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I didn’t answer for a moment, while I focused on our surroundings. There was a full moon, and with the snow still on the ground, everything glowed with a certain charm. What I liked best about rural PA was all the farmland between the small towns. I never thought I’d adjust to this part of the country, coming from the warmth of California, but I’d grown to love it, and the thought of leaving after graduation tugged at my heart.
What made it even more charming and authentic to me were the Amish families that dotted the area with their meticulous homes and abundant farms. A horse-drawn black buggy riding in front of us caused us to slow down, which was probably a good idea anyway. The scotch didn’t seem to bother Gianni at all, but the wine made me loopy. I was glad I didn’t have to drive home, and we took this detour to his parents’ house nice and slow.
“I didn’t want one of those big campuses,” I finally told him, my eyes focused on the caution sign stuck to the back of the black buggy up ahead. “I wanted something more intimate, more personal. That’s what drove my decision, and Hutton Hill offered me a generous scholarship. Plus, they have one of the best communications departments in the country.”
“I didn’t know that. What do you want to do when you get your degree? I assume you’ll be going back to California?”
“I’ve been up and down about that decision. I’ve come to love this part of PA: the people, the miles of farmland, and the food, especially French onion soup, which seems to be the mainstay of most restaurants. But yes, I’ve decided to go back home and maybe work with my friend Jenna who’s also in PR. But I’ve been dreaming about running my own company since I was a kid. I want it all: a family, a successful business, a partner who is supportive of my dreams while I’m supportive of his. Everyone else in my family has all of that, and if they don’t, they’re close. I have five siblings, and they’re either married or in a serious relationship. I’m the only one who can’t seem to find what or who I’m looking for. I’ve been stupid when it comes to love, as evident by all the pineapple and anchovy pizzas I’ve bought from you over the past few years.”
“Twelve, to be exact,” he said, while keeping his eyes on the road. The Amish buggy had turned off, and we were cruising through Montoursville now.
“You kept count?” I asked, not knowing how to react to this information. I mean who did that and why?
“It’s our job to know our customers’ preferences. You’re a regular, and we keep track of our regulars, so we know exactly how to make your favorite pizza when you order it. It’s just good business.”
“And apparently, how many pizzas they order,” I said.
“Oh, you’ve ordered a lot more pizzas than twelve, but those aren’t as important as your breakup pizzas. Those need to be spot on.”
“That can’t be the right number.”
“I might be wrong,” he said, sounding as if he was trying to backtrack to save my bruised ego.
I thought about it some more, quickly going over all the guys I’d dated since I started at Hutton Hill, and damn if he wasn’t spot on. In truth, he may have missed a couple. Probably before I discovered his pizzeria.
“Unfortunately, I think you’re right.” I refused to add more dead lovers to the pile.
“You just haven’t found your true soul mate, yet.”
“Is that what it is?”
“Yep. Love is an elusive emotion. Sometimes, it hits with the first meeting, and other times, it’s like sorting through a bin of bruised fruit until you find the perfect one.”
I chuckled at the analogy.
“Never thought of it that way before. Is that what you’re doing? Picking through bruised fruit?”
He pulled up to a curb on a street that looked as though Disney had decorated it. Every single house and front yard were ablaze with lights and everything Christmas. White lights even hung overhead, making you feel as though you were walking onto an arbor of Christmas. Monster-sized Santas moved, while illuminated life-sized deer grazed on snow-covered lawns. Any kid would be thrilled to see all of this, which by the number of cars slowly cruising the street, told me they already were.
“I think I’m getting closer by the minute,” he said, then swung open his door and got out, leaving me to wonder what the hell he meant by that statement.
Was he referring to me? Because if he was, it was way too soon.
He walked around to my side and swung open my door. I hadn’t had a man open a door for me in… well… ever. It brought me a smile.
“Welcome to Christmas,” he said, as a wide grin lit up his face.
“Is it like this every year?” I asked, as I stepped out, looking around in awe.
He slammed the door shut behind me as great big white flakes fell, making the entire scene surreal.
“To be honest, this is a slow year. Usually, Mr. Nardi has Santa and his reindeer up on his roof and his mother’s roof across the street. Unfortunately, Mr. Nardi had back surgery right after Thanksgiving and refused to allow anyone else to climb up there. I even offered but nope. The man is as stubborn as a bull. So, no Santa landings on the rooftops. Other than that, to answer your question, yes. If you live on this street, going overboard with your Christmas decorations is almost mandatory. Shall we go in?”
He held out his hand again, and I took it. Only this time, he stepped in closer to me, and I found that I liked it.
“This is mine,” he said about the house with the deep front porch and the rotating Santa near the front door. Colored lights lined every window, and poinsettias sat at the sides of every stair leading up to the porch. The house was a two-story, red-brick Tudor, a style that dominated this part of PA.
When he stepped onto the porch and moved towards the door, he stopped, turned to me, leaned in, and gave me a soft, gentle kiss.
