12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Rocco was nervous.

Okay, if he was being honest, he was completely freaking terrified.

There was a lot riding on this afternoon.

His cookies were all packed—dozens of the almond cookies from Taylor’s mom’s recipe, and even a few dozen more gingerbread biscotti, which was something his own mom made every year, for the holidays at the restaurant.

In five minutes, Taylor would be here to pick him up for the cookie exchange, and before they left, Rocco was going to hand him a second box. Smaller, packed with just a dozen of the almond cookies, and wrapped up in festive paper, topped with a bow .

An early Christmas present.

A present that tells him exactly how much he means to you.

Rocco saw Taylor’s tall form outside the door and he took a deep breath, standing and heading over to it, opening it for him.

“Hey,” Taylor said, dropping a quick kiss against his lips. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah. But before we go, I have something for you.” Rocco picked up the box, trying to ignore how his fingers were trembling.

“What’s this?” Taylor asked, smiling down at him.

“Just something I thought you might like. Something I thought you might recognize,” Rocco said as Taylor ripped open the paper.

Rocco’s heart stuttered as Taylor lifted the top of the bakery box, gazing down at the cookies nestled so carefully there.

His face was totally blank and for an awful moment, Rocco wondered if he’d made a horrible miscalculation.

“These are . . .” Taylor’s voice was deep and rough with emotion as he reached out, gently tracing the edge of one cookie with his fingers.

“Yeah.” Rocco found his own voice wasn’t too steady. “They’re your mom’s recipe. I hope I got it right.”

When Taylor looked up at him, his eyes were wet. “You found her recipe.”

Rocco squeezed his arm. “Yeah. I think so. You’ve got to try one to make sure, though.”

“How’d you even do this?” Taylor had made no move to actually pick up a cookie and eat it, like he wanted to just stare at them forever. Like he couldn’t quite believe they were real. That he could actually reach in the box, pluck one out, and take a bite.

“I went digging for some old recipes, something new-but-old that I could serve, but in the community cookbook Harvey over at the museum found, I discovered this recipe. It was contributed to the project by a Teresa Hall, and based on the name and the cookie I thought it might be hers.”

“Yeah.” Taylor’s voice cracked. “They look just right. They smell just right.”

“I think it’s time to try one, make sure it tastes just right.”

Taylor gazed at him. “I don’t know if I remember what they tasted like. I thought I knew, but now, suddenly I’m not sure and what if I don’t . . .”

Rocco reached down and took his hand into his own and squeezed it. “All that matters is if you like them. And honestly? If you don’t? We’ll fix the recipe. They’re just cookies.”

“I’m sorry.” Taylor gave him a watery laugh. “I don’t know why I’m so weird about this. I am so grateful. Honored and grateful. It’s one of the best presents anyone’s ever given me and I’m still being neurotic about it.”

“Hey, you’re allowed. ”

“I really do . . .” Taylor swallowed hard. Rocco could see his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he reached his other hand up to cup Rocco’s cheek. “God, you’re incredible.”

Rocco knew he was staring at Taylor with his heart in his eyes and maybe he should say something now. Because they were dating, for real, now, clearly. But they had just started doing that. It was maybe too early to say, by the way, I’m head over heels for you. Are you right there, too?

“Alright,” Taylor said, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to try one now.”

He picked up a cookie and didn’t hesitate—one of the things Rocco loved about him, once he committed, he committed— and bit into it.

Chewed. Swallowed.

Rocco thought he’d never been so anxious in his life. And over a cookie!

But then Taylor’s face broke into a huge grin, a smile that enveloped his whole face. “God, I do remember what they tasted like, and these are exactly the same. Just . . .so perfect. The most perfect.”

Rocco unclenched and let himself enjoy that smile. The way Taylor curled around him.

“Yeah?”

“Better than perfect. Is there something better than perfect?” The way Taylor was gazing at him now, Rocco wondered if that could be him Taylor was referring to. But before he could drum up the courage to ask, Rebecca popped her head in from the kitchen. “Oh, you two haven’t left yet. Sorry.”

“We’re leaving right now,” Taylor said. “We can’t be late and let everyone miss out on these amazing cookies.”

He squeezed Rocco’s hand one more time, and then they were grabbing the boxes and heading out towards Dancing Sugar Plums.

They were quiet on the walk there, even though Rocco still hoped that maybe they could recapture the moment they’d had earlier. But it was good, too, to be able to walk like this, together, on their way to do something that Rocco had wanted to participate in so badly, that Taylor had made possible.

Couldn’t that be enough?

It’s going to be enough, Rocco told himself firmly.

When they entered the shop, it was set up with a dozen or so tables, little signs at each one identifying the participant, with a blank space underneath for description of their cookies.

In the middle was one big long table, piles of blank sugar cookies cut into holiday-themed shapes, and three bins of red, green, and white frosting bags. Dotted up and down the table were bowls of sprinkles.

“Let’s get you set up,” Taylor said, leading him by the hand towards his table.

And yes, he had his own table, with his name on it, a marker sitting next to his sign, so he could fill in the names of his cookies.

While Taylor set up his boxes of cookies, Rocco carefully wrote down his two cookie types, and underneath where his recipes had come from.

Teresa Hall and Beatrice Moretti.

When he finished, he set the sign at the front of the table and took a step back, gazing at it. Taylor joined him, wrapping an arm around his waist, tugging him in.

“That looks . . .” He trailed off.

Rocco knew what he wanted to say and he said it. “Right. It looks right.”

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed, giving him one last squeeze.

“What a beautiful display,” Marlene said, approaching them. “And are these your mom ’s cookies, Taylor? I remember these.”

“I found them in an old cookbook Harvey at the museum helped me dig up,” Rocco said and felt a warm thrill as Marlene smiled, nodding approvingly.

“What a beautiful gesture, Rocco,” she said.

“Yes, very much so.”

An older lady with curly white hair approached.

“Marjorie, good to see you here,” Taylor said, disentangling from Rocco and reaching over to shake her hand. “Have you met Rocco Moretti, who bought Jolly Java this summer?”

Rocco greeted Marjorie, who he figured out Taylor had run into at another one of the festival events.

After she’d gone to a different table, Marlene turned to Taylor and Rocco. “Did you know she’s all alone at Christmas? ”

Taylor nodded. “I met her the other day and she told me, about her family, and how none of them live here. It’s too bad.”

“Even worse,” Marlene said, “did you know her birthday’s December 23rd?”

“Really? That feels appropriate for living here,” Rocco said.

But Marlene shook her head. “I suppose, but I think it would be lonely too, and difficult because nobody worries about celebrating it. It’s just Christmas, you know? And here, Christmas is everything .”

“That’s actually kind of sad,” Taylor said quietly, his gaze following Marjorie as she greeted Mrs. Lil on the other side of the room.

“I agree,” Marlene said. “Alright, I’ve got to make sure everyone else is situated. And oh , Heath just got here.”

She ran off to get their grand marshal situated at the main decorating table, and Taylor turned to Rocco. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“What are you thinking?”

“I think we should do something ,” Rocco said. “But what? I’m not sure.”

A few minutes later, Marlene came back, along with a shorter guy, with blond curly hair and wide blue eyes. “Rocco,” she said, “have you met Milo Montgomery?”

Rocco shook his head as he extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Milo. ”

“Rocco bought Jolly Java this summer,” Marlene explained and then tilted her head towards Milo. “Milo’s running Jingle Bites, the little chocolate shop in town.”

“Oh, oh , I know where that is. I’ve passed by it a few times,” Rocco said, remembering the cute storefront with its festooned holly and old-fashioned painted sign.

“And I keep meaning to stop by your coffee shop,” Milo said with an apologetic shrug. “I’ve just been so busy this fall and winter.”

“I know how that is,” Rocco agreed.

“I was just telling Rocco and Taylor about Marjorie Wagner and how she’s on her own here,” Marlene said in a quiet voice.

“I’ve had a few customers mention her too,” Milo said. “They were saying they wanted to do something for her, but they weren’t sure what.”

“Well, with her birthday falling on December 23rd, what would you guys think of me throwing her a surprise birthday party at Jolly Java?” Rocco asked.

“I love that idea,” Taylor said, nodding enthusiastically.

“It’s a great idea. Very Christmas Falls. Why I wanted to move back home, because people do things like that, even if they’re practically strangers,” Milo said.

“I’m discovering that,” Rocco said. “We were planning on closing early anyway, so no reason I can’t just hold it in the afternoon. The only issue . . .” He hesitated. “I’m not sure anyone’s going to show up if I invite them. ”

“You’ve got so many more regulars coming back, though,” Taylor reminded him.

“Hey, I didn’t have an issue once pumpkin spice was back,” Marlene said. “And you’ve made some other good changes.”

“I heard you had a really delicious new drink. Some customers came in talking about it,” Milo said.

“Oh, the marzipan latte. It is good,” Taylor agreed.

“Thanks,” Rocco said dryly. “But I know business isn’t quite the same as it was under Holly and Joelle. I have all their records. But maybe they’ll show up for Marjorie.”

“I’m sure they will,” Marlene said, patting him on the arm. “I’ll talk about it and we’ll see what we can do.”

“Make sure it stays a secret though,” Taylor reminded her. “And I’ll take care of getting Marjorie there. I’ll ask her to meet me for a coffee.”

Marlene frowned. “But everyone knows you don’t like coffee, Taylor.”

“I don’t think anyone’s going to be confused why he’s changed his mind,” Milo joked.

Taylor looked over at Rocco and smiled. “You’re probably right.”

“I guess I should have made more cookies,” Rocco said as they walked down Dasher Street, towards Taylor’s house .

Before they’d left the cookie exchange, empty boxes in hand, Taylor had suggested ordering takeout and cuddling up in front of his wood-burning fireplace. Rocco had been reluctant at first—“I’ve got to be up early, to bake, and Rebecca starts late on Sundays” —but Taylor had volunteered to get up early and help him out.

Did he have to? No. But he found himself wanting to.

“Honestly, I don’t care where we’re staying, but I did think on this cold night, cuddling up by the fire with you would be nice.”

“Yeah, that YouTube channel with the fireplace isn’t quite the same,” Rocco said. “Let’s do it.”

Rocco tipped his head towards Taylor’s as they waited for a car to turn before crossing the street. Snowflakes dotted his dark hair and dusted his lashes. “I’ll make you a marzipan latte to drink in the morning with your cookies.”

“That sounds perfect,” Taylor said, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “If I didn’t say it enough, I love them. I love that you baked them for me. And for the town. It’s like my mom’s back, with me.”

“I’m glad. I worried you might think I was overstepping, or even worse, that it might make you sad.”

Taylor unlocked the door and they headed inside, shedding their coats, scarves, and boots .

As he crossed to the fireplace and bent over, getting the wood arranged and lighting the fire starter, he considered Rocco’s worry.

“Yes, and no,” he said, giving Rocco a smile that made it clear which of these answers mattered more.

“I think I understand that,” Rocco said and flopped down on the couch. “This fire thing was a good idea, I’m freezing.”

“Give me one minute, and it’ll be up and running—and until then, I’ll keep you warm.”

Rocco waggled his eyebrows. “You’d better,” he said.

As he worked on the fire, he thought about the way he’d answered Rocco.

And yes, when he’d first seen the cookies, he’d missed her the way he always did, like a punch to the solar plexus. But like always, there was joy in that memory, too. It wasn’t the first time he’d experienced a mingling of the two, but maybe for the first time, Taylor felt like the giddy happiness of having her back, even as a flavor on his tongue, overrode the bitter sadness.

And he’d be lying to himself if he claimed it didn’t have anything to do with the man behind him.

Rocco made him feel lighter than he had in years, so much lighter than Michael had. And it was because, always in the back of his mind, he’d worried about the other shoe dropping with Michael, but now, with Rocco, he was beginning to trust in this connection they were forging .

The wood was finally catching and he leaned back on his haunches, poking one of the logs with one of the set of fire irons his dad had sent him two Christmases back.

But before he could stand and head over to the couch, to do his very welcome duty in keeping Rocco warm—which he assumed, probably correctly, was kissing him until they were both too hot to keep their clothes on any longer—he felt a touch against his back.

“Couldn’t wait?” Taylor teased, leaning into Rocco as he wound an arm around his waist.

“I’m impatient,” Rocco murmured, kissing his neck, and Taylor understood, because when it came to Rocco, he wasn’t interested in waiting either. Only if it led to some very good delayed gratification.

“That feels . . .” Taylor let out a contented sigh as Rocco nibbled down the tendon, to the collarbone his shirt exposed, his fingertips digging into the cotton.

“Good, I hope.”

“Everything with you is . . .” Taylor wanted to say more. Say, I thought I’d been in love before, but it’s never been like this. Every day I keep discovering new ways to fall in love with you.

But before he could summon the courage, Rocco curled his body farther around Taylor’s and kissed him.

It was so easy to keep going, to let his tongue brush against Rocco’s and to press him down to the rug in front of the fireplace .

Rocco pulled back, chuckling, clear affection in his eyes. “Oh, so it’s okay if you do it,” he teased.

“What do you mean?” Taylor wasn’t thinking very clearly—still too lost in the feel of Rocco’s mouth moving against his, in the feel of Rocco’s hard cock pressing into his thigh.

“You didn’t let me thank you with sex the other day.” Rocco grinned.

“How about this . . .” Taylor leaned in, trailing kisses down Rocco’s neck. He arched into his touch. “We thank each other , for just how goddamn awesome this is.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“How about the sound of, I’m going to strip you down right here and enjoy every goddamn second of how gorgeous you look in the firelight before making you scream?”

It was gratifying how quickly Rocco’s pupils dilated even further. His cock a hot line, even through his jeans.

“I . . .uh . . .yes . That. Please.”

Taylor leaned over, kissing him fiercely before pulling back to strip him out of his sweater.

“God, you’re so . . .” Taylor trailed off as he leaned back even farther, because the light from the fire danced across Rocco’s olive skin like it was made for it, outlining every shadow and curve, every muscle as they flexed under Taylor’s gaze.

“I could just eat you right up,” Taylor confessed roughly.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Rocco asked .

Taylor didn’t know. But the touching and the kissing was even impossibly better than the looking, a fact he could hardly deny as he bent down again, capturing Rocco’s mouth with his own.

He tasted like sugar and spices, like the almond cookies he’d never forget the flavor of now.

Taylor tried to pour all his gratitude, all his love—because that’s what it was, he knew that now—into the kiss. He didn’t rush. Told himself firmly to take his time as Rocco groaned into his mouth, his hands roaming across Taylor’s back, slipping up under his shirt so they’d be touching skin.

Only when he’d gotten his fill, for now, of Rocco’s mouth did he venture lower, his lips nipping at his collarbone, and then lower, curling around one nipple and then the other. Then lower still, drifting down, every kiss he pressed to his skin a repetition of the feelings he hadn’t found the courage to say out loud yet.

Rocco’s abs tensed and then relaxed as he kissed down his stomach, tongue drifting in and out of every ridge of muscle.

“How are you so hot?” Taylor mused.

“A question—” Rocco gasped as his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot. “A question I ask myself all the time. Basically from the first day.”

“Really?”

“I nearly dropped the cappuccino I was making when you walked in. Don’t you remember that? ”

Taylor might, but his brain was currently full of Rocco-Rocco-Rocco and it was hard to do any critical thinking.

“No, but it was definitely mutual. I think I walked around in a Rocco-inspired fog the next ten minutes,” Taylor admitted.

Rocco laughed, the sound abruptly cut off when Taylor reached for his belt, palm brushing against his hard dick.

“God, please ,” Rocco begged.

Taylor decided that would never, ever get old. Especially when he glanced up and saw the plea mingled with the arousal and affection in his dark eyes.

“You want me to suck you off?” Taylor got rid of Rocco’s jeans and pulled down his briefs, too, exposing his cock.

It was as hard as Taylor had ever seen it—flushed red and leaking at the tip.

He couldn’t resist a little taste. Leaning forward, he gave it a lick and loved how Rocco babbled out how good it was.

They’d have to go into the bedroom if they did more—Taylor wasn’t so desperate that he’d started hiding lube in the living room, but now that he thought about it, maybe that wasn’t so much desperation as it was prudent preparation.

But before he could lean down and take more of Rocco’s cock into his mouth, he reached down and pulled Taylor’s shirt off, tugging it over his head.

“If you’d lie down, we could make something work for both of us.” His voice was rough, a dark entreaty, leading Taylor deeper into an already bone-deep arousal .

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. Reached down and with trembling fingers shed his own jeans and boxer briefs. He’d barely finished undressing when Rocco was leaning up, pressing him down to the blanket with a hot palm to his chest.

“Stay there,” Rocco ordered, his lips curving into a seductive smile. Like Taylor was going anywhere. Especially when Rocco perched above him like that, looking like a fucking masterpiece in this light.

Like Taylor’s masterpiece, in this light.

Taylor’s cock twitched, hard and needy, against his thigh, as Rocco settled on top of him, that perfect peach of an ass and his balls, tight up to his body, settling above Taylor’s face.

Taylor groaned, unsure which was hotter. That view or the way Rocco’s hot, lush mouth swallowed his cock whole.

He had to remind himself to give back as good as he got, but the good news was that he’d learned now what wound Rocco up, and what made him lose it.

His tongue swept over Rocco’s balls, and back further, tracing his hole with it, before he pushed the spit-slick pad of his thumb against it.

Rocco choked a little, and yeah , that was what Taylor was looking for. For him to lose it, to lose himself.

He pressed his thumb in, even as he situated his head a little better so he could suck the head of Rocco’s cock in, curling his tongue around the head.

But the pleasure Rocco was feeding him back was addicting, long, slow sucks of his cock, in the incredible suction of that mouth.

Taylor felt keyed up and ready to blow almost immediately, but it was too good to give in, too good to not enjoy every single dirty second of it.

He dragged it out, and he was sure that Rocco was too, slowing down, even as he clearly employed every trick he’d ever learned.

Taylor’s thighs were trembling with the effort to hold himself back and not just give in to the incredible pressure of Rocco’s mouth, even as he moved from one thumb to one finger, to two, pressing right against the spot he knew made his guy wild.

He would make Rocco come first. Make him come in the kind of orgasm he thought about, long after this night was over.

Maybe he wasn’t balls-deep in Rocco right now, and he did want to be, desperately, but he could make it just as good.

Better, even.

Angling his head better, he took Rocco’s cock deeper, as he pressed those fingers inside him, shifting them around just enough that Taylor could feel him clench back.

Rocco lifted his own head, groaning as he leaned his forehead against Taylor’s thigh crease. “Fuck, fuck, fuck ,” he cried out, and Taylor braced and swallowed his load as he clenched down hard on his fingers .

He finished shaking, Taylor drawing his orgasm out as much as he could, but before he could ask Rocco if he was okay, he was sucking him deep again. So deep, Taylor cried out at the unbelievable pleasure of Rocco’s throat fluttering around his cock.

Rocco coming had been hot enough, but this was too much—it pushed him right over the edge.

After swallowing around him, Rocco collapsed onto his body, and Taylor decided that wasn’t a bad spot to lie for awhile—tucked between Rocco’s incredible thighs.

“Give me a sec,” Rocco mumbled, “and I’ll turn around.”

“If I suffocate,” Taylor said quietly, “it’ll be the best way in the world to die.”

Rocco smacked him lightly on the side and then groaned, turning his body around until he lay back down, head pillowed on Taylor’s chest.

“Fire’s going,” Taylor said a minute later, glancing over at it. “You warm enough?”

“I’m perfect,” Rocco said, slurring a little, and yeah, he was.