Page 61 of The Pumpkin Spice Proposal
“It’s beautiful,” I said, looking up at the tree.
“Beautiful,” Mario agreed, but he was looking at me.
“Ew, they’re being mushy again,” Olivia announced. “Grandma, can I have another cookie?”
As my mother whisked Olivia away for treats, Mario turned me to face him fully.
“I have something else,” he said, pulling out a second small box.
“Mario—”
“It’s not a ring,” he said quickly. “We agreed on slow, and I’m respecting that. But open it.”
Inside was a delicate silver charm bracelet with three charms: a tiny pumpkin, a race car, and a flower.
“The pumpkin’s for our beginning,” he explained. “The car’s for my past. The flower’s for your present. I thought... we could add to it. Build our story.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, my eyes burning with tears.
He fastened it around my wrist, his fingers warm against my skin. “There’s room for lots more charms.”
“Planning a long story?”
“The longest.”
“Lily! Mario!” June materialized with her phone and what looked like a professional ring light. “Can I get a quick interview for the Christmas edition of the Facebook group newsletter?”
“There’s a newsletter now?” Mario asked weakly.
“Oh yes! Monthly editions. This month’s theme is ‘Love Actually Happens in Autumn Grove.’ You’re the cover story!”
“June—” I started.
“Just one question,” she promised. “Mario, what made you decide to stay?”
He looked at me, then at Olivia, who had returned with cookie crumbs all over her face, then at the crowd of people who had become our extended family.
“I finally figured out the difference between running toward something and running away from something,” he said simply. “This time, I’m running toward it.”
June sniffled. “That’s beautiful. Can you say it again with better lighting?”
“June!” we both said.
She retreated, but not before snapping several photos.
“Mom! Mario!” Olivia tugged on our hands. “Grandma says we can go get hot chocolate at the diner, but only if you promise not to be gross and romantic.”
“Define gross,” Mario said.
“Kissing. Gazing. Talking about feelings.” She made a face. “You know, adult stuff.”
“No promises,” I said.
“Ugh, you’re impossible.” But she was smiling. “Can I at least get extra marshmallows since you’re going to embarrass me?”
“Deal,” Mario said, scooping her up despite her squeal of protest.
As we walked toward the diner, our family and friends trailing behind us, the Christmas lights twinkling overhead, I thought about how different this was from last Christmas. Last year, I’d been so determined to prove I didn’t need anyone. This year, I was surrounded by people who’d meddled and interfered and loved us into accepting that maybe, just maybe, we did need each other.
