Page 58 of The Pumpkin Spice Proposal
Lily
By the timemorning settled over Autumn Grove, the whole town looked dipped in sugar. Snow covered every roofline, drifted high against the porch rails, and softened the edges of Happily Ever After Lane until it seemed like something out of a painting. The maple outside my kitchen window bowed beneath the weight, its branches creaking as though even it hadn’t expected winter to arrive this early.
School was canceled, which in Olivia’s world was nothing short of a miracle. She was already bundled into her purple snowsuit, her little figure so puffed up she could barely bend her arms. She bounced in front of the back door, breath fogging up the glass.
“Come on!” she called, mittens flapping. “Snowball fight time!”
I laughed as I tugged on my boots, but when I glanced at Mario, leaning in the doorway with his arms folded, he looked unconvinced. His charcoal coat was buttoned neatly, scarf tucked in place, his knit cap pulled low over his dark hair. Somehow he managed to make winter layers look like they belonged in a magazine spread.
“You do this… for fun?” His accent lingered over the word, warm and skeptical all at once.
“For joy,” I corrected, winding my scarf snug around my neck.
Olivia was already scooping up a handful of snow, determination in every move. “For victory,” she declared, and hurled the first snowball straight at Mario’s chest.
The impact left a white splatter across his coat. He blinked, startled, then bent to gather his own. The first throw was careful, almost tentative, but Olivia shrieked in delight and the spell was broken. Soon the yard rang with laughter and squeals as snow flew in every direction.
Mario’s throws were precise, compact, a lifetime of discipline showing even in something as silly as snowball fights. Olivia’s were wild and joyous, scattering snow in sparkling arcs.
Mine—well, mine were mostly dodges and shrieks as I tried to escape the crossfire. Cold flakes found their way down my collar, and my cheeks burned with a happy sting.
“You’re supposed to let her win!” I gasped, ducking behind a half-collapsed fort.
Mario’s grin was quick, boyish, and it caught me off guard with how it tugged at my heart. “She is already winning.”
By the time we trudged back inside, boots heavy, hair damp, the whole house smelled of cocoa. I set the pot to simmer again, stirring in sugar and cinnamon, the sweet steam rising and clouding the kitchen windows. Olivia wriggled onto her favorite stool, pink-cheeked and breathless, while Mario leaned against the counter, brushing snow from his coat that still clung stubbornly like glitter.
“You fought well,” he told Olivia gravely, handing her a mug.
She sipped, leaving a chocolate mustache. “Best snow day ever.”
When she skipped to her room a few minutes later in search of dry socks, the house grew quiet. Mario stood close, his hat in his hands, hair damp and unruly at his temples. He reached for me without hesitation now, his gloved thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles as though reminding himself I was real.
“I signed the papers this morning,” he said softly. “The old garage on the outskirts of town. It is mine.Marrone’s Garage.”
Warmth spread through me, filling places I hadn’t realized were still cold. He had already promised to stay, but hearing it like this—rooted, tangible—made my breath catch.
Before I could answer, Olivia tumbled back in, mismatched socks on her feet, her hair full of static. “Did you say garage?” she asked, eyes wide.
Mario crouched so they were face-to-face. “Si. A place to fix engines.”
She gasped. “I can help! I’ll hand you tools. And sweep. And—” she pressed both hands to her chest dramatically—“I’ll be the boss.”
Mario’s smile gentled, tender in a way that stole my breath. “Then I will be the luckiest mechanic in all of Michigan. Every great garage needs a supervisor.”
Olivia beamed, her cocoa mustache stretching wide.
My phone buzzed against the counter, June’s name lighting up the screen.
Sources confirm: mysterious Italian man officially investing in town property. Relationship update?
I groaned, but before I could type anything back, Mario took the phone. He scrolled for a moment, then tapped a reply and set it down with a satisfied look.
“Complicated?” I asked, half laughing.
“Beautiful,” he said simply, his voice low enough that it sent warmth all the way through me.
Down the hall, the pipes gave a long groan, followed by Olivia’s singsong voice. “Mario! The toilet’s doing it again! I think it’shaunted!”
