Page 26 of The Pumpkin Spice Proposal
“He heard about a technical director position opening up in Milan. Wanted to know if I was going tosmettere di giocare e tornare a casa.Stop playing games and come home.Those were his exact words. Playing games.”
“That’s horrible.”
“That’s Alessandro Marrone.” The bitterness in my voice surprised me. “He had me on a kart track by the time I was five. Every weekend, every holiday, every spare minute.I Marrone sono vincitori, Mario. Vincitori o niente.Marrones are winners. Winners or nothing.”
I let go of her hands, needing to move. The back room was small, barely ten feet across, but I paced across it, back and forth, anyway.
“When I won, I was his son. His greatest accomplishment. He told everyone—the grocer, the mailman, complete strangers—about Mario, the future champion.”
“And when you crashed?”
“Radio silence. Like I died in that car.” I laughed, but it came out wrong. “Maybe I did.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not? It’s true. Everything I was, everything I knew how to be, ended on that track.” I stopped pacing, stared out at the rain.
“I wake up every morning and for a second, I forget. I think I need to check my training schedule, review track data. Then I remember, and it’s like... What’s the point? What am I if I’m not racing?”
“You’re you,” Lily said fiercely.
I turned to look at her, and she’d moved closer, my jacket still draped over her shoulders like armor.
“You’re the man who fixed my disaster of a cash register three times without being asked. Who spent four hours helping Olivia understand why her cardboard car needed better weight distribution. Who carries heavy planters for local florists when it’s about to storm.”
“That’s not a life. That’s just... existing.”
“No.” She grabbed my hands this time, her fingers warm and slightly sticky with plant sap. “Existing is what you do when you’re too scared to try. Living is what you do when you’re brave enough to be more than your achievements.”
“Brave?” I laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “I’m hiding in a town where the biggest news is whose pumpkin won the decorating contest.”
“You’re not hiding. You’re healing. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
She stepped closer, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her green eyes, the way her lashes were slightly damp from the humidity. “Mario, your worth isn’t tied to a car or a track or your father’s approval. You have to know that.”
“Do I?”
The question hung between us. She reached up, her fingers barely grazing my jaw, and I forgot how to breathe.
“You’re worth so much more than winning,” she whispered. “You’re worth?—”
The back door burst open with a crash that made us both jump apart.
“MOM!”
Olivia stood in the doorway wearing what appeared to be a garbage bag with holes cut for her head and arms, water streaming off her in rivers. Her hair was plastered to her head, and she was grinning like she’d just won the lottery.
“Olivia Rose Sage!” Lily rushed to her daughter. “You’re soaked to the bone!”
“I know! Isn’t it AMAZING?” She spun in a circle, sending water flying.
“Grandma dropped me off for my after-school shift, but then she said the rain was very romantic and I should come inside immediately and see if you two were having a moment!”
“We weren’t having a moment,” Lily said quickly, her face turning pink.
“Your faces say otherwise,” Olivia announced with seven-year-old certainty.
