I stopped, staring at the cursor blinking on the screen.
The empty space where that silly little ring had once sat mocked me. Ridiculous and perfect, it had been made with the kind of faith that expected nothing but hoped for everything—and Lily still had it.
I thought about my father, who would be furious when I turned down this opportunity. About the racing world, where success was measured in championship points and salary figures. About the safe, familiar path back to a life I understood.
Then I thought about Sunday dinners that ran three hours long because everyone had something to say. About a cash register that jammed every Tuesday like clockwork. About Lily’s laugh and Olivia’s excited chatter about aerodynamics and the way this strange little town had wrapped around me like a warm blanket I’d never known I needed.
My fingers moved across the keyboard.
Dear Mr. Rossi,
Thank you for the generous offer to join the technical team. After careful consideration, I must respectfully decline. I’ve found something more important than racing here in Autumn Grove—I’ve found a home.
I wish you and the team continued success.
Sincerely,
Mario Marrone
I hit send before I could second-guess myself.
Then I looked at the faint trail of glitter still clinging to my coffee table and started planning.
On the workbench shoved against the wall, my toolbox sat open. A washer, some wire, and a stray bottle of Olivia’s glitter glue—leftover from her “aerodynamics project”—waited like they were daring me.
I stared at them for a long time, then picked up the washer. My hands remembered how to bend and shape metal. Racing had taught me precision, but this was something else—something delicate.
There it was. A new ring sat on the workbench. Bent, imperfect, with a dusting of pink glitter that clung stubbornly to the wire. Ridiculous. And maybe the most important thing I’d ever made.
Tomorrow was the pumpkin-carving contest. Ben was right—time to choose my own ending.
Time to choose the story that scared me most.
The one where I stayed.
CHAPTER18
Lily
“Mom,we don’t have to go,” I said for the third time, watching Olivia meticulously organize her pumpkin-carving tools on the kitchen table like a tiny surgeon preparing for an operation.
The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, catching the glitter still embedded under my daughter’s fingernails from last night’s craft session. She’d spent an hour after dinner making “good luck charms” for our pumpkins—little paper leaves dusted with enough sparkles to blind a small aircraft.
“It’s the last festival event,” she said with seven-year-old determination. “We always go. Besides, I want to beat Tommy Patterson. His pumpkin last year looked like a sick potato.”
Despite the heaviness in my chest, I smiled. “That’s not very nice.”
“Neither is Tommy Patterson.” She looked up at me with those wise eyes that sometimes made me forget she was still just a child.
“And hiding at home won’t make the hurt go away, Mom. Trust me—I tried it after Dad left.”
When had my daughter become the adult in this relationship?
“You’re right,” I conceded, wrapping my wool cardigan tighter around myself. The October air had a bite to it today, promising the first frost. “But if it gets too weird?—”
“We leave immediately and get ice cream,” she finished, nodding solemnly. “I know the protocol. Ben taught it to me after the Great Thanksgiving Disaster of last year.”
I laughed despite myself. “Your uncle falling asleep in the mashed potatoes was hardly a disaster.”
