His brows arch, "A fan?"
"Well, I'm more of a Carlos Leclerc fan," I admit, laughing a little, "but my sister Ning is obsessed with you. She's in the hospital right now, and an autograph from you would cheer her up."
A flicker of warmth softens his expression. "I'm sorry to hear about your sister. I hope she recovers quickly." He glances over at a rack of F1 t-shirts, nodding. "Pick her size. I'll sign it for her. On me."
I blink in disbelief. Is this really Zhao Zeng? The guy known for his no-nonsense attitude and fiery outbursts on the circuit, giving out autographs like a sweetheart? But here he is, kind, calm, and charming. I grab a shirt in Ning's size before he can change his mind.
"Ning, right?" he asks, pen in hand.
"Yes, that's her."
He smoothly signs across the shirt. To Ning. Wishing you a speedy recovery. Love, Zeng. The casual elegance of his signature is almost as mesmerizing as he is.
