next time,” I say dryly, hiding my amusement.

She studies me a moment longer. “You’ve got good shoulders. Don’t waste ’em.”

“Y-yes ma’am.”

Levi’s grinning like a man watching a train wreck he orchestrated. I elbow him lightly.

“Alright,” I mutter. “I met the whole town. Or half of it. Who’s the brunette in flannel glaring at me like I keyed her car?”

Levi’s eyes light up. “Ah. That’s Juniper Kennedy. Goes by June. She teaches eighth grade and moonlights as the sharpest mechanic in three counties.”

My pulse stumbles. “June.”

“You two haven’t met?”

I arch a brow. “Not... formally.”

He claps his hands together. “Well, then. Let’s fix that.”

As we approach, June doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fidget. She watches me the way a lion watches a very stupid tourist approaching.

“June,” Levi says. “Meet Noah.”

She doesn’t offer her hand. Just nods. “Verelli.”

“Kennedy,” I counter, equally dry.

Levi, suddenly aware he’s a third wheel in a fencing match, clears his throat and backs away.

“Nice podium performance,” June says. “You almost looked like you meant it.”

I tilt my head. “You mean the part about community? Or the part where I didn’t crash a kart?”

She shrugs. “Either. Both. I was too distracted counting how many times you winked at the reporter from Channel 5.”

I grin. “It’s a reflex. Like breathing.”

“You should get that checked.”

Before I can throw back another line, a reporter in a pencil skirt and heels materializes as if on cue, shoving a mic in my face.

“Noah, rumor is you’re dating a local?” she asks, all smiles and poison.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“A small-town girl. Very hush-hush. Confirm or deny?”

“You serious right now?”

Before I can say more, Mrs. Henderson appears like a one-woman cavalry.

“Unless you’re here to adopt a go-kart,” she says, tapping her cane against the floor, “you can take your speculation and go chew on it somewhere else.”

The reporter blinks. “I—”

“He’s here to coach kids,” Nancy says, stepping in with a smile sharp enough to cut granite. “So, if you’re not here to race, film or report, then move along.”

Even Mayor Lewis folds his arms. “We protect our own.”

I blink at the wall of Cedar Falls humanity forming around me. It’s… unexpected. Kinda overwhelming. And weirdly nice.

The reporter backs off, face red, and the crowd turns back to their fun like nothing happened.

I glance at June. She didn’t join the pile-on. But she didn’t leave either.

Her eyes meet mine. Cool. Curious. But also guarded, like she's still sizing me up, waiting to see if I'm all an act.

Or maybe I’m dreaming again.

Then, she turns on her heel and walks away, braid swinging.

And I… watch her go.

Of course I do.

Because if I’m lucky, that lion might actually purr.

Someday.

Soon, I hope.

An hour later, the opening ceremony is done, the media has thinned out, and the first wave of teens arrive for orientation. The official winter go-kart camp starts tomorrow, but today’s the preview day—meet and greet, kart assignments, rules rundown.

And, apparently, more time with June Kennedy.

She’s in the pit area again, clipboard in hand, calling out last names like a drill sergeant wrapped in motor oil and sass. Her braid swings like a pendulum as she walks between karts, inspecting them like she built the things herself.

She doesn’t look at me like a trophy. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t fawn. Just eyes me like I’m some average Joe. And the less she seems to care… the more I want to impress her. Which makes zero sense. I came here to avoid the attention, not chase it.

But June? She’s not performing. She’s real. And it’s messing with me.

I must’ve been staring, because Levi appears beside me and slaps a folded camp shirt against my chest.

Levi hands me a camp shirt. “Coach Noah. You ready for this?”

I tug the shirt over my head. “Only if June’s not in charge of hazing.”

Levi laughs. “Oh, she is.”

“Great.”

He smirks. “Try not to cry in front of the kids.”

Later, while the kids are on a break. I spot her by Kart 17, crouched low, humming something faint but familiar—Sabrina Carpenter? Whatever it is, she’s hitting every note like she means it. She doesn't know I’m watching. Not until she glances up and catches me leaning against the frame, arms crossed, smirking.

“Didn’t peg you for a pop princess, Songbird.” I say.

She straightens slowly, eyes narrowed, but her smile remains on her beautiful face at my teasing. “Didn’t peg you for a stalker, Mr. Fast and Curious.”

“That’s because I’m subtle.”

She rolls her eyes and gestures toward a kart with an open side panel. “Since you’re here, grab me the torque wrench.”

I hand it to her, fingers brushing. She doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.

“You’re cute when you pretend you don’t remember the kiss,” I murmur.

She doesn’t look at me, but her mouth curves the tiniest bit. “You’re annoying when you think you’re smooth.”

“Maybe you need a reminder.”

“Maybe you need to focus. We’ve got a throttle issue.”

Right. Throttle. Camp. Kids.

A sharp rev of engine cuts through the pit. One of the 18-year-old guys—Reid, I think—has hopped into Kart 4, trying to show off. He revs it again, muscles straining under his shirt, clearly hoping June notices.

She doesn’t.

But I do. I definitely notice.

Another teen—Jake Something, Schmuck-for-all-I-care—grabs a nearby rag and struts over, asking if she needs help tightening the steering column. Then another guy quickly follows, and within minutes, five or six of them are hovering around June like she’s the engine instead of the mechanic. They’re asking questions. Offering help she didn’t ask for. I swear one of them actually adjusts his hat and puffs his chest.

I grit my teeth. It’s stupid. They’re just kids. Barely legal. But June’s only a few years older, and she’s got curves that do dangerous things to denim… and adolescent males. Not that they stand a chance.

Then, June lowers herself onto a mechanic's creeper and slides beneath the kart, still humming, completely unfazed. Her jeans stretch tight over parted thighs, the position doing unspeakable things to my focus—and every hormone I’ve ever had stands at attention.

Meanwhile, I’m two seconds from dragging the whole group over to the whiteboard like Coach Caveman.

Instead, I grab another creeper and slide in beside her, shoulder to shoulder under the frame.

“You good?” I ask, voice low, just above the hum of her song.

“I was. Until the testosterone flood.” Her voice is soft, and close. Only for me.

Above us, I can hear the scuff of retreating sneakers and awkward excuses as the group breaks up.

I bark a laugh. “Want me to flex? Mark territory?”

She finally looks at me, amusement flickering behind those guarded eyes. “Go ahead. Tarzan.”

I roll out from under the kart and stand, dusting off my hands. The guys hadn't moved far, still hovering and hanging back, pretending they weren't just trying to flirt with their instructor.

I let the moment hang, then raise my voice just enough to carry. “Hey, Romeo Squad—front and center.”

They shuffle over, trying to act casual.

I clap my hands once, sharp. “Who can tell me the difference between throttle lag and brake fade?”

Silence.

I glance over at June, and she’s already out from under the kart with clipboard hugged against her chest. Her braid’s come loose at the side, and her lips—just slightly flushed—tug at the edges like she’s holding back a comment. Or maybe a memory… of our kiss?

She steps beside me and turns to the boys with a cheery teacher tone. “Throttle lag happens when the engine takes a moment to respond after you press the gas. Brake fade? That’s when your brakes start giving up on life after you’ve been pushing too hard for too long.”

A few of them chuckle, nodding like they actually got it.

She scans the row of faces, pausing just long enough to make them squirm. “Know the difference, and you’ll know whether to push harder or back off. Miss it, and you’ll spin out—or worse, crash.”

She tosses one of the boys a crooked smile—easy, bright, like she’s in her element. And I think half of them just fell in love.

She turns towards me and I catch the flicker of a dimple before she straightens her face—just a flash—like she forgot to guard it.

She’s generous with the boys, handing out easy smiles and patient nods like the world’s coolest teacher. But me? I get nothing but flannel and restraint. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment for that searing kiss we shared.

I know what I felt. And I’m pretty damn sure she did too.

So yeah—maybe I’ll have to remind her. Just how much she kissed back.

Because right now, she’s acting like she’s got the upper hand.

I’ve never had to chase anyone before. But if chasing looks like this—smart mouth, sharp mind, and a voice like velvet while she tunes an engine—maybe I’ve misunderstood the thrill entirely.

Because somehow, in the middle of all this grease and noise, I feel more keyed up than I do on race day. Like I want to win something I don’t even know how to name.

After the roll call and kart assignments, the teens are ushered into the main building for more orientation paperwork—waivers, emergency contacts, code of conduct, and more photo-taking being the first batch of kids going through Mega Max training program.

I spot Karla Berisa from afar—one of Lily's Candy Jar crew and the town’s unofficial queen of logistics. We had met briefly in Candy Jar’s commercial kitchen when Lily introduced me to her staff. Karla had given me a welcome speech and a bag of lemon sours like I was being sworn into a candy-coated cult.

She must have volunteered for the task, like many others in Cedar Falls. Clipboard in hand and a pencil tucked behind her ear, she looks to be running the orientation show.

Right now, she’s barking instructions with the kind of precision that makes half the boys straighten their spines like they’ve just been summoned to boot camp.

I hang back near the pit entrance, watching June scribble something onto a maintenance sheet.

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

She doesn’t look up right away.

After a beat, she glances up at me and asks, “This must be quite a shift for you—going from places like Silverstone and Suzuka circuits to a Cedar Falls welcome parade. Bit different from what you're used to, huh?”

I grin. “It’s been alright. Actually, I came over to see if you’d want to grab dinner with me tonight.”

That gets her attention. Her eyes flick up. “You know... there’s a whole Grand Opening thing happening downtown tonight—live music, food trucks, beer garden. It’s like Cedar Falls’ version of Times Square.”

I lean a little closer. “You going?”

She nods. “Yeah. They’re doing a special karaoke night downtown as part of the Grand Opening.”

I raise a brow. “Like… on a stage?”

She shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Yes… and I will be with a friend.”

A friend.

Right. That word lands harder than it should. And I don’t know why, but suddenly I care way too much about who this friend is.