Page 42 of The Pumpkin Spice Proposal
“So the witch lady brings presents instead of Santa?” she asked, carefully coloring a drawing of La Befana.
“In some parts of Italy, yes. She flies around on her broomstick looking for baby Jesus.”
“That’s so much cooler than reindeer.”
The whole time, I was aware of Lily moving around us—bringing us snacks, offering suggestions, watching with an expression that was tender and terrified all at once. Every so often, our eyes would meet, and I’d see my own confusion reflected back at me.
She was falling. Had already fallen, maybe. Ben was right about that.
The question was: would I catch her, or would I let both of us crash?
“Mario,” Olivia said suddenly, holding up her poster. “When you marry my mom, will we celebrate both American and Italian Christmas?”
The question hung in the air like smoke. Lily went very still at the kitchen counter.
“Piccola,” I said carefully, “your mom and I?—”
“I know you’re not married yet,” she said matter-of-factly. “But June says it’s just a matter of time, and I want to be prepared. Will your parents come visit? Will we make those cookies you showed me pictures of?”
I looked at her eager face, at the poster covered with Italian words and careful drawings, at Lily’s white knuckles where she gripped the counter edge.
Tomorrow was the Harvest Gala. The whole town would be watching, waiting for the proposal that existed only in their imagination.
Or did it?
I looked at the pipe cleaner ring sitting on the table next to Olivia’s markers and wondered if maybe the town could see something we’d been too scared to admit.
Either way, tomorrow would change everything.
“We’ll see,piccola,” I said finally. “We’ll see.”
But as I helped her clean up her supplies, as Lily walked me to the door with careful politeness, as Olivia hugged me goodbye and whispered, “I hope you stay forever,” I realized the decision had already been made.
I just had to find the courage to make it official.
CHAPTER15
Lily
The Harvest Galashould have been my moment of triumph. For weeks, I’d poured myself into every detail—from the burgundy and gold mums cascading down each table centerpiece to the pumpkin archway that had finally stopped threatening structural collapse. The community center glowed with warm string lights, and the air was thick with the scent of apple cider and cinnamon from the dessert table.
I’d even splurged on a new dress—deep burgundy velvet that Sarah swore made me look “like autumn herself.” When Mario had picked me up, the way his eyes lingered on me made my cheeks warm.
“You look incredible,” he’d said, and for a moment, I’d felt like the heroine of my own romance novel.
Olivia was safely tucked away at my parents’ house, having given me strict instructions. “Dance at least three times. And if Mario tries to be grumpy, remind him it’s mandatory fun night.”
For the first hour, everything was perfect. Mario had actually asked me to dance—a slow song where he held me close and whispered bad jokes in my ear to make me laugh. We’d sampled Mrs. Miller’s famous pumpkin bread and made the rounds, accepting compliments on the decorations with the comfortable ease of a real couple.
Then Patricia Downs appeared.
“Lily, darling!” My rival florist materialized beside the punch bowl while Mario was fetching our coats. Patricia ran the only other flower shop in town—a sterile, expensive place that catered to people who thought flowers should look like they’d been manufactured rather than grown. “Your arrangements are... quaint this year.”
I bit back my first three responses. “Thank you, Patricia. How thoughtful.”
She smiled with the warmth of a piranha. “I do admire your commitment to the rustic aesthetic. So... cottage-core.” The way she said it made it sound like a disease.
“Well, not everyone can pull off your minimalist approach,” I replied sweetly.
