It had been a long shift, and the restaurant was buzzing with energy. The hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and the occasional burst of laughter filled the air. He weaved between tables, balancing plates and drinks, offering smiles to customers even as his body ached from hours on his feet.

As he approached a corner table, the sight of three men laughing and talking animatedly caught his attention. He recognized them instantly— Fernando Alonso, Michael Schumacher, and Mark Webber, some of the biggest names in Formula One. They had just finished celebrating Fernando’s latest victory, and judging by the empty bottles and lively chatter, they were in high spirits.

He steeled himself, reminding himself to stay professional. Sure, they were celebrities, but they were just customers here, right?

As he arrived at the table, Fernando was in the middle of a story, his hands moving expressively as he spoke. But the moment he noticed the waiter, his words faltered, and his attention shifted entirely. His gaze lingered for just a second too long, a spark of curiosity flashing in his eyes.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asked, offering a polite smile.

Fernando’s friends noticed the sudden pause in conversation. Michael raised an eyebrow, glancing between the waiter and Fernando with a knowing smirk. “Looks like someone’s distracted,” he said, nudging Fernando playfully.

Fernando shook his head, trying to play it cool, but there was no mistaking the way he looked at the waiter—intrigued, as if he couldn’t quite believe his luck.

Mark leaned forward, grinning mischievously. “Yeah, Fernando, do you need something else? Maybe a name? A phone number?”

The waiter felt his cheeks warm under their teasing, trying to stifle a laugh as Fernando shot them both a look, his usual confidence momentarily slipping.

“Ignore them,” he muttered, a sheepish smile pulling at his lips. “They’ve had a bit too much to drink.”