As the crowd “awwwed,” I wanted to disappear into the ground.
“So before we light the tree,” the mayor said, his eyes twinkling, “Mario? Anything you’d like to say?”
“Oh my God,” I whispered. “Not again.”
But Mario just laughed, shaking his head. “I said everything I needed to say with a pumpkin. But...” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wrapped box. “Merry Christmas, Lily.”
My heart stopped. The crowd went silent. Even Olivia stopped wiggling.
“It’s not—” I started.
“Open it,” he said softly.
With shaking hands, I unwrapped the box. Inside was a key.
“Is this...?”
“I bought the Hendersons’ old place,” he said. “The one three houses down from yours. It needs work—the porch is falling apart, the kitchen’s from 1982, and there’s that tree that drops apples on everyone who walks by.”
“You bought a house,” I said stupidly.
“I bought a home,” he corrected. “Close enough to be there whenever you need me, far enough that we can still take things at whatever pace you want.”
“But close enough for sleepovers!” Olivia added helpfully. “Right, Mario?”
“We’ll discuss that with your mom,piccola.”
I stared at the key, this simple piece of metal that represented so much more—permanence, commitment, a future.
“You bought a house and a garage in Autumn Grove,” I said, still processing.
“Where else would I go?” He cupped my face with his free hand. “Everything I want is here.”
I kissed him then, right there in front of the whole town, the crowd erupting in cheers. Olivia made exaggerated gagging noises. June was definitely crying while live streaming.
“Wait!” a voice called out. We broke apart to see Mario’s mother pushing through the crowd. She’d arrived yesterday and immediately bonded with my mother over grandchildren they were already planning.
“We have something too,” she announced, pulling out her phone. “For the Facebook!”
“Mama, no—” Mario started.
But she was already FaceTiming someone, the screen showing his father back in Italy, looking gruff but present.
“Papa,” Mario said, surprised.
“I’m watching the tree,” his father said roughly. “Your mother insisted. She says the lights aremolto bello.”
“They haven’t turned them on yet.”
“Well, turn them on! It’s late here!”
Mayor Gable, never one to miss a cue, started the countdown. “Ten! Nine! Eight!”
The crowd joined in. Olivia bounced with excitement. Mario pulled me closer.
“Three! Two! One!”
The tree exploded with light—thousands of white bulbs turning the square into a winter wonderland. The crowd cheered. June was openly sobbing. Even Mario’s father made an approving grunt over FaceTime.
