Chapter Text
Max thinks he’s a good baker. Knows he’s a good business owner. He knows that people all across the principality love his shop and he takes immense pride in that. But there’s no way one person could be this exhausted and still expected to work today.
He rubs absently at his eyes, trying to will the sleep away. Max flicks on the lights as soon as he walks into the bakery. He was in a shit mood to start the day and expected to be in a shit mood until closing. Stupid sim race; he had stayed up too late and was now reaping the consequences. It was completely his own fault but he’s still going to complain thank you very much. The sun hadn't even risen but here he was, getting the ovens turned on and the store ready for the abnormal influx of customers sure to arrive.
Max loves the Monaco Grand Prix. Sure it’s not the most interesting racing or strategy wise, the streets too narrow for overtakes, and honestly the mystique around it borders on gaudy, but Max loves it nonetheless. It had been one of his favorite tracks growing up, even when karting became a distant ache he still made his mom turn on the television so he could watch the cars turn around the streets of Monaco.
Now the crowned jewel of Formula 1 meant a shit ton of business.
Nestled in the La Condamine district, Three Cat Cafe was Max’s pride and joy. He’d gotten a deal on the lease fresh out of school that was almost too good to be true, but Max wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. He’d made the place up to be simple, but cozy; tables sat in front of the big picture windows, plants dotted around the space making it look more lively, display cases on either side of the counter showed off the treats of the day. He’d decorated the shop with little cat novelties just to stick with the names theme. The area was mostly shops, some permanent fixtures of the town, others coming and going as fast as the trends. At the moment it looked like Max’s shop was here to stay.
The area he was in always had a good mix of people littering its streets, enough tourists to break even and pay a good wage for his staff, and enough locals to have the vague semblance of a personal life and keep up on the neighborhood gossip. The lease also came with an upstairs apartment attached directly to the bakery. Perfect for mornings like this where Max wanted absolutely nothing more than to stay in bed. At least he doesn’t have to trek across from France every morning like so many of the other shop owners do.
He wouldn’t say he had a particularly revolutionary business model, people just seemed to be drawn to the shop. Monaco was competitive, he’d seen so many others fail but Max has done more than just stay afloat, last year he was even able to afford a couple weeks off to see his family in Holland and make it to the Dutch Grand Prix.
As he prepared for the day, putting croissants, and breads, and whatever berry tart he decided was the fruit of the week into the ovens, Max let the smell wash over him. Mask him.
It wasn’t that Max was embarrassed of his designation, he had enough time to get over that between presenting at 14 and now, but his scent was just so terribly sweet. He remembers the conversation (argument) with his father as soon as he started presenting. Remembers the race it happened, remembers being left at the petrol station, remembers then being dropped at his mothers home. Jos hadn’t spoken to him for a week after, and when he finally did it was only to tell Max that he wouldn’t support his karting career anymore, that he wouldn’t let his son race until he presented as nothing other than alpha. Max has made peace with it by now, he has his business, his sim racing, his cats, and he’s able to watch the Monaco Grand Prix from his balcony so really who was he to complain.
Really he didn’t mind being an omega, but his scent was just a nuisance. It was too sweet, too omega. It got him stares everywhere he went even with blockers. Max knows he doesn’t look like the typical omega, he’s too sharp, too broad, he’s had multiple people tell him he looks like an alpha; but his scent was quintessentially omega, overbearingly strong. It’s part of the reason he decided to open a bakery in the first place. Yes he liked to bake, he loved making new recipes, loved chatting with his regulars about new items, but a not so small part of him liked that everyone he interacted with chalked his scent up to his job. He could pretend to only be ‘Max who owns Three Cat Cafe’ and not ‘Max the omega who smells like the inside of a candy shop and attracts every alpha within a 5 mile radius’.
Max wears his extra-strength blockers every single day, and every single day at least one alpha comes up to him to compliment his scent. It’s so irritating he’s taken to lying, saying he’s a beta that just works in a bakery now please leave him alone. Max adjusts one of his blockers, the heat from the ovens making the adhesive slip just a little. It feels like it smells even stronger today, he thinks. It’s slowly adding to his ever growing stupor. First the lack of sleep, and now a customer is sure to comment on his scent. Even better. Maybe he can get one of his staff to work in the back so he can take a nap today.
As he’s musing over which of his staff he can force to work with the ovens, the bell on the front door chimes. Shit. He was sure he had locked that as soon as he stepped in. It shouldn’t be any of his workers, they’ve still got another two hours before the store opens. But maybe one of them has decided to be less lazy and actually help him. Tuesday before the grand prix weekend, he needs all the help he can get. He’s already generally annoyed at the whole day, and now he has to talk to a person before he's gotten even a little bit of caffeine. Great.
He sticks his head around the corner of the kitchen only to be greeted by the sight of Oscar Piastri. Max knew that his probability of meeting a F1 driver was pretty high, they all live within a 4 kilometer radius but he hadn’t really expected one to show up in his shop at sunrise. He’s wearing workout gear, having clearly stopped on a run, there’s a sheen of sweat on him and his cheeks are flushed. He’s looking at the board Max put out for the week’s specials when he gets to the counter.
“Can I help you?” Max asks, there's no point in kicking the other man out, he was the one who left the door unlocked, even if the thought of talking to anyone right now makes him want to close down shop all together and move to Switzerland.
Oscar startles, like he wasn’t actually expecting for someone to be here, “Are you open? The lights were on and the doors unlocked but it does seem a little early,”
He at least has the decency to look sheepish, having realized that perhaps 5:30 am is not an appropriate time to start yanking on bakery doors.
“I can make an exception,” Max replies, a tight smile on his lips
He got everything prepped last night, it’s just transferring pans in and out of ovens till his barista gets here to boot up the espresso maker. He really wishes Oscar would leave so he could actually focus on that.
“Do you have any of the raspberry linzers made yet?”
He thinks about saying no, hopefully leaving the driver empty handed and on his merry way, but Max considers him for a second. The first thought that comes to mind is pretty. Which is stupid for a couple reasons. First, Max doesn’t even want him here. In a perfect world Oscar would get the hell out and come back during normal business hours. Or even not at all, one lost customer isn’t going to break the bank and did he mention it was sunrise? Absolutely not the time Max wanted to speak to anyone. Second, it’s probably taboo to describe alphas as pretty. There’s a fair amount of betas and omegas across motorsports and Oscar is decidedly not one of them. But that's truly the only word he can think of. A flush sits high on his cheeks, he keeps shifting his weight like he’s so nervous for Max’s answer he can’t sit still, and he’s got this look in his eyes like one more inconvenience will send him over the edge.
Maybe that’s what makes Max commit the stupidest act of the day and not kick him out.
“Actually yes, I just took a batch out of the oven, how many do you want?”
Oscar gives a shy laugh, “Just one please, my trainer will kill me otherwise”
Max goes back to the kitchen and packs up the tart. He doesn’t know what he expected Oscar to be like but it wasn’t this. Max of course keeps up with the sport. He knows who’s on the grid, knows that Oscar’s good and knows from the promotional stuff that he seems nice enough. But Max has also met a lot of famous people coming in and out of Monaco and nine times out of ten, once the cameras are off, they’re all dicks. But Oscar doesn’t seem like that at all. He seems shy, not even in an annoying way, just reserved.
He’s still deeply annoyed that Oscar's here disrupting his usual routine but Oscar seems nice and it’s Max’s fault that he was even able to get in. He seems kind enough and still looks a little pitiful. Maybe that’s what makes Max decide to forego his usual no small-talk policy.
“So, are you up at the crack of dawn for fun?” Max asks as he slides the packaged tart over the counter, “Or has Mclaren got some special training program that can only happen when no one else is awake?”
The flush on Oscar’s cheeks seem to darken when he answers, “Oh- I couldn’t sleep so I went for a run. Took a wrong turn and ended up on this street,”
Max hums, it’s hard not to find the driver endearing when he looks like that.
“I’m glad you did, though for future reference we open at 8:30”
Oscar gave him an awkward smile, “I’ll keep it in mind the next time I decide to get lost,”
“Well,” Max starts, “enjoy the cookie, and if you decide to stop by during normal waking hours I might even throw in an extra,”
“You really are trying to get me in trouble,”
Max means to just swipe Oscar’s card through the system quietly but instead he quips back, “Obviously, I’m a spy sent by Red Bull. My only job is to make sure your car is over the weight limit”
Oscar laughs, he’s got a good laugh, warm and friendly, it makes Max smile right back. It also makes him want to do crazy things like tell Oscar just how cute his bunny teeth are but Max manages to catch himself. It must be the sleep deprivation.
Just as Oscar gets to the door to leave he turns around.
“I never caught your name”
“Max,” he supplies, “You never gave me yours,”
Obviously Oscar already knows Max knows his name, still, Max decides it's rude not to ask.
“It’s Oscar,” He smiles at Max, meeting his eyes, “Have a nice day Max,” and he leaves.
The rest of the day Max catches himself smiling at nothing at all. Stupid racecar drivers.
* * * * * * *
Oscar doesn’t mean to go back to the bakery so soon. But tomorrow’s Thursday and he’s going to have to do so much media and Oscar wants a preemptive pick-me-up. There was just something about Three Cat Cafe that was calling him back.
Oscar likes racing in Monaco, he enjoys the spectacle and his parents always come so that’s a bonus. But this year between the team orders conversations and his whole debacle at his home race, the stress has gotten to him. Usually Oscar can sleep through anything, it’s an ability he’s had since he was a kid. No matter what's going on in his life, how stressed he is, even the fire alarm going off that one time, he can be dead asleep. So it was a bad sign when he woke up Tuesday at 4:00 and the inability to get his mind to quiet long enough to rest. With nothing else to do but stare at his wall, he had gotten up for a run.
Stumbling across the bakery had been a total accident. He’d started his run along his usual path, but one wrong turn led to another and suddenly Oscar had no idea where he was. He’d gone to the only shop that had its lights on hoping for at least a brief shelter from the morning chill so he could check his location. Meeting Max and getting a delightful pastry out of his misfortune had considerably brightened the rest of his day but there was also something else in the back of his mind.
Oscar knows he has a massive sweet tooth, he also knows it’s a terrible habit to have seeing as though his job partly relies on him being as light as possible. And yes, the tart he got yesterday was delightful but Oscar will eat anything sugary so it’s not really a hard bar to get over. There was just something about the smell of the place; it smelled like chocolate, and sugar, and spices, and the faintest hint of coconut which inexplicably made Oscar feel a little homesick. He made up his mind that morning to go back. Still, he has his pre-race meetings plus all the extra that come with the spectacle of Monaco to get through first. This time he doesn’t get to the bakery until a very respectable 16:00.
The place is packed, there’s a line out the door so long that Oscar considers just going home. But he’s been thinking about a sweet treat since Zak started talking about ‘papaya rules’ this morning, and just as equally, been thinking about Max.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad encounter but Oscar had been a little frazzled and wasn’t able to fully focus on their conversation and he needs a bit of a redemption. Max is funny, a dry humor that matches his own very well. Oscar thinks that if he hadn’t been so caught out already that morning he could have quipped back. Every time he thought about responding the only thing he could think about was how pretty Max was. He was pretty sure Max was another alpha, but he’s dated alphas before, so it wasn’t a big thing. What was a thing was Oscar being so taken aback by how pretty Max was to even focus on making a joke. So, redemption.
As he enters, Oscar is greeted to the sight of Max flitting around. He’s moving from the front counter, to the coffee bar, to the kitchen, and back to the counter again. He keeps pushing his hair back and he’s got a serious expression on his face that doesn’t quite pair with the brightly coloured apron he’s wearing.
“I’ll be with you in just a second– Oh hi Oscar” Max says once he finally gets up to the counter,
He looks a little flushed, pink high on his cheeks, no doubt from being around the hot ovens all day. Up close Oscar can see that the apron is cat patterned. Cute
“Max,” Oscar says, “It’s busy today,”
“Well I don’t know if you heard, but there’s a grand prix this weekend. Lots of tourists.”
It startles a laugh out of Oscar. When he looks back at Max he’s smiling, eyes fully crinkled as he watches Oscar’s shoulders shake. It’s quite possibly the best smile Oscar has ever seen. Shit he’d been too focused on Max to actually respond again.
“Ye-Yeah, I might have heard something about that,” He eventually manages to stutter out.
He can’t even blame this on his lack of sleep. He feels like a teenager all over again, stumbling over his words because the pretty omega girl in his class talked to him. But Oscar is very much not a teenager and needs to get his shit together right now before he embarrasses himself in front of half of Monaco’s tourist population.
“Well, what can I get you this time,” Max is still smiling at him as he taps away on the register.
Right, he’s here for a reason other than blushing like an idiot. And he hasn’t even looked at the menu, just absolutely perfect. He takes a quick look over, there's a muffin that wouldn’t hurt Arturri’s feeling too much, and also-
“Could I get a chocolate croissant please?” He likes chocolate, sue him.
Max gives an affirmative hum before he goes to grab a box. Oscar watches him move around. He fits so seamlessly, Oscar wonders how long he’s worked here. As Oscar hands his card over Max says,
“I had extras of the linzers so I snuck one in the box.”
Oscar startles but does actually manage to respond, “ I won’t tell the owners if you don’t tell my trainer”
Max barks out a laugh, “Well of course I am the owner,”
Before Oscar can even begin to formulate any follow up questions, the woman behind him in line coughs loudly. Rude, can’t she tell he’s trying to have a conversation, in the middle of this shop, with the line out the door, that’s closing in an hour; actually yeah he should probably move.
He takes his box and gives a small wave to Max before he’s out the door. As he’s walking back he thinks this might be the worst redemption he’s ever tried to enact. He’s a grown man. A Formula 1 driver. He does not need to be distracted on a race weekend by the objectively very attractive baker apparently only three blocks from his house. He needs to get over this, and quickly. But that is future Oscars problem, current Oscar has a chocolate croissant.