Or maybe they just knew something we weren’t ready to admit.
Either way, I had a week to figure it out.
A week, and two hundred enthusiastic conspirators who’d probably already picked out our china pattern.
“Dio ci aiuti,” I muttered under my breath.
God help us all.
CHAPTER13
Lily
The crisp Octoberair carried the scent of woodsmoke and caramel apples as I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, wrestling with my pumpkin-colored cardigan. Outside, maple leaves drifted past the window like confetti, and somewhere in the distance, I could hear the high school marching band practicing for the Halloween parade.
“Mom, we’re going to be late!” Olivia’s voice drifted up from downstairs, already pitched with the manic energy that only came from wearing a costume she was desperately proud of.
I gave up on the cardigan—it was either “trying too hard” or “festive mom,” and honestly, after a week of dodging wedding questions at the grocery store, I’d take festive mom. The entire town had been buzzing since June’s proposal rumors started circulating. Yesterday, Mrs. Smithers had cornered me at the post office to ask about my “something blue” preferences.
My phone buzzed against the dresser. A text from Mario.
On my way. June just stopped me to ask if I prefer roses or peonies. For “no particular reason.”
Despite the circus our lives had become, I smiled. We’d been texting more lately—little observations about June’s matchmaking schemes, shared eye-rolls over my mother’s increasingly unsubtle hints. It felt dangerously close to what real couples probably did.
“Coming!” I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs, where Olivia was doing final adjustments to her cardboard spoiler. The kitchen smelled like the pumpkin spice muffins I’d stress-baked at dawn, and golden afternoon light streamed through the windows, making her sequined helmet sparkle.
“Do you think Mario will remember to come?” She asked, testing the structural integrity of her racing stripes for the hundredth time.
“He said he would, baby.”
“Good. Because I told Mrs. Smithers, he was basically my dad, and she said that was ‘premature.’” Olivia rolled her eyes with seven-year-old disdain. “But I think she’s just jealous because her boyfriend can’t even fix a bicycle.”
“Olivia Rose?—”
“What? It’s true! Remember when her bike got a flat at the farmers market and he just stood there looking confused while Mario fixed it in like two minutes?”
The doorbell rang, saving me from a lecture about comparing potential father figures based on their mechanical abilities.
Mario stood on our porch, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. But he’d made an effort—dark wash jeans, a cream-colored cashmere sweater that brought out his eyes, and he’d even attempted to tame his hair. The sight of him trying so hard for us made my chest warm in that dangerous way I kept telling myself to ignore.
“You came!” Olivia launched herself at him like a sequined missile.
“I promised, didn’t I?” He caught her easily, careful not to crush her costume. “Ready to show everyone the fastest car in Autumn Grove?”
“The fastest AND sparkliest,” she corrected, doing a little spin that made her cardboard chassis squeak. “Mom, take a picture! June says documentation is important for relationship development.”
“June says a lot of things,” Mario muttered, but he was smiling.
I pulled out my phone, watching them through the screen. Olivia beaming up at him, Mario’s genuine laugh at something she whispered—it looked so natural, so right, that for a moment I forgot it was all pretend.
The school parking lot was pure Halloween chaos when we arrived. Parents wielding cameras like weapons, kids in costumes ranging from store-bought superheroes to elaborate homemade creations that probably cost more than my car payment. The scent of cider and donuts drifted from the PTA bake sale booth, mixing with the sharp autumn air and someone’s overpowering pumpkin spice perfume.
The moment we stepped out of the car, I felt the familiar weight of small-town scrutiny.
“There they are,” someone whispered, not quite quietly enough.
“Don’t they look like a perfect little family?” another voice added.
