#piastrihive

[lovingop81astri]

𝑨𝒍𝒍 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕

Oscar Piastri x Reader

genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, mutual pinning

city model!reader x province boy!oscar

Summary: Banished from the high-fashion runways of Manhattan to a painfully quiet country province, a proud city girl expects her exile to be an absolute nightmare. At first, she only wants one thing: a one-way ticket back to the concrete jungle but between accidental farm wildlife encounters, nosy local kids, and a devastatingly handsome governor's son who handles her dramatic meltdowns with patient amusement, the countryside starts to change her. For a girl who used to want a hundred materialistic things from the city, she’s left with a realization that terrifies her high-fashion pride: all she wants is a boy who is entirely too good for her sanity.

The flashbulbs of New York City used to be your sanctuary but overnight, they became your public executioner. One devastating PR disaster, one split-second, catastrophic lapse in judgment caught on a smartphone camera and weaponized by the internet and your glittering modeling career collapsed like a house of cards.

Within hours, the headlines were venomous, your luxury brand contracts were frozen, and your agency’s phone went completely dead. The worst part wasn’t just the public humiliation, it was the suffocating weight of betrayal and failure pressing down on your chest. You felt utterly devastated, stripped of the identity you had built in the city.

When your wealthy family stepped in, they offered no excuses but comfort and damage control. Their solution was immediate, you need to hide in public, away to the suffocating media storm.

Which is exactly how you found yourself trapped in the back of a matte-black Mercedes-Benz AMG, staring out the tinted window with a mixture of grief and open disdain. Your throat ached from days of unshed tears but you refused to let the breakdown show. The low, purring chassis of the luxury car looked completely ridiculous, scraping slightly as it navigated the sun-bleached, dusty roads of a valley town you didn't even know existed.

As the car moved past the bustling open-air weekend market, the local world seemed to stop. Heads turned instantly. Cashiers paused mid-transaction and families stopped dead in their tracks, whispering and staring at the sleek, aggressively expensive vehicle invading their quiet territory.

You felt like a zoo animal on display, raw and defensive. Desperate to protect what little pride you had left, you put up your armor. Resting your chin on your hand, you adjusted your designer sunglasses and pointedly looked away, completely snobbing the crowd as you rolled by, pretending you were entirely too good for them to mask how broken you actually felt.

Standing near a wooden stall overflowing with fresh local produce was Oscar. He was the absolute, polar opposite of the shallow, fast-paced elite you had left behind in Manhattan. Polite, quietly observant, and deeply rooted in his conservative values. As the son of the local governor, his loyalty belonged entirely to these streets. He spent his weekends out here in the dust, doing actual work rather than chasing status.

Right as your luxury car rolled past, an elderly woman named Mrs. Higgins stepped unsteadily away from the stall, struggling to balance two heavy wooden crates of heirloom tomatoes.

Oscar was by her side in a heartbeat, his voice calm and reassuring.

“Here, let me take those for you, Mrs. Higgins. You shouldn't be lifting these.”

”Oh, Oscar, bless you, dear,” she panted, letting him take the weight. “I don't know what I'd do without you and your parents keeping this place running so smoothly.”

"It’s no trouble at all. I’ll walk them over to your truck," Oscar replied with a polite smile, his posture steady and grounded.

“Did you see that car?" Mr. Miller, the town baker, called out from across the aisle, wiping his brow. "Some high and mighty city type. Didn't even look at us. They drive through here like they own the pavement.”

Oscar paused, his eyes tracking the tinted windows of your Mercedes as it turned the corner. He purse his lip, curiosity settling over his features but he remain calm.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Miller," Oscar said, turning back to the citizens. “Me and my family will always make sure that anyone staying here knows that respect is important,"

Wiping his hands on a work cloth, Oscar watched the dust settle where your car had just been. He didn't know who was behind that glass he’s definitely sure, he'll meet whoever it is soon.

What neither of you had any idea about was the deep connection waiting just up the road: your parents and his had been close friends for decades.

-

The secluded estate your family had rented was supposed to be a sanctuary but to you, it felt like a beautifully furnished prison. The moment the heavy front door clicked shut, the reality truly sank in. You marched through the house, your irritation mounting with every step, the suffocating silence of the country pressing against your eardrums.

"Are you kidding me?" you muttered to the empty hallways, throwing your designer handbag onto a wooden side table with a loud thud.

Nothing in this place was right. You walked into the kitchen, desperate for a distraction, only to find a clunky, outdated drip-coffee maker sitting on the counter. There was no touchscreen, no smart-home integration, and it certainly wasn't automatic. When you threw open the back doors expecting a luxury veranda, your jaw dropped in sheer disbelief. The backyard was just an endless expanse of manicured grass leading toward an old timber barn.

No infinity pool. No heated jacuzzi. Just crickets and nature.

Frustrated, exhausted, and feeling completely abandoned by the comforts of Manhattan, you paced over to the large bay window overlooking the property. You never live like this and now, you don't know how to survive on your own.

You lay down on the sofa and sigh. Two luggage staring back at you, but you didn't bother to change or unpacked, too tired to move and think. After positioning yourself like a cocon, you close your eyes hoping the nightmare will be gone when you wake up.

It's already 2pm in the afternoon, Oscar just finished his lunch and was supposed to go back in their home to take a nap when one of the farmer asked for his help in the barn. The old man looks exhausted and pale already and Oscar, being not able to say no to people in need, he immediately told the farmer he'll do it. That's how he found himself stuck in the area near you.

The sound of chirping birds wake you up from your sleep. Your neck and back hurts from crouching but instead of doing something about it, the first thing you did is pull the heavy curtains away, silently observing your surroundings.

Trees. Multiple of them and flower fields stands in front of you. Grass are everywhere as well, tall but not unkind in the eyes, nothing in sight but plain green and hues of bloom.

You sigh again, eyes watery from unshed tears. All you want to do is go back to New York and apologized to your team. When you realize slumping won’t help you adjust in the new place, you decided to pull yourself together that's when you're about close the window, a figure outside caught your eye.

It's a guy. Walking away from the old barn on the edge of the property.

Even from a distance, you could tell he didn't look like a typical farmhand. He was wearing casual clothes, a simple maroon t-shirt and jeans but there was an effortless, structured posture to him that screamed expensive. He carried himself with a quiet confidence that immediately made your brain click.

He must be someone important, you thought. A local developer, or maybe a rich neighbor. He definitely knows the things around here.

Seeing him as your one way ticket out of this nightmare, you didn't waste a second. You bolted towards the front door, the sharp heels of your sandals sinking into the soft dirt as you sprinted across the lawn.

"Hey! Wait! Excuse me!" you shouted, your voice carrying across the quiet yard.

The person didn't even turn around. He just kept walking at a steady, unhurried pace toward the edge of the property line.

“Mister!" you called again, huffing out a breath. "Are you deaf? I said wait!”

You pushed yourself to run even faster until you finally managed to cut him off, planting yourself directly in his path. You crossed your arms, tossing your hair back, intentionally trying to provoke him but he simply stopped and looked down at you.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice remarkably smooth, gentle, and soft-spoken. He adjusted his cap, his face a picture of pure composure. "The wind out here carries the sound away. What is it that you want, Miss? How can I help you?"

You froze, completely caught off guard. You had fully expected him to snap back or get defensive after being yelled at, but his genuine, soft politeness threw a massive wrench into your anger.

Determined not to let your guard down, you kept your entitled attitude firmly in place, desperately trying to crack his calm exterior. "Right. Well. I've been stranded in this nightmare of a house. There’s no automatic coffee maker, no pool, nothing.”

As you continue about your complaints, your eyes caught the face of the man in front of you and that's when you realized he's giving you a confused gaze. His eyes aside from confusion is full of curiousity.

Pausing a little you speak again. “Do you actually not know who I am?”

The man in front of you shakes his head as he purse his lips, probably trying hard to not laugh at how crazy you sound right now.

“I'm famous.” you added but instead of apologizing for not recognizing you, he remained unnmoved. “A little respect and proper assistance would be nice, Mister." You added, more annoyed than earlier.

Looking at you, talking about things he doesn't know makes Oscar let out a slow, quiet breath, yet his expression remained entirely unbothered. He's already tired and seeims he has to deal with some rich brat. You're probably the one arriving in the Mercedes earlier.

Oscar’s eyes moved deliberately from your face, down to your mud-covered heels and back up again, scanning your appearance. You are pretty but you also look very hard-headed. The way your hair complement your face, the air moving it from sideways, your lips pouting in anger, and your eyes giving him dagger gaze makes you look like an angry goddess in front of him.

He almost got lost by you but luckily for him, Oscar managed to pull himself together. "I don't know who you are, Miss," Oscar replied quietly, his tone still incredibly polite. “And there’s no reason to take your frustration out on me. Just take a breath and calm down."

"Don't tell me to calm down!" you insisted, your tone annoyed, frustrated that nothing you said was breaking his serene demeanor. You took a sharp step forward to emphasize your point, completely forgetting that your four-inch heels were deeply embedded in the uneven, muddy turf.

Your ankle rolled.

A sharp gasp left your throat as your balance completely vanished, your body tilting violently backward toward the dirt. You braced yourself for a painful impact but the fall never came.

A strong, calloused hand shot out with lightning-fast reflexes, wrapping securely around your waist. Oscarbraced his weight, easily pulling you flush against his chest to steady you.

The sudden impact left you completely breathless. Your hands instinctively flew up to rest against his broad shoulders for balance. You were stuck, locked tightly in his grip, the heat of his hand searing through the fabric of your top.

"Are you calming down now?" Oscar asked softly.

His voice was a low, steady murmur, vibrating slightly against your palms. Cheeks rosy like peaches, nose tall and perfect and it doesn't help how the little facial hair in his upper lip and lower chin make him more pretty and hot and because of the height difference, his face was inches from yours, his dark eyes looking directly into yours.

Up close, the words completely died in your throat. You wanted to curse yourself, you wanted to scream and tear yourself away because looking at him from this distance, he was absolutely, devastatingly pretty. He had a perfect, sharp jawline, long eyelashes, and a quiet, beautiful composure that made your heart skip a beat out of pure frustration. You felt incredibly flustered, a hot blush creeping up your neck, which only made you angrier because he still hadn't lost his temper.

"Let go of me!" you hissed, your voice cracking slightly as you pushed against his shoulders, trying to hide how severely he had just thrown you off your game.

Oscar didn't drop you immediately, he made sure first that your caked heels were firmly planted on a solid patch of grass first, and then he slowly unwrapped his arm from your waist, stepping back and putting his hands casually into his pockets, as calm as he had been from the very start.

Before you could launch into another defensive tirade to cover up your embarrassment, a cheerful, energetic voice cut through the thick tension.

"Wait, no way! Are you actually who I think you are?"

A guy with a mess of curls and a wide, starstruck grin came jogging up from the side path, looking between the two of you in absolute awe. "I'm Lando! I follow you on social media. It’s absolutely crazy to see you in a place like this!"

"Wait, so you actually know who I am?" you asked, turning your attention back to Lando before looking at Oscar.

Being recognized in the place, made a genuine smile break through your defensive exterior for the first time since arriving in this town. Yet, even as you spoke to Lando, you could still feel the lingering weight of the other man's gaze on you. Your cheeks were still warm from how close he had just been, making you feel uncharacteristically shy under his steady, unblinking stare.

"Know you? Of course I know you!" Lando beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Your last cover shoot for Vogue was insane, and that Paris Fashion Week runway? Unreal. I can't believe a literal supermodel is standing in this yard right now. By the way, I’m Lando!"

“Hi Lando!” You gave him a smile that he immediately responds.

Hearing someone praise your work felt like a lifeline after days of feeling utterly discarded by the industry. You quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm with Lando, your voice shedding its sharp edge as you eagerly discussed your past campaigns, the chaotic energy of the backstage dressing rooms, and the high-fashion world you so desperately missed. Lando was the perfect audience, hanging onto every word and asking a million questions.

But amidst the excitement, the real reason for your excursion suddenly crossed your mind.

"Oh, right," you interrupted yourself, smoothing down your top. "As much as I love talking, I actually need to find the local governor. My family told me to connect with them the moment I arrived. Do you know where their office is?"

You glance at now more silent man beside you but his eyes remained far from you.

Lando who had no idea of what happened earlier blinked confusingly but then a grin instantly stretching across his face. "The governor? Oh, yeah, we can totally take you there. Me and Oscar can escort you right now. It's just a short walk past the main square."

Oscar.

You instantly looked over at the quiet guy standing standing next to you, his hands still shoved deep into his pockets.

So that was his name. Oscar... You repeated it silently in your mind, testing the weight of it. Oscar. It suited him. It sounded grounded, old-school, and unyielding just like the man himself.

When both men didn't hear your answer, Oscar decided to stepped in.

"You really did cause me a commotion earlier. That's probably urgent, let's go then," Oscar said simply, his voice cutting through your thoughts. He didn't wait for a response before turning on his heel and leading the way down the dirt path.

The walk toward the town center was completely lopsided. Lando walked right beside you, completely loud and animated, gesturing wildly as he talked about local gossip, the best spots in town, and how dead the nightlife was compared to Manhattan. But you found it incredibly hard to focus on a single word Lando was saying.

Instead, your eyes kept drifting to Oscar.

He walked a half-step ahead of you, his broad shoulders squared, his gaze fixed straight ahead. He didn't offer a single word to the conversation, his stubborn, disapproving frown firmly back in place.

Oscar looked entirely closed off, a silent island in the middle of Lando’s sea of noise. You found yourself observing the sharp angle of his jaw, the effortless way he moved, and the sheer, infuriating calmness that seemed to radiate from him. He was a complete puzzle, a man who had held your waist with effortless strength and looked at you with devastatingly pretty eyes, only to treat you like a mild inconvenience the next second.

What you didn't realize, however, was that Oscar wasn't nearly as detached as he appeared.

While Lando’s voice filled the air, Oscar’s peripheral vision was locked entirely on you. Every time you glanced away or stumbled slightly on the uneven pavement in those ridiculous heels, his muscles tensed, ready to catch you again. He was quietly studying the way your high-fashion armor seemed to crack whenever you thought he wasn't looking, observing the hidden vulnerability beneath.

Neither of you said a word to each other but as the governor's estate loomed in the distance, the silent, intense awareness pulling between you and Oscar was louder than anything Lando could ever say.

—

Lando and Oscar left you at the heavy timber doors of the governor’s main office. Lando gave you a bright, starstruck wave, while Oscar offered nothing more than a silent nod before they both turned to head back down the corridor.

Taking a deep breath to steady your racing heart, you knocked and stepped inside. The moment the man behind the massive oak desk stood up to greet you, your jaw nearly dropped. The sharp posture, the warm but commanding presence, you recognized him instantly.

"Uncle Chris?" you breathed.

"Look at you! You've grown into such a beautiful young woman," Chris Piastri beamed, walking entirely around his desk to pull you into a warm, welcoming hug.

Chris was one of your father's oldest and closest friends. You had met him multiple times over the years whenever he and his wife visited your family's penthouse in New York. Seeing a familiar, friendly face from home immediately washed away a layer of the devastation you had been carrying.

"It's so good to see you, Uncle Chris," you said, your voice dropping its defensive city edge as you sank into the comfortable leather chair he offered.

“It’s nice to see you kid! It's been long,” Chris sat across from you, leaning forward and looking at you with genuine, fatherly concern. "First of all, how are you holding up? Truly? And tell me, what do you think of our little town so far?"

You let out a heavy, weary sigh, the honesty slipping out before you could filter it. "I just arrived Uncle and honestly? I feel completely devastated about everything back home. My career is ruined, my team won't even pick up my calls, and as for this place... Uncle Chris, it feels like a beautifully furnished prison.”

Chris silently listens to your rants, an amused smile started appearing on his lips.

“My heels are caked in mud, the coffee maker in that house isn't even automatic, there's no infinity pool, and the silence out here is literally hurting my ears. I just don't know how I'm supposed to survive on my own like this."

Chris looks at your face for a second, before moving his eyes at your caked designer shoes, and then a hearty, amused laugh rumbled from his chest. It wasn't a mean laugh, but one of pure fondness.

"An automatic coffee maker, huh? Yes, I suppose our rustic charms can be quite a shock to the system for a Manhattan elite."

Seeing the watery look in your eyes, his laughter softened into a gentle, reassuring smile. He reached out, patting your shoulder warmly, completely stepping into a comforting, parental role.

"Hey, look at me. Put the city lifestyle out of your mind for a second. You are going to survive just fine. It’s quiet, yes, but it’s safe. Out here, nobody cares about the headlines or the paparazzi.”

Clutching your fingers togethers, you try to stabilized your breathing. Today is too much emotional for you to handle and things are moving too fast for your liking.

“Your family sent you here to rest, so let yourself rest. Don't worry about the press back in New York, you can stay hidden out here for as long as you need until the storm blows over. My wife and I will make sure you're looked after like one of our own."

You sat there quietly, actually listening to him. For the first time since the PR disaster hit, someone was looking past the model facade and treating you like a person who just needed a safe place to land. The tight knot of anxiety in your chest loosened slightly.

Chris pulled back, a sudden spark of amusement lighting up his eyes again. "Actually, Lando texted me just a minute ago and mentioned he saw you walking up with my son. So, you've already met Oscar?"

You blinked, completely bewildered. "Who?"

Chris chuckled, folding his arms. "Oscar. The boy you walked into the town hall with. He's my son."

A jolt of pure shock went through you, though you forced your face to remain entirely composed, refusing to say a single word vocally that would give away your embarrassment.

That guy? The quiet, infuriatingly calm, devastatingly pretty guy in the maroon shirt who had held your waist in the mud was the governor’s son?

Before you could spiral into your thoughts, Chris picked up a small map from his desk, passing it to you. "If you ever need anything and I mean absolutely anything just ask us. Our doors are always open, and you are more than welcome to stay at our house if that estate feels too lonely.”

Speechless, you wasn't able to decline. This is your first time holding a paper map since you're already use asking directions through phone.

Smiling at you, Chris stood up to move by your side and gave you a brief but sweet embrace “Go ahead and roam around the area a bit just to get used to the surroundings. And don't worry, Oscar can assist you with anything you need while you're out there. I just texted him,"

"You don't have to but thank you, Uncle Chris. That means a lot," you replied genuinely.

After saying your goodbyes, you walked out of the office, your mind racing as you navigated the grand corridors of the city hall. You wrapped your head around the revelation, realizing you needed to confront him. As you stepped out near the courtyard, your eyes scanned the grounds until you spotted him. Oscar was sitting on a stone bench in the shaded garden area, quietly reviewing a stack of community paperwork.

"Hey! Oscar!" you called out across the grass.

Oscar didn't jump but he slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto you as you approached. A tiny, almost imperceptible trace of amusement touched his lips. "Do you really like screaming at people?" he asked, his voice soft-spoken and completely gentle as usual.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. "I wasn't screaming. I was getting your attention." You took a breath, looking down at him. "I just came from the governor's office. I talked to your dad."

Oscar didn't look surprised. He just stacked his papers neatly on his lap. "I figured."

"You didn't tell me the governor is your dad," you said, your tone dropping into a pointed, slightly irritated accusation.

Oscar looked up at you, his expression entirely level and unbothered. "I don't tell people that," he responded quietly. "I don't like throwing my status around."

His voice didn't sound boastful or arrogant at all it was entirely humble but his words made you frown. A prickle of discomfort hit your chest because, unlike him, your entire life revolved around status. You loved telling people who you were, loved the flashing lights, and loved the recognition. Standing in front of a guy who had all the power in this town but chose to hide it made you feel incredibly exposed.

Recognizing the shift in your mood, Oscar's soft-spoken demeanor became even gentler. He noticed how your shoulders sagged and how the sharp, defensive city persona suddenly dissolved into a heavy, quiet exhaustion.

"When did you become so silent?" Oscar asked softly, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at you. There was no judgment in his voice now, only genuine curiosity.

You bit your lip, looking away at the flower fields. The wall you had built up finally cracked. Sitting down on the opposite end of the stone bench, you let out a shaky breath and actually started talking to him. For the first time, you explained your real problems. You told him about the devastating PR nightmare, how terrified you were that everything you had worked for in New York was permanently gone, and how completely out of your depth you felt in a place where your name meant absolutely nothing.

Oscar didn't interrupt you once. He just sat there, a quiet and steady anchor, listening to every single word of your problem with absolute patience. He didn't offer empty platitudes or tell you that you were being dramatic. He just let you speak until you finally ran out of breath, your eyes shining with unshed tears.

When you finished, a comfortable silence settled between you. Oscar looked at you for a long moment before standing up and brushing off his jeans.

"Okay," he said softly, offering a faint, reassuring nod. "Let's go to town. Maybe looking around the place will comfort you in a way."

You looked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden kindness. Shifting your feet, you muttered, "I didn't know Uncle Chris even had a son."

Oscar looked down at you, and for the first time since you met him, a genuine, beautiful smile broke across his face. It was small, but it completely transformed his features, making your heart do another dangerous flip. "Well, now you know," he murmured.

As you both started walking out of the courtyard and back toward the main streets, the uneven stone paths and your ridiculous heels quickly proved to be a terrible combination.

Every few steps, your balance would falter, your ankles wobbling dangerously over the cobblestones. But Oscar didn't say a word to tease you. Instead, he stayed close like what he did not a long ago, his eyes completely locked on you, quietly watching your feet and effortlessly reaching out to catch your arm or steady your waist every single time you were almost falling over.

“Hey!” You call Oscar again, too shy to just nudge him. “I haven't introduced myself yet,” you added after Oscar glance at you.

“You don't have to,” Oscar respond, smiling a little when your brows furrowed in confusion. “I heard Lando say it earlier,” he put his hands on his pocket, “It’s a pretty name,”

-

The heavy tension from earlier had completely dissolved, replaced by the steady, rhythmic clicking of your heels against the cobblestones. True to his word, Oscar didn't lead you back to your empty estate. Instead, he navigated the path straight toward the heart of the town square, guiding you back to the very place where your luxury car had caused such a scene just hours prior.

"The market is the best place to start," Oscar explained. "If you’re going to be staying out here for a while, you need to know where the essentials are. You can't survive on a low-tech house if you don't know where to get real food."

"I can survive on delivery," you muttered defensively, though you didn't pull away when his hand briefly brushed your elbow to guide you past a particularly jagged patch of pavement.

"Not out here, you can't," Oscar countered, a small, knowing tug at the corner of his lips. "The closest city with a delivery app is an hour away. Trust me on this."

As you entered the bustling open-air market, the sensory overload hit you instantly. The air was thick with the scent of baked goods, earth, and sweet, ripening fruit. Oscar immediately steered you toward a colorful stall stacked high with golden loaves.

"Mrs. Miller," Oscar called out gently, his posture instantly shifting into that relaxed, community-first persona you had noticed earlier. "This is the guest staying at the edge of the property. She’s a family friend."

The older woman’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing you from the car but Oscar's warm introduction seemed to melt away her initial suspicion. "Oh, well, any friend of Piastris is welcome here! Nice to meet you, dear."

You swallowed the lingering knot of city pride in your throat, stepping forward. "It's... it's really nice to meet you, Mrs. Miller. I'm sorry about the car earlier."

"Think nothing of it, sweetheart," she smiled, handing Oscar a warm paper bag.

Oscar took it with a polite nod, turning back to you as you both continued down the aisle. "If you want bread, you come to her. Always fresh, baked at 5:00 AM every morning. For meats, you go to the butcher two stalls down, Mr. Vance. And right over here..." He stopped in front of a massive, vibrant display of agriculture. "...is where you get your fruits."

He introduced you to multiple people along the way. The grocers, the farmers, the local artisans. With every introduction, you found yourself listening carefully, shedding your defensive armor piece by piece as you properly introduced yourself to each of them. They weren't judging you they didn't even know about it. They just saw a girl who was completely out of her element, trying her best to adapt.

Suddenly, Oscar stopped in front of a smaller vendor selling green, unripened fruit cut into neat slices. He exchanged a quick word with the vendor, who handed him a small wooden bowl filled with pale green mangoes and a tiny cup of dark vinegar.

Oscar turned to you, a mischievous spark dancing in his dark eyes. "Have you ever tried an unripe mango dipped in vinegar?"

You stared at the bowl as if it contained a biohazard. "Unripe? As in, completely sour? Absolutely not. Why would anyone do that to themselves intentionally?"

"Because it’s amazing," Oscar insisted, his tone entirely serious but his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's a staple around here. Come on, you have to try it."

"No, no way," you said, taking a step back, your hands coming up to refuse. "I am a city girl, Oscar. We eat our fruit ripe and sweet. I am not eating a sour mango in public."

"You're missing out," he soft-spokenly pushed, completely unbothered by your resistance. To prove his point, he took a small wooden pick, stabbed a crisp slice of the green mango, and swirled it thoroughly in the dark vinegar. He popped it into his mouth without a single flinch, chewing calmly. "See? Crisp, a little salty, a little sour. It’s perfect. Your turn, Miss New York."

You bit your lip, looking from his infuriatingly handsome, smug face down to the bowl. Your competitive nature flared. "Fine. But if I pass out from the acidity, you're carrying me back to the city hall."

"Deal," he murmured, handing you a pick.

You carefully selected a small piece, lightly dabbing it into the vinegar. You took a deep breath and popped it into your mouth.

Instantly, your entire face contorted. The sheer, unadulterated sourness of the fruit exploded across your tastebuds, sending a sharp shockwave right down your jaw. It was incredibly tart, the vinegar adding an intense, biting kick that you were completely unprepared for.

You gasped, your eyes watering immediately as you tried to chew the incredibly crisp fruit.

A sound broke through the air. A rich, melodic sound you hadn't heard all day.

Oscar was laughing.

It wasn't a quiet chuckle, it was a genuine, bright laugh that crinkled his eyes and showed a flash of teeth. He looked completely captivated by your exaggerated, horrified reaction. Before you could even swat his arm in retaliation, Oscar reached into his pocket, pulling out a clean tissue.

He stepped closer, closing the distance between you until that familiar, breathless warmth from the barn lawn returned. His laughter subsided into a soft, incredibly gentle smile as he raised his hand.

"Hold still," he murmured softly.

Your breath hitched as his fingers, shielded by the tissue, lightly touched the side of your lips. He carefully and thoroughly wiped away a stray drop of the dark vinegar that had escaped from your sudden shock. His touch was incredibly light, his dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones as he focused entirely on your mouth. His face was so close to yours that you could smell the faint scent of rain and cedar on him.

You wanted to curse yourself again. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a deep, furious blush rushing up your cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the sour mango.

Oscar pulled his hand back, crumpling the tissue and tossing it into a nearby bin. He looked down at your flushed, wide-eyed face, his hands slipping casually back into his pockets.

"Still think it’s a nightmare out here?" he asked quietly, his voice a gentle, teasing murmur.

"Yes," you squeaked out, your voice still a little breathless from the sheer intensity of the sour fruit and his sudden proximity. You quickly swallowed the mango, your throat burning slightly.

"It is absolutely still a nightmare. My tongue feels like it’s shriveling up."

Oscar shook his head, a soft, amused chink in his calm demeanor as he popped another vinegar-soaked slice into his mouth. He didn't flinch at all, completely unbothered by the tartness.

“Do you have any allergies?”

“I don’t. Why?”

Turning to the stall vendor, Oscar didn't answer your question but instead, pointed to a jar of freshly squeezed, ice-cold sweet fruit juice.

"Can we get one of those, please?"

It's apple juice, it should be sweet.

He handed the cup to you and you snatched it like a lifeline, taking a long, desperate sip. The sweet, icy liquid instantly washed away the biting sourness, and you let out a long sigh of relief, your lips still wrapped around the straw.

Oscar watched you drink for a second, his eyes dropping down to your feet before moving back to your face. "Stay right here," he said suddenly, his tone shifting into that firm but gentle authority. He turned to the vendor, a friendly middle-aged man who had been watching the two of you with a knowing smile.

"Hey, Marcus, do you mind watching out for her for just a few minutes? Make sure she doesn't wander off."

"Of course, Oscar. Take your time," Marcus nodded.

You blinked, completely confused, pulling the straw from your mouth. "Wait, what? Where are you going? You can't just dump me at a fruit stall!"

"I'll be right back," Oscar said simply. He didn't give you a chance to argue, turning on his heel and disappearing into the thick crowd of the market with long, steady strides.

Oscar wove through the market crowd, his mind fixed on a very specific destination three aisles over. He knew he had left you looking confused and probably annoyed but he couldn't stand watching you suffer through the cobblestones for another minute.

Every time you had stumbled on the walk over from the town hall, his hand had instinctively shot out to catch ypu. He had felt the tight, rigid tension in your waist, the way your fingers dug into his shoulders out of pure reflex. You are stubborn, fiercely so insisting on walking through a rural valley.

But Oscar had noticed the way your stride had slowed, the subtle wince in your eyes every time your shoe sank into a gap between the stones. You're going to twist your ankle completely if she keeps this up, he thought, pushing past a group of chatting locals.

He stopped in front of a small footwear stall run by old Mr. Davies. Hanging from the racks were simple, durable clothing items and rows of woven, cushioned slides and slippers meant for comfort.

"Afternoon, Oscar," Mr. Davies greeted, looking up from his stool. "What can I do for you today? Your mom need something from the shop?"

"No, Mr. Davies, it's for a guest," Oscar replied, his voice soft and polite as he scanned the sizes. He recalled the exact shape of her feet from when he had wiped the mud off her shoes back at the lawn. "Do you have those soft, cushioned slippers in a size nine? The ones with the thick soles."

"Ah, the city girl staying up at the old estate? Saw her car earlier," the old man chuckled, reaching back to pull a pair of simple, cream-colored, incredibly soft-looking slippers from a shelf. "These ought to do it. Very easy on the arches."

Oscar took them, pressing his thumb into the foam sole to ensure they were soft enough. They were a far cry from the luxury brands you was used to but right now, practicality mattered more than a designer label. He paid the man, nodding his thanks.

As he walked back, slipping the footwear into a small paper bag, he couldn't help but shake his head at himself. He barely knew you and your loud, demanding attitude was the exact opposite of everything he found rational. Yet, seeing your armor crack at the mango stall, seeing you look so small and wide-eyed when he wiped your lips... he just wanted to make sure you are okay.

Back at the fruit stall, you kept your hands wrapped around the cold juice cup, shifting your weight uncomfortably from one aching foot to the other.

"Don't you worry, dear," Marcus, the vendor, said warmly as he rearranged a stack of oranges. "Oscar always keeps his word. If he said he’ll be right back, he’ll be right back."

You offered a small, tentative smile, still feeling incredibly out of place. "He's... very specific about things, isn't he?"

Marcus let out a hearty chuckle. "Specific? No, just grounded. He’s been helping around this town since he was a little boy. His parents are the governor and the town's heartbeat, but Oscar? He’s the hands and feet of this community. You’ll see. You'll definitely love staying in our town once you get used to the quiet. It grows on you, just like the people do."

You listened quietly, staring down at the ice melting in your cup. The warmth and pride this vendor had for Oscar was undeniable. It was so different from New York, where everyone looked out for themselves and gossip was weaponized.

Leaning slightly against the wooden counter, you looked at Marcus, curiosity finally getting the better of you.

"Is he always like this?" you asked softly, your voice dropping. "I mean... is Oscar always this kind to everyone? Even to people who arrive and immediately start screaming at him?"

Marcus smiled gently, his eyes softening. "Always, sweetheart. That boy doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. He’s stubborn about his principles, sure, and he won't stand for foolishness. But if someone is in trouble, or if someone is hurting even if they're hiding it behind a loud voice, Oscar will always be the first one to reach out a hand. He doesn't know how to do anything else."

Your heart gave a strange, complicated thud against your ribs. You looked toward the crowd where Oscar had disappeared, Marcus’s words echoing in your head. You had treated him like an inconvenience, yelled at him, and demanded his respect, yet he had caught you when you fell, listened to your breakdown without judgment, and bought you a drink just to soothe your burnt tongue.

Before you could think about it any deeper, the crowd parted, and the familiar maroon t-shirt came back into view. Oscar was walking back toward the stall, a small paper bag in his hand, his expression as calm and unbothered as ever.

Oscar stepped back up to the wooden counter, offering a polite nod to the fruit vendor. "Thanks, Marcus. I appreciate you keeping an eye out."

"Anytime, Oscar. Take care now, you two," Marcus replied with a warm, knowing wave as he went back to sorting his produce.

Oscar turned his attention to you, his dark eyes instantly dropping back down to where your feet were still desperately gripping the uneven dirt and gravel. Without a word, he lightly caught the crook of your elbow his touch firm but incredibly gentle and began guiding you away from the main walkway toward a weathered wooden bench nestled under the shade of a large oak tree nearby.

"Sit down," he said softly, releasing your arm and gesturing to the bench.

You blinked up at him, shifting your weight uncomfortably as your aching arches throbbed in protest. "Why? We were just in the middle of the market. Why are we suddenly stopping at a random bench?"

Oscar didn't lose his temper or look annoyed by your questioning. He simply adjusted his cap, his expression entirely deadpan and level. "Just do it. Sit."

You let out a dramatic, irritated sigh to make sure he knew you weren't happy about being ordered around but your burning, exhausted feet practically begged you to comply. You sank down onto the wooden slats, crossing your legs tightly and glaring up at him through your designer sunglasses.

"Fine. I'm sitting. Happy now, Oscar? Care to explain what this is about?"

Oscar didn't answer right away. Instead, he casually dropped to one knee on the grass right in front of you. The sudden proximity made your breath hitch, your heart doing a dangerous, chaotic flutter as you stared down at him. He set the small paper bag on the ground and pulled out the simple, cream-colored, heavily cushioned slides he had just bought.

"Look," Oscar began, his voice dropping into that smooth, gentle murmur as he held one of the slippers out toward you. "I know it’s not a luxury designer label. It doesn't have a high-fashion logo stamped on the side, and it's definitely not what you're used to wearing in New York."

He looked up, his dark, long eyelashes framing a gaze that was entirely sincere and completely devoid of any judgment. "But it's thick, it has proper arch support and it's actually comfortable. Your heels are completely caked in mud and you've been stumbling over the cobblestones since we left the town hall. If you keep walking in those, you're going to twist your ankle or worse."

He set the cream-colored slippers right next to your mud-covered designer shoes, stepping back just enough to give you space while remaining close. "So, just take the heels off and wear these for the rest of the day. No one around here cares what brand is on your feet, they just want you to walk safely."

—

The market place was the only spot you and Oscar ended up exploring that day. By the time he had finished showing you the stalls and making sure your feet were taken care of, evening had already struck, painting the valley sky in deep hues of purple and gold.

That night, sleep completely evaded you. You lay awake in the quiet bedroom of the estate, staring at the ceiling as the crickets chirped outside. Your mind was a chaotic storm, swirling with thoughts of the career you had left behind in New York, the overwhelming quiet of the suburbs, and unexpectedly, a budding little crush on the governor’s son.

You couldn't stop thinking about the warmth of his hand around your waist, the gentle way he had wiped your lips, and the realization of just how deeply he cared for the people around him.

The next morning, however, the fragile bubble you had built was abruptly popped. You met Oscar near the edge of the town square, expecting another quiet walk but his expression was more serious than usual.

"I'm really sorry," Oscar began, his voice incredibly gentle as his dark eyes locked onto yours. "I know I promised to show you around the area but I can't tour you around anymore. I won't be able to continue."

A sharp wave of disappointment hit you right in the chest at his sudden apology. Before you could even process it, he continued softly, "But don't worry. Lando is going to take over. He knows this place inside and out and he’s more than happy to be your escort whenever you need him."

You felt incredibly upset but you desperately forced your high-fashion armor back up, trying to hide the sadness twisting in your features. You crossed your arms, looking away. "Oh. Right. And why is that? Do you suddenly have more important barn latches to check or am I just too much of a city nightmare for you?"

Oscar let out a quiet sigh, stepping a bit closer. "No, it's nothing like that. I have to go to New York for a few days. Something important came up that I need to handle personally."

New York. The name of your home city felt like a punch to the gut coming from his lips. You desperately wanted to ask him what a grounded, small-town guy like him needed to do in the middle of Manhattan but your pride held you back.

You stood next to him, shoulders brushing with eachother but after his word, you never dare to speak anymore. Before he turned to leave, Oscar hesitate, his intense, calm gaze lingering on your face.

"Before I go," he murmured softly, "is there anything you want? Anything from the city I can bring back for you?"

You froze, the question catching you entirely off guard. Your mind went completely blank, confused by the sudden rush of emotions. The first hour you had arrived in this province, you had a running mental checklist of a hundred different things you desperately want but now, after spending just half a day with him, after feeling the steady comfort of his presence, everything else felt trivial. Your brain scrambled but the truth was simple, you didn't want a single thing from New York. You just wanted him to stay.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you forced your eyes away from his pretty face. "None," you muttered quietly.

Oscar didn't push or question your brief answer. Instead, a tiny, affectionate smile touched his lips. He reached out, his large, warm hand coming up to give you a gentle, reassuring pat on the head. The simple, tender gesture sent a jolt of warmth straight down to your toes.

"I'll be back," Oscar said softly, his hand dropping back into his pocket.

You gave a small, uncharacteristic nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "Take care."

For the next several days, your world became a lot louder, courtesy of Lando. True to Oscar's word, Lando was a dedicated escort. He fetched you from the estate every morning, guiding you through the town, chattering endlessly about his favorite spots, and doing everything he could to keep you entertained.

He was incredibly fun and sweet, but every time you looked over your shoulder, you couldn't help but notice the empty space where a quiet, maroon-shirted guy usually walked. The sadness lingered, a dull ache you couldn't quite shake.

After almost a week of relying entirely on Lando, you woke up feeling a sudden surge of determination. You couldn't depend on someone to hold your hand forever. If you were going to survive this, you needed to prove to yourself and to a certain absent governor's son that you could handle the province on your own.

Without calling Lando, you slipped into a pair of comfortable clothes, put on the cushioned slides Oscar had bought for you, and walked out the front door.

The walk to the town center was long and your heart hammered with nerves, but you kept your head held high. Step by step, you navigated the paths Oscar had shown you. When you finally crossed the threshold into the bustling open-air market, a profound sense of pride washed over you. You had managed to get here entirely on your own.

You were standing by Mrs. Miller’s bakery stall, successfully ordering a fresh pastry, when a frantic, out-of-breath voice called out your name.

"Oh my god, there you are!" Lando panted, jogging up to the stall and wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked at you, his eyes wide with absolute shock. "I just drove up to the estate to fetch you and the house was empty! I thought you got kidnapped or fled back to the city. You... you came all the way to the market alone?"

You couldn't help but let out a genuine, triumphant laugh, holding up your pastry. "Surprise, Lando. Turns out the city girl can actually survive a walk without an escort."

You were all smiles, the taste of the fresh pastry sweet on your tongue as you shared a triumphant look with a still-shocked Lando. For the first time since your world crashed down in New York, you felt a genuine spark of happiness, proud of the small streak of independence you had just carved out for yourself.

Until a smooth, familiar, and devastatingly gentle voice spoke up from directly behind you.

"Wow. I was only gone for a couple of days but look at you now. Completely independent."

The words cut through the noisy market air like a physical touch. You froze instantly, the smile vanishing from your face as your entire body locked up. Your back was still facing him but your heart began racing like crazy, thumping so violently against your ribs you were certain both Lando and the baker could hear it.

A wave of pure, overwhelming emotion crashed over you. It was ridiculous, it was irrational, and you wanted to curse yourself for it but you had missed him so much. You had missed Oscar desperately, a fact that terrified you considering you had only spent half a day with him before he vanished. Yet, his absence had left a quiet, gaping void in your heart that Lando’s loudest chatter couldn't begin to fill.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, you turned around to face him.

The words died in your throat. You stood there, completely out of words, staring at him like a ghost. Oscar still looked exactly the same. the same effortless, structured posture, the same casual char mbut as your eyes scanned his face, your lips instinctively puckered into a small, involuntary pout.

He had shaved.

The light, rugged facial hair he'd had when you first met him was gone, leaving his sharp jawline completely clean and smooth. It made him look incredibly neat, a little different, and altogether too handsome for your own sanity.

Oscar, hyper-aware as always, immediately sensed the sudden shift in your energy. His dark eyes softened as he took in your frozen posture, your wide, watery eyes, and that prominent pout. A flicker of genuine worry rippled through him, though his grounded nature kept him from actively showing it to the crowded market.

Oscar didn't push back against your immediate hostility. Instead, a slow, incredibly charming smile broke across his newly shaved face, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners. He seemed completely amused by the fact that your sharp attitude had returned the exact second he stepped back into your life, as if your anger was a familiar comfort. Before you could even register his movement, he reached out and gave you that same gentle, reassuring pat on the head just like he did before he left, his palm warm against your hair.

"Good to know," he murmured softly, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register. "I'm glad the slides are treating you well."

He bypassed your crossed arms and stepped past you, moving toward Lando. A bright grin broke across Lando's face the second he realized Oscar was standing there, and the two guys immediately shared a brief, familiar hug, firmly dabbing each other's backs in a classic greeting between close friends.

"Man, it's good to have you back!" Lando said, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. "The governor's house has been way too quiet without you."

"Good to be back," Oscar replied smoothly. Then, with a swift, fluid motion, he stepped right back over to you, planting himself comfortably by your side. He didn't pull away; instead, he stood close enough that you could feel the sudden, intoxicating warmth of his shoulder brushing lightly against yours, the subtle scent of rain and cedar rolling off him.

Oscar looked across at his friend, his hands casually slipping into his pockets, though his peripheral vision remained locked entirely on you. "So, how was she while I was left? Did she give you a hard time?"

Lando let out a dramatic laugh, immediately launching into full storyteller mode. You just stood there, your pastry temporarily forgotten, listening to the two of them talk about you as if you didn't even exist right in front of them.

"Oh, mate, you have no idea," Lando grinned, gesturing wildly. "The first couple of days, she was completely lost without her city comforts. I thought I'd have to fly in a barista from Manhattan. But she actually adapted! You missed a lot of things, Oscar. Like last Tuesday, we went near the northern pastures, and she almost got chased by a cow because she was wearing that bright red designer scarf!"

"A cow?" Oscar repeated. He didn't just chuckle, he turned his head slightly, a genuine, rich laugh rumbling in his chest. His eyes slid down to your face, heavy with an affectionate, teasing warmth that made your chest ache. "A red scarf in a pasture. Bold choice,”

"Hey! It was high-fashion cashmere!" you snapped, defensive but feeling your cheeks burning.

Lando waved his hand, completely ignoring your interruption. "Yes! I had to practically drag her over the timber fence! But that's not even the best part. Yesterday, I walked into her kitchen and she was actually making coffee. Like, she finally figured out how to use the old drip-coffee maker completely without help. No automatic touchscreen needed, no complaining, just a perfect brew."

Oscar fell quiet, the laughter fading into something much softer, much more intense. He turned his body fully toward you now, ignoring Lando entirely for a long moment. He looked down at you, his lips twitching into a proud, incredibly gentle smile that reached all the way to his dark eyes. It was a look that felt completely private, a silent acknowledgement of how hard you were trying to survive out here.

"Drip coffee," Oscar murmured softly, his voice of a quiet, unyielding approval that sank straight down to your core. "Look at you. Real country living."

The sight of his proud smile and the closeness of his body didn't comfort you, it made you completely moody. A deep, frustrated frown etched onto your face and you tightened the grip on your crossed arms, shifting your weight in the cushioned slides he had bought you. Your chest burned with a sudden, uninvited wave of irritation.

Why on earth was Oscar asking Lando about your life? Why was he standing there getting a full report from someone else, looking at you with that deep, knowing connection, instead of just asking you directly? He was the one who had left for weeks without a word, leaving you stranded in this town with nothing but a lingering crush and a quiet void, and now he wouldn't even give you the courtesy of a direct conversation. You wanted him to ask you how you were. You wanted him to care about the answer from your own lips not Lando's.

Oscar’s smile faltered slightly as he caught the stormy expression clouding your face. He could read your shifts in energy with terrifying accuracy, and right now, the rigid line of your shoulders and the furious pout on your lips signaled imminent danger.

"What's that look for?" Oscar asked softly, tilting his head as his dark eyes searched yours.

That was the final straw. The days of missing him, the frustration of being left behind, and the sheer irritation of being discussed like a bystander in your own life finally boiled over.

"What's that look for?" you mocked, your voice dripping with thick sarcasm as yu took a sharp step closer to him, completely invading his personal space.

"Are you serious, Oscar? You’ve been gone for almost a week. You leave without telling me why, you leave me stranded in this town, and the very second you get back, you don't even have the decency to look at me and ask how I've been! Instead, you get a full briefing from Lando like you’re my warden checking in on a prisoner!"

Beside you, Lando let out a strangled, muffled choking sound. He quickly slapped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking violently as he desperately tried to press his lips together to keep from laughing out loud at your explosive corporate-style meltdown.

You ignored Lando completely, your blazing glare locked entirely on Oscar's smooth, cleanly shaven face. "I am standing right here! If you wanted to know about the cow, or the coffee, or how I didn't die of boredom, you could have just asked me! But no, you'd rather talk around me. It's infuriating and you are incredibly annoying, Mister!"

Oscar didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice, and he didn't match your fiery, chaotic energy. Instead, he let out a slow, quiet breath, looking down at your flushed, angry face with an expression that was entirely level, incredibly patient, and devastatingly gentle.

He took his hands out of his pockets and took a small step closer, effectively cutting off Lando’s view of you. He raised both of his hands slightly, palms facing down in a quiet, universal gesture meant to soothe a raging storm.

"Hey," Oscar murmured, his voice dropping into a low, comforting hum that vibrated through the small space between you. "It’s not like that. Calm down."

"Don't tell me to—"

"Shh, just listen for a second," he interrupted softly, his tone carrying the exact energy of an old, patient soul trying to hush a wild, dramatic kid throwing a tantrum. It was a look of pure, unbothered indulgence, as if your anger didn't intimidate him at all it just made him want to look after you even more.

He kept his hands raised slightly near your shoulders, not quite touching you, but providing a steady, grounding boundary. "I didn't ask Lando because I didn't care to hear it from you. I asked him because I wanted to know if he looked after you properly while I was away. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

Oscar let out a tiny, soft huff of a laugh, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "And clearly, you were. You're making coffee, fighting livestock, and walking to the market on your own. I'm glad."

Your breath hitched, the angry words you were preparing to hurl at him dying instantly in your throat. You were completely caught off guard. Hearing him admit in that smooth, unbothered, gentle voice that his first priority upon returning was making sure you were taken care of completely shattered your defenses.

Before you could stop it, a deep, furious blush rushed up your neck and flooded your cheeks. In the bright afternoon sun of the open market, there was absolutely nowhere to hide it. Your face felt scorching hot.

From a few feet away, Lando let out a sharp, mocking whistle, a massive smirk plastering across his face.

"Oh, wow," Lando laughed, pointing a finger directly at your bright red cheeks. "Look at you. You’ve been complaining to me for two weeks straight about how boring this place is, but Oscar says two words and you completely melt. I see how it is."

"Shut up, Lando!" you snapped quickly, your voice cracking slightly as you desperately tried to shift the attention away from your burning face.

"No, seriously," Lando continued, completely relentless as he leaned in, loving every second of your agony. "You wouldn't even smile for my jokes yesterday, and now you're blushing like a schoolgirl just because he checked up on you? You are so busted."

Embarrassed beyond belief, you tried so hard not to look at Oscar. You fixed your eyes firmly on a random basket of apples at the stall, then at the cobblestones, then at the sky literally anywhere but at the man standing directly in front of you. You clamped your jaw shut, tightening your crossed arms so hard your knuckles turned white, praying your blush would just go away.

But even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze.

Oscar didn't turn away, and he didn't stop Lando from teasing you. Instead, he just stood there, completely relaxed, looking down at your flustered, fiercely avoiding face with pure, quiet amusement. A slow, genuine smirk tugged at the corner of his cleanly shaven lips, his dark eyes sparkling with a knowing warmth.

He found your sudden, silent vulnerability completely captivating, thoroughly enjoying the rare sight of you being utterly speechless.

Oscar glanced over his shoulder at Lando, whose shoulders were still rolling with silent laughter. "Alright, that's enough," Oscar murmured, a faint trace of amusement lingering in his own voice. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and handed Lando a few bills.

"Go find Marcus and grab whatever you want from the market. I'll pay for our food today. Just give us a minute."

Lando’s eyes lit up at the sight of the cash. He swiftly snapped his fingers, bringing his hand up to his forehead in a teasing, theatrical military salute. "Yes, sir! Thanks for the free lunch, mate. Try not to make her blush any harder while I’m gone, yeah?"

With a final wink, Lando turned on his heel and eagerly bounded off toward the food stalls, leaving a thick, heavy silence in his wake.

You stood there awkwardly, your arms still crossed over your chest as you stared intently at a nearby crate of oranges, desperately trying to ignore how incredibly close Oscar was standing. The bustling noise of the market seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of your own frantic pulse.

Oscar was the first to speak. "I have something for you," he said quietly.

You finally broke your vow of silence and glanced up at him, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "A gift? But... I explicitly told you I didn't want anything before you left."

"I know," Oscar replied smoothly, a soft, unbothered expression on his face. He shifted his weight, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "But I remember seeing you wear a specific Chanel necklace the first day you arrived. When I was walking through the city, I passed by the boutique and noticed they had the matching bracelet. It made me think of you, so I decided to grab it."

Your mouth opened slightly, your defensive posture completely melting away. "Oscar, a Chanel bracelet? That's way too much. You shouldn't have bought me something like that."

"Think of it as an apology," he murmured, his voice dropping into that gentle, sincere register that always managed to disarm you. "For leaving so abruptly and breaking my promise to show you around."

Before you could argue any further, Oscar reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, elegant black box wrapped in a clean white ribbon. Your chest tightened, a wave of pure awe washing over you as he carefully slipped the ribbon off and popped the box open, revealing a stunning, delicate silver chain adorned with the classic interlocking logo. It caught the afternoon sunlight beautifully.

"Give me your hand," he said softly.

Mechanically, your mind completely blank, you extended your wrist toward him. Oscar stepped a fraction closer, his large, warm fingers gently cradling the back of your wrist to hold it steady. His touch sent a fierce, tingling jolt straight up your arm. He was incredibly focused, his dark eyelashes casting long shadows on his cheekbones as he carefully maneuvered the small clasp, his knuckles brushing lightly against your skin.

Once it was secure, he let go, stepping back just enough to let you examine it.

You lifted your wrist, staring at the glittering piece of New York luxury resting perfectly against your skin in the middle of a rustic town market. "It's... it's beautiful, Oscar. Truly. Thank you."

Oscar looked down at you, the corner of his lips tugging upward into a small, genuinely happy smile. "I'm glad you like it."

He let out a quiet breath, his posture relaxing entirely as he slipped his hands back into his pockets. The teasing, the presence of Lando, and the hectic rush of his return seemed to entirely evaporate. He looked at you with absolute, undivided attention, his voice dropping into a low, gentle murmur that felt entirely private.

"Now," Oscar said softly, his dark eyes searching yours with absolute sincerity. "Tell me from your own lips. How have you been?"

You tried your absolute best to suppress the massive spike of excitement bubbling up in your chest, biting down on your lip to keep from grinning like a fool. But as you looked into Oscar's attentive, dark eyes, the dam broke, and you found yourself rambling about your entire week, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a frantic, animated rush.

"Well, if you must know, the first morning was an absolute disaster," you began, gesturing with your hands as the initial New York attitude melted into genuine eagerness. "I tried to take a shower, and I stood there freezing for ten minutes because I couldn't find a hot water switch! And then I tried to cook eggs... just simple scrambled eggs, Oscarand I managed to burn the bottom of the pan while the top was still completely raw. I don't know how that's physically possible."

Oscar’s smile widened, a quiet, captivated chuckle escaping him as he watched you express yourself so vividly.

"But," you continued proudly, lifting your chin, "I've been taking morning walks. Real ones, through the gravel paths, just like you said. I even saw the sunrise twice. It's... it's actually not as awful out here as I thought."

Oscar listened to every single word, his head tilted slightly, never breaking eye contact. He absorbed your chaotic stories with a patient, grounding presence that made you feel like the only person in the crowded market.

When you finally ran out of breath, Oscar let out a soft, relaxed sigh. "Sounds like you’ve been busy," he murmured gently, before shifting his weight to share a bit of his own time away. "My weeks were the exact opposite. I had to wake up at 4:30 every morning just to beat the Manhattan traffic for back-to-back boardroom meetings. I was going home late to a cramped apartment, ordering greasy fast food at midnight because nothing else was open, and breathing in nothing but exhaust fumes."

Oscar looked around the vibrant, open-air market, taking a deep, appreciative breath of the crisp valley breeze. "Honestly... the entire time I was there, I couldn't stop thinking about how much I missed the trees out here. And the fresh air."

His eyes slid back down to your face, a quiet, unsaid weight hanging in the air that suggested he had missed more than just the weather.

You looked down at the glittering Chanel bracelet on your wrist, a sudden thought striking you. "You know... it’s so strange," you said softly, looking back up at his cleanly shaven face.

"My dad says our families have known each other for ages. But I honestly have no memory of you from before all of this, when we are young. It's like you just appeared out of nowhere,”

Oscar stared at you for a beat, and then, a deeply knowing, incredibly fond smile broke across his face. He shook his head slowly.

"You really don't remember, do you?" he asked quietly.

16 YEARS AGO

The upscale, high-society brunch parties in the city were always bustling with wealthy families, but you were always the undeniable center of gravity.

Oscar was nine years old, already quiet, observant, and grounded while you were a tiny, chaotic whirlwind of a five year old. Your families were close friends, meaning every Sunday brunch was a mandatory joint affair. Oscar’s mom and your mother would always sit at the patio tables, drinking mimosas and talking about the community.

"Look at her go," your mom would sigh, pointing a manicured finger toward the lawn where you were currently stomping your feet. "She gets this fierce look from her father. Absolutely refuses to compromise."

Oscar’s mom, Nicole, would laugh warmly, nodding. "She has spirit, Caroline. Oscar is too quiet, I wish he had a fraction of her energy."

Meanwhile, Oscar would just sit on the shaded bench, completely fascinated by you. He watched you interact with the other kids, which usually consisted of you screaming and fighting anyone who dared to challenge you in party games.

"No! That's my doll! You can't touch it!" your high-pitched five year old voice echoed across the lawn as you aggressively snatched a toy away from another little girl.

"But we're supposed to share!" The little girl cried.

"I don't care! I picked it first, so it's mine!" you huffed, crossing your tiny arms and turning your back on her. If any kid dared to choose the exact same flavor of ice cream or the same colored crayon as you, you would completely stop talking to them, deeming them entirely unworthy of your time simply because you didn't like them.

You were, by all definitions, an absolute brat. But Oscar, in his quiet way, grew incredibly fond of you. He found your fiery, unapologetic stubbornness completely entertaining.

And whenever your high-intensity drama inevitably backfired, Oscar was always the one standing right there. Like the afternoon you were running too fast down the concrete patio, completely ignoring your nanny's warnings to slow down because you wanted to beat another kid to the slide. You tripped over your own feet, falling flat on your face.

Your knee was badly scraped, bright red blood welling up on your skin. You immediately squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply as you prepared to scream at the top of your lungs and ruin the entire party. But before the first tear could fall, nine year old Oscar was already kneeling in the dirt right in front of you.

He didn't say a word. He just calmly pulled a cartoon bandage from his pocket, blew gently on your scraped knee to soothe the sting, and carefully pressed it into place.

True to your stubborn nature, the second the bandage was on, you immediately snapped your eyes open, let out a dramatic sniff, and turned your head away, completely refusing to look at him or acknowledge what he had done. You didn't say thank you. You never did.

Your mother hurried over, sighing as she nudged your small shoulder. “Sweetheart, what do we say? You need to thank Oscar for helping you. Say thank you to Oscar right now.”

You just pouted harder, sticking your bottom lip out and remaining stubbornly silent.

Back in the warm sunlight of the market, Oscar’s dark eyes crinkled as the memory faded, his gaze locked onto your face.

"You were a total nightmare back then," Oscar teased softly, his voice full of a deep, historical warmth that made your stomach do an absolute flip.

"Always fighting the other kids, always refusing to say thank you. So when you showed up here throwing a tantrum about the mud and the country lifestyle... it took me a second but I realized the bratty little girl from the Sunday brunches hadn't changed at all. You just got a lot more beautiful."

"So you did recognize me?" you asked, your voice softening as you looked up at him, the weight of the bracelet suddenly feeling a lot heavier on your wrist.

Oscar nodded smoothly, a small, reflective smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, eventually. But it took hearing your name from Lando and getting a full confirmation from my father. When I first saw you, I honestly thought it was just someone who looked exactly like you. Especially since I knew the real you would never personally choose to come out here to the middle of nowhere."

You pouted at his blunt honesty, crossing your arms again, though the heat in your cheeks hadn't quite faded.

"Hey! I can survive the country. Clearly." You sighed, your shoulders dropping as a sudden wave of melancholy hit you.

"I'm kind of sad I don't remember any of those Sunday brunches, though. The only thing I actually know about our families is that when I was around eight, my parents would still see yours for dinner but they never brought a kid with them. You just completely vanished from the picture."

"That's because I left," Oscar explained quietly, leaning his hip back against the edge of the market stall. "Right around the time you turned eight, I moved out for high school. I went to a boarding academy further upstate."

He paused, looking out over the bustling market square, his eyes softening as he began to share a part of his life he rarely talked about.

"My family actually resided out here in this province originally," Oscar said, his voice dropping into that comfortable, narrative hum.

"But when my mom’s podcast took off and she became famous, my parents decided we needed to move to New York for her career and the network opportunities. That's when our families became close. But the city life... it never really fit us. Eventually, the noise, the traffic, and the constant pressure of Manhattan just became too much for my parents to handle."

He looked back down at you, his dark eyes locking onto yours with total sincerity.

"So, they made the choice to pack up and come back home to the valley, where things are quiet and people actually know your name. I finished my studies but the second I was done, I followed them right back here. I realized I didn't want the skyscraper views either. I wanted the trees."

Oscar took a small step closer, completely closing the distance between you. The bustling noise of the market vendors, the distant chatter of the crowd and even the thoughts of your past life in Manhattan seemed to completely fade away, leaving just the two of you standing in the warm afternoon sun.

He reached out, his fingers gently brushing against the cool silver of the new bracelet resting on your wrist, before his dark, intense eyes slid back up to lock onto yours.

"Since you can't remember anything from before," Oscar murmured, his voice dropping into a low, devastatingly gentle register that vibrated straight to your core, "let's just make new memories together. Ones that you'll actually remember."

Your breath hitched in your throat, your heart doing a dangerous, chaotic flip at his words. The sincerity in his eyes was completely

overwhelming, completely disarming your usual defenses.

Before you could scramble to find your tongue or huff out a sarcastic reply to hide your racing pulse, a familiar, loud voice shattered the intimate moment.

"Alright, lovers, I'm back!" Lando announced loudly, strolling back toward the stall with a massive, dripping ice cream cone in one hand and a huge paper bag in the other.

He grinned ear to ear, completely oblivious or perhaps entirely aware of the thick tension he had just interrupted.

"Marcus says welcome back, Oscar. Now, are we going to stand here all day staring at each other, or are we actually going to eat?"

Oscar didn't pull away immediately. He let his hand drop slowly back into his pocket, casting one last, deeply knowing smile down at your flushed face before turning to his friend.

"Let's eat, Lando."

With Lando happily holding a bounty of market snacks, the three of you walked over to the adjacent town park, finding a quiet stone table nestled under the shade of a massive willow tree. The park was alive with afternoon energy. A group of local children were running around the playground, and the moment your trio walked into view, their heads snapped over in excitement.

"Lando! Look, it's Lando!" a couple of boys cheered, kicking a soccer ball aside as they sprinted over.

Lando grinned ear to ear, lazily lifting his hands to give every single one of them a dramatic, echoing high-five. "What's up, boys? Keep practicing that footwork!"

A few older kids nodded respectfully toward Oscar, waving enthusiastically. "Afternoon, Mister Oscar! Glad you're back!" Oscar offered them a warm, grounded wave, his posture relaxed as he guided you toward the stone benches.

Just as you sank onto the cool stone, a little girl separated herself from the playground and came running directly toward your table. She was about six years old, wearing a vibrant, floral pink dress, her pigtails bouncing with every step. She had a massive, gap-toothed smile fixed completely on you.

She skidded to a halt right in front of the table. "Hi, Mister Lando! Hi, Mister Oscar!" she chirped breathlessly, before immediately turning her big, bright eyes up to your face. She smoothed down her dress and offered a polite little bow.

"Hi! I always see you walking around the estate paths in the morning from my window. You look like a princess!"

Your breath caught in your throat. A sharp, unexpected wave of emotion hit you right in the chest. You swallowed the lump in your throat, leaning forward with a soft, radiant smile as you waved your hand, the bracelet catching the light.

"Hi. It's so nice to meet you. Thank you."

The little girl’s smile widened but then things took a turn into a much weirder, wildly uncomfortable territory. She shifted her gaze back to Oscar, tilting her head with absolute innocence.

"Mister Oscar? Is Miss Pretty your girlfriend?"

The entire stone table froze. You almost choked on your own saliva, your eyes widening in absolute shock. Next to you, Oscar’s effortless, deadpan composure shattered in an instant.

"Wait, no, it's—" you started, your hands waving frantically to deny it while Oscar simultaneously opened his mouth, his ears instantly turning a bright, furious shade of crimson.

"We aren't—"

"Wow, you have a really pretty girlfriend, Mister Oscar!" the kid added gleefully, completely steamrolling your clumsy denials. But she didn't stop there. She leaned in closer across the stone table, her eyes wide with immense, unblinking curiosity.

"So... did you two kiss yet? I see it in Barbie and the princesses movies. They always kiss with their Prince Charming when they go to a big castle."

The sheer, unfiltered strangeness of the question hung heavily in the air. Lando let out a loud, choked snort, dropping his pastry back into the bag as his face turned bright red from trying to hold back a massive roar of laughter.

You sat there completely paralyzed, your face burning so hot you were certain you were going to spontaneously combust. A kiss? Prince Charming?

Oscar’s face erupted into a rare, furious blush that crawled all the way from his smooth jawline up to his forehead. Without a single word, he swiftly slid off the stone bench, stepped around the table, and gently took the little girl by the shoulders, steering her away before she could ask about your wedding registry.

“Alright, let’s go find your mom," he murmured, his voice tight but fiercely gentle as he excused himself from the two of you.

From the distance, you watched them intently, your heart still hammering from the Barbie comment. Oscar dropped to one knee to match her height, speaking to her softly, lecturing her in that patient, old-soul manner while the little girl listened, blinking and nodding thoughtfully.

Unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of a completely flustered Oscar, you leaned across the stone table toward Lando, your voice dropping into a sharp, quiet whisper.

"Hey. Does Oscar have a girlfriend?"

Lando, who was currently wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, slowly lowered his hands. A mischievous, deeply teasing grin plastered across his face as he looked at you. "Why? Why would you want to know?"

You fiercely glared at him, kicking his foot under the table. "Just answer the question, Lando! It’s a normal thing to ask."

"Oh, really?" Lando teased, leaning his elbows on the stone table, thoroughly enjoying your desperation. "Why are you so worried about it? Is the New York pride getting threatened by a potential local rival?"

You rolled your eyes so hard it practically hurt, huffing out a breath. "Lando, I swear to god—"

Lando let out a hearty laugh, finally relenting as he waved his hand dismissively. "Relax, relax. Oscar doesn't have a girlfriend." He paused, his smirk turning into something a bit more mysterious. "In fact... he’s never had one."

You gasped loudly, your jaw dropping. "What?! Never? Like... *ever*? He doesn't even have an ex?" The thought of someone as devastatingly handsome, kind, and grounded as Oscar reaching his twenties without a single past relationship seemed completely statistically impossible.

Seeing your chaotic, wide-eyed reaction, Lando leaned in closer, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Nope. Never. Why, are you applying for the position?"

"Shut up!" you hissed, your face flaring up in a match to Oscar's.

Your hushed banter lasted for another two minutes, with you aggressively defending your honor while Lando relentlessly poked fun at your obvious crush, until the heavy crunch of gravel signaled Oscar’s return.

Oscar slid back onto the stone bench next to you, clearing his throat as his blush finally began to recede, though he still looked slightly scarred by the Barbie interrogation. "Sorry about that," he muttered smoothly, adjusting his cap.

"Kids around here watch too many cartoons."

You tried your absolute best to keep quiet, staring down at your sweets, telling yourself to let it go. But the burning curiosity inside your chest was raging like a wildfire, fueled by Lando's revelation. You couldn't hold it in.

Shifting on the bench, you peeked up at him through your lashes. "So... do you really never have a girlfriend?"

Oscar froze, his dark eyes instantly snapping across the table to glare directly at Lando. Lando immediately raised his hands in defense, looking up at the willow tree and whistling, pretending with every fiber of his being that he hadn't just spilled the town secrets.

Oscar let out a quiet sigh, turning back to you, his expression level. "It's just never been a priority for me. I've been focused on the community, helping my dad, and... well, it just hasn't happened."

You nodded slowly, processing the answer, feeling a strange, secret sense of relief wash over you.

But, of course, Lando couldn't leave well enough alone.

Lando leaned back, taking a slow bite of his food, his eyes glinting with trouble. "Right. It's not a priority. Like... not even before she left?"

Your head snapped from Lando over to Oscar, your radar instantly going off. Oscar’s jaw tightened slightly, and he gave Lando a firm, warning look, shaking his head slowly. "She’s just a friend, Lando. I told you to let that go."

"Hey, I'm just saying, you two seemed pretty close as friends," Lando shrugged casually, completely unbothered by his friend's warning glare.

The word she echoed in your head, and a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy, one you had absolutely no right to feel knotted in your stomach. Your curiosity turned into a demanding itch. You turned your body fully toward Oscar, raising your eyebrows high as you can.

"Who's she?" you asked, your voice dropping into a demanding tone.

Lando just smiled widely, crossing his arms. "Oh, I can't say a word without Oscar's permission. Bro code, Miss New York."

You aggressively glared at Oscar, demanding answers with your eyes. Oscar closed his eyes for a brief second, letting out a long, defeated sigh. He doesn’t want to answer it at all. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking back at you, his dark eyes entirely earnest.

"It's really nothing. It's just a friend from the city."

You raised a perfectly manicured brow, leaning in closer until you could see the clean, smooth line of his newly shaven jaw. "Oh, really? If she is just a friend, Oscar... then tell me all about her."

[ringdingdingcar]

OMG LOOK AT THIS

I made this keychain in my accgoods shop, it's so cute, I think I'll make it here in argentina too

[temporary-moon]

[ellyus]

one week til melbourne and im already balding, just from thinking of the possibility that oscar doesn't win

that being said, im blocking pierre gasly

[igot81problemsbutf1aintone]

Honestly, not even mad at Alpine. THIS is how you fight for the interests of your driver and team, McLaren.

Overall, this so much

[chaotic-neutral-ig]

“I’m not perfect but on my best days, I really am the best” - Oscar Piastri

Can’t wait to see him on the podium again 😌

(Pictures are from Pinterest. I don’t own any of them and do not intend to use them for commercial purposes)

[lislemons]

my alma mater being a hornet, oscar getting a wasp named after him, it’s just all coming up piastrihive dubs

[theamazingmr-j]

watching all my saved op81 edits before tiktok goes dark in the US and i would like to thank monaco 2024 oscar piastri because goddaamn