9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

An uneasy combination of guilt and arousal lingered with Taylor for days.

The guilt should have been enough to stop him from thinking about Rocco’s mouth on his, his body pressed against his own, but it wasn’t.

In fact, if anything was winning out, it was the arousal.

More than once he woke up in a sweat, heart racing, cock hard, and after the second time, he gave up and wrapped his hand around it and let himself sink back into the dream. The dream was better than reality anyway. In the dream, Rocco’s mouth was on his, his tongue sweeping into his mouth, his groans the best music Taylor had ever heard. His mouth slipped lower and then lower still, curling around a nipple, then nipping at his stomach, then finally wrapping around his dick, hot and wet, and after that Taylor couldn’t think at all.

Maybe he should be ashamed, but while he’d initiated the kiss, Rocco’s participation had been just as enthusiastic.

Taylor decided he’d make another appearance at the Arts and Crafts Fair. But first, he decided to take himself for a punishing run, even though he usually only jogged on Saturday mornings. He texted Hayden and asked if he was interested in fitting in another workout, but he was busy. Taylor figured he could go by himself, but then he remembered the last time he’d swung by the Fair, he’d run into Jem and his mom.

He sent Jem a text, asking him if he was interested in a run, and got an affirmative almost immediately.

Taylor changed into his running clothes in the Town Hall bathroom and ducked out, meeting Jem at the sidewalk.

“You doin’ okay?” Jem asked as they set off, Taylor setting a pace faster than usual.

He and Jem had become friendly since Jem had moved back to Christmas Falls. At first, he’d been a little intimidated by the ex-pro football player, but he’d discovered that Jem was refreshingly down to earth, with no trace of ego, and seemed to want to be just a regular guy.

Well, Taylor was definitely just a regular guy.

“Uh, yeah,” Taylor said as they headed down the street. He didn’t really want to confess what was going on with Rocco was fucking him up, but it was .

“I ran into Steve Mills’ wife twice at the store,” Jem said. “One time, I could call that maybe a coincidence, but then she showed up the second time, when I ran out at nine, to grab ice cream ’cause Murph was craving it, and there she was.” He shook his head. “I think she wants to be friends—or God , something else, which is crazy.”

“A little. The whole town knows you’re head over heels for Murphy. You just proposed to the guy, for God’s sake,” Taylor said sympathetically.

“I’m a rich celebrity—or so she thinks.” Jem made a frustrated noise. “Heath told me she tried to pin him in the little hallway to the bathrooms in Rudolph’s the other day. Heath . Who is most definitely famous for not being into women.”

“Wow. Luckily the two times I’ve run into her, I was with Rocco.” Taylor picked up speed again, breathing hard through his nose as his muscles warmed up.

Jem chuckled. “I’d love to see what Rocco Moretti would do if she put the moves on you in front of him.”

Taylor didn’t want to talk about Rocco, or how fierce he’d be if anyone threatened their (faux) relationship. Because he would be fierce. He’d call her Mrs. Gucci Boots to her face and he’d make every ounce of his disdain known, all while looking stupendously, brain-meltingly hot.

So hot that Taylor wouldn’t be able to resist—

No . No. Do not go there. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars .

“He wouldn’t like it,” Taylor agreed.

“That why we’re running so goddamn fast?” Jem wondered casually, but it was clear from both Jem’s uneven breathing and his own, that yes, they were running fast.

He slowed down and Jem followed suit.

“I . . .” Taylor made a face. “We got into a little bit of an argument the other night.”

“Ah, trying to punish yourself, huh,” Jem pointed out dryly. “I get that. Or I do theoretically. I don’t think Murph and I argued for months when we first got together. We were too busy in bed or uh . . .in the shower . . .or once . . .” He trailed off and cleared his throat. “You get the idea.”

“I do,” Taylor said wryly. Wondered what Jem would say if he admitted that all he and Rocco had done was kiss.

“So what happened?” Jem asked.

“I think we want different things out of this,” Taylor said. Even though he wasn’t sure that was really true. He knew one thing they both really wanted.

Jem frowned. “I don’t know Rocco very well, he’s too new to town, but surely, it’s early to be having that argument?”

“I need to be focused on this job, and on the job I want. I can’t let . . . Rocco’s a distraction.” It wasn’t even a good lie. Taylor didn’t even believe it.

And neither did Jem.

“You’re the one who asked him out,” Jem said wryly .

Apparently they were friends now, because Jem felt comfortable enough to call him out. Deservedly. Taylor could have left it alone. Could have never gone to Jolly Java and taken Rocco up on his offer.

Could have told himself and Rocco the truth.

You scare the shit out of me.

“I know, I guess I thought . . .I guess I thought I could keep my head.” And my hands to myself.

“Keeping your head is overrated,” Jem said.

“Not when I have this job on the line,” Taylor objected. “I nearly fucked this all up once, and I can’t do it again.”

“How do you know having Rocco in your life is going to make that happen?” Jem’s question seemed so reasonable.

Taylor didn’t really make the decision to tell Jem. It just spilled out. “I had a boyfriend, a couple of years back, when I was still in Chicago. But I had befriended Mona, over the years, and she knew I’d always wanted a job in Christmas Falls. They were working on getting her an assistant, and when the funding came through, she offered me the job. But I . . .” Taylor let out a hard breath. “I thought I was in love. And I didn’t want to leave Michael in Chicago. We’d been together about six months, and I thought, maybe this would be better. Maybe I should just give up on the whole Christmas Falls thing. That’s the past, and maybe Michael’s the future.”

“He wasn’t, was he?” Jem patted him on the shoulder. “Shit, man, that’s rough. But you ended up here anyway? ”

“A month after I turned down Mona’s job offer, Michael got an offer to transfer to Seattle. He took it and didn’t even ask me. Just laughed when I told him I’d thought we were going the distance. I was so stupid.”

“Rocco wouldn’t ever do that. He’s in town to stay.”

“Yeah, but I took my eyes off the prize, for a second. Thought I could have both , a professional future and a guy who’d stick, who’d stay , and . . .” Taylor didn’t need to say it. He’d gotten screwed over when he’d imagined that might be true. Michael had fucking laughed at him for believing it. Called him naive.

And he’d ended up alone, again.

“He was an asshole. I don’t know Rocco well yet, but I do know he’s not an asshole.” Jem cleared his throat. “Here’s something else I do know, because I almost fell victim to it myself, last year. I didn’t think I could have Murph, either. But the only person standing in the way of that? It was me. I was holding myself back, for no good reason.”

“I want to believe that’s true, because it would make everything a hell of a lot easier.” He could go to Rocco right now, swing down Candy Cane Lane and walk into Jolly Java, tell the guy who’d been starring in his dreams for weeks now that he wanted him, for real . Beg, even. Would Rocco give him the cold shoulder? He’d never said it explicitly, but he’d been disappointed the other night, and speaking of the other night, there’d been the way he’d kissed Taylor back . . .

“Then make it easier. The risk is worth it, I promise,” Jem said firmly.

“I’ll think about it,” Taylor replied, like he’d actually been thinking of anything else, lately. And with Rocco? The risk would be worth the fear. Taylor already suspected that was true.

“Good,” Jem said, nodding. “You wanna swing by the fair?”

Taylor agreed. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the festival hall and he left Jem at Murphy’s display, nearly empty now, since the fair was coming to a close.

He wandered the aisles, not sure what he was looking for— liar, you know exactly what you’re looking for and it’s not here, it’s at Jolly Java— but stopping every so often to chat with a vendor or a Christmas Falls resident.

There was a cute booth with a comfy-looking nook, baby blankets with various fanciful designs, everything from princesses and castles to dinosaurs and spaceships, hanging on garments racks on each side.

Sadly he didn’t know anyone who needed one of them, because he’d been sorely tempted to stop and hang out for a minute.

After another few minutes, Taylor wandered off to where the food stalls were. He bought a cup of hot cider and sat down at one of the picnic tables, currently occupied by an older lady with white curly hair a halo around her head.

“Is it okay if I sit here a minute?” he asked .

“Oh, darling, yes,” she said brightly, looking pleased he’d come and sat down at her table, even though there were several empty ones available.

“I’m Taylor Hall,” he said, reaching out his hand. She took it, shaking it firmly but delicately.

“The deputy mayor at my table. I’m honored,” she said. “Marjorie Wagner.”

“You’re a resident or a tourist?” he asked.

“Resident,” Marjorie said firmly. “A longtime resident. Almost fifty years. My whole family lives in upstate New York, near Syracuse, but I won’t leave Christmas Falls. My husband and I moved here forty-eight years ago, raised our children here, and here is where I’ll stay.”

“That’s beautiful,” Taylor said. “I moved here four years ago and I can understand why you’d never want to leave.”

“Not often young people want to move here. Often I see they’re moving away.” Marjorie frowned. “They think it’s old-fashioned and believe that means it’s backwards, even though we both know this town is anything but.”

Taylor nodded. “I came here every Christmas with my parents when I was growing up. We’re from Chicago so it was close enough to drive to. I always knew I’d come back here.”

“You understand then. This town becomes part of your blood.” Marjorie sighed. “My daughter keeps begging me to leave. Or to at least come up for the holidays, but I can’t leave now. Won’t leave now. ”

“I do,” Taylor said. “My dad’s still in Chicago.”

“Not your mom, dear?”

“No, we lost her a few years ago,” Taylor said. “But that’s part of why I live here and work here. Her memory.”

Marjorie’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, sweetheart. That’s beautiful.” She gripped his hands and wouldn’t let go. “She’d be proud of you.”

Even though Marjorie had never known Teresa Hall, he hoped she was right. Though he could theorize what she’d be thinking of how he’d treated Rocco.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I hear you’re up for a big promotion,” she said.

“City manager is a big deal,” Taylor admitted.

“But you’re equal to it. I know what kind of good you’ve done for this town.” She paused. “And now I know why. Unlike that dolt, Steve Mills, who thinks he can waltz back here and try to tell us how Christmas Falls is.”

“He’s wrong,” Taylor said steadily.

“That he is, my boy.” She stood, carefully, wobbling a little, and Taylor reached out to steady her. “I have no doubt you’re going to get it, instead. The council might be difficult, sometimes, but they’re not stupid.”

“I hope so,” Taylor said.

“You’ve got this in the bag,” she said forcefully, and he imagined her going to each member of the council and insisting that they pick Taylor, now .

“Thanks. Couldn’t imagine a better person to be on my side,” he said.

After Marjorie wandered away, he toyed with his mostly empty cup and ended up dialing his dad. They talked once a week over the phone and usually more via text, but he was busy. Retired, but constantly staying busy.

This wasn’t Taylor’s normal time to call, so he wasn’t sure he’d get him, but he did. “Hey, Dad,” he said when his father picked up. “How’s it going?”

“I can barely believe it,” Walter Hall said dryly. “It’s not Sunday and you’re calling.”

“I . . .uh . . .figured you might be busy,” Taylor said.

“I don’t have penuchle until five, so you’ve got thirty-five minutes,” his dad said.

“You still going with that nice old lady. What was her name again?”

“Nina and no, she ended up moving to Florida with her daughter.” But Walter didn’t sound all that disappointed. “She was kind of a nag.”

“Mom never nagged,” Taylor said before he could snatch the words back.

“No, son, she didn’t.” Walter chuckled. “So what’s the special occasion?”

“For my call? Uh, well . . .nothing special. Just was thinking about you. Met a real nice lady here, reminded me of you.”

“Oh, yeah? Would I like her? ”

Taylor laughed. “What would mom say if she could see you’ve turned into such a ladies’ man?”

Walter chuckled. “She’d laugh and roll her eyes.”

There’d been a time when they couldn’t joke like this. When losing Teresa Hall had been debilitating and so painful that some days Taylor hadn’t been sure they could move on. But they had.

They’d healed, because they’d had no other choice, but that didn’t mean all that suffering hadn’t left a scar.

“She would,” Taylor agreed. “You have any big plans for the holidays?”

“Oh, you know the place here does it up big, and I’m right in the thick of it. Sometimes I don’t know whether to rage quit or be relieved that it’s me running the organizing committee.”

They’d both dealt with those scars in different ways. Taylor had gone back to their shared past, burying himself in memories, in the uncomplicated rose-gold sheen of nostalgia. He’d searched for someone who’d stick . For awhile he’d believed that was Michael, and when he’d discovered he wasn’t even close to the right answer, he’d returned to the one thing that always was: Christmas Falls.

His dad had gotten busy and maybe a tad bit over-involved.

Somehow, Taylor realized, that had put them at cross-purposes, only passing each other like ships in the night.

“You love it,” Taylor reminded his dad .

“And so do you,” Walter retorted fondly. “You’re a chip off the old block, for sure, and I’m so proud of you. Any news on the job?”

“Not anything recent. I did finally meet the other candidate.”

“He suck as much as you thought?”

“More, actually,” Taylor said with a resigned sigh.

“Well, you’re gonna get it over him. I know you, and you don’t give up when the going gets tough. You’ll do what needs done to make sure you’re the best choice for the job.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Of course Walter Hall didn’t have any clue what he’d already done to ensure the job was his. Namely, Rocco Moretti.

What would he say about Rocco?

Taylor barely needed to give it a moment of thought. Walter would say, in that kind, patient, but spine-of-steel way of his, You like this boy? Then you do the right thing by him.

Taylor of a few days ago might’ve believed that “doing the right thing by him” would be dissolving this faux relationship and staying casual friends.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

No—that was a lie. He was sure. Terrified, but sure.

“You’re awfully quiet today,” Walter said. “You sure there isn’t anything on your mind?”

“I . . .uh . . .” He didn’t mean to say it. He really didn’t mean to. But it came out anyway. “I met someone.”

“Really? Oh, Taylor, that’s great news. Who is he? ”

“He just moved here, actually. Bought the coffee shop. Then changed everything. Kinda pissed off a lot of caffeine lovers in town.”

“You’re gonna rescue him, aren’t you?” Walter sounded amused.

“Actually . . .Rocco’s more the kind to rescue himself. I helped him see it, but he’s on the right path. Forging his own path, actually. He’s . . . well .”

“Speechlessness is always a good sign,” his dad teased. “When I met your mother, I felt like I couldn’t string together a sentence for months. But really, I’m happy for you. You work too hard. Could use a little more fun in your life.”

Was Rocco fun? Well, he sure as hell wasn’t dull.

Taylor always felt more alive when they were together, like he was seeing and tasting and smelling for the first time in a long time.

“I think so too,” Taylor agreed. “Guess we’ll see if it plays out.”

“Just like that job you want, you give this Rocco kid that kind of attention, show him a real good time? He’s going to love you, just the way I do,” his dad said firmly.

“Dad,” Taylor chuckled weakly.

“It’s true. You’ve got this.”

Taylor didn’t think he really did, but his dad’s confidence, like always, gave him confidence .

“I gotta get to penuchle,” Walter said. “But it’s the holiday season. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

“Okay,” Taylor said, a sudden lump forming in the back of his throat. “Love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too.”

Rocco didn’t know what the heck he was doing.

In this moment.

Or frankly, in general.

He’d not only let Taylor kiss him, he’d been a more-than-enthusiastic participant, and then he’d just let him—and himself!—off the hook.

What he should’ve done was tell Taylor to fuck right off and then insist it was off, their “relationship” was over.

But he hadn’t done that.

Rocco huffed under his breath as he opened the door to the Christmas Falls Museum. It had been days and days since their last date and their kiss, and he still wasn’t over it.

Still wasn’t done thinking about it. Or Taylor.

To distract himself, Rocco had been doing some digging, trying to figure out the best place to get what he needed, and at the end of the day, it seemed that would be the Christmas Falls Festival Museum and its curator, Harvey Novak .

The floorboards creaked as he walked in, the big rooms full of old floats and display cases full of memorabilia. There was even an old mechanical Santa that Rocco gave a second look to, because he looked a little creepy.

“Hello?” Rocco asked, surprised at how empty the place was. Of course it was a Wednesday afternoon, so maybe that was why it felt like crickets echoing through the tall rooms.

“Oh, hey!” a man who had to be Harvey said, walking up to where Rocco was standing. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s pretty quiet,” Rocco pointed out.

“We’re usually much busier on the weekends,” the man said and extended a hand. “I’m Harvey Novak.”

Rocco shook it. “Rocco Moretti. I’m new to town. Just bought Jolly Java in the summer.”

“Oh! You’re the one who took pumpkin spice off the menu,” Harvey said.

“Don’t tell me you’re a PSL fan,” Rocco joked weakly.

“Oh, no, no, I just heard some complaining about it. I just like my coffee black. And yours was delicious the few times I stopped by.” Harvey paused. “But that’s obviously not why you’re here. What can I help you with?”

“I was wondering if you had any old records here? I know you have all this really great stuff, but I’m looking for something more specific. Like old recipes?”

“Recipes?” Harvey looked confused. Hopeful, but confused .

“I’m hoping to make some classic Christmas Falls recipes to add to my regular rotation. Marlene thought you might have some old records, maybe?”

Now, Rocco knew he’d erred with his enthusiasm on removing popular items people were comfortable with, but what he should have done was add a few things. Create some daily or weekly specials. And if he wanted new stuff, he needed to think about Christmas Falls and how it celebrated nostalgia. Surely he could find some old recipes and maybe punch them up a little? But everyone he’d talked to had blanked—finally Marlene had suggested that he try Harvey at the museum.

“Oh, recipes? Hmmmm, I’m not sure.” Harvey frowned. “But I know we have a lot of old books. Historical texts and some such. I could look back there. See what I can find.”

It had been a shot in the dark, but Rocco was disappointed, anyway.

“Sure, if you have time.” Rocco shrugged. Nearly wondering if he should just tell Harvey to forget it.

“No, no ,” Harvey said, “come on. We’ll look together. It’s just back here.” He gestured towards the back of the museum, and Rocco figured it wouldn’t hurt to follow.

The room was small and packed to the gills with stuff . File cabinets on one side and a large bookshelf, rising nearly to the ceiling, on the other. “That’s a lot of books,” Rocco said.

“And I haven’t spent much time cataloging them. There could definitely be something in here.” The optimism and hope in Harvey’s voice was catching, to say nothing of his enthusiasm.

For the next ten minutes or so, Rocco stood next to him and scanned book spines, looking for anything that could possibly deliver some kind of recipe.

He was even willing to settle for any kind of record of food that had been served in the town.

But Harvey had something so much better for him than that.

“Aha! I think I’ve got exactly what you’re looking for!” Harvey sounded excited as he pulled it from the shelf and Rocco looked over at the book in his hand.

It was old, at least twenty or thirty years old, and an amateur kind of production, spiral bound, with a generic font announcing it was the Christmas Falls charity cookbook from 1997.

The laminate on the corners was peeling, but when Rocco took it and started to flip through it, he could see recipe after recipe, and many of them had names associated with them that he recognized.

There were two recipes from a Mabel Clark, who must be Murphy’s grandmother, who Marlene had told him was famous for her pies.

“This is perfect,” Rocco said, holding the book like it was gold. “Is there a copy machine somewhere where I can make a few copies or scans?”

“I can do you one better.” Harvey put a hand on his shoulder. “I think this cookbook should go home with you. ”

Rocco looked at him, shocked. “I couldn’t possibly—”

“No,” Harvey interrupted gently. “You should. At least for now. Take it home. Study it. Then when you’re ready, bring it back. But really, no rush. Nobody was looking for this. Nobody even knew it was here.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Rocco promised.

Harvey smiled. “Of course you will.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to put it in . . .some kind of protective . . .”

Harvey shook his head. “It’s history, sure, but it’s living history, Rocco. And I know you won’t be careless.”

“I haven’t been here long enough for you to know that.” But Rocco was smiling, too, Harvey’s trust a balm for the remainder of the hurt he’d felt after Taylor had kissed him.

“You’ve been here long enough to know the town gossip mill is robust enough to tell us everything we need to know,” Harvey said, winking. “Pumpkin spice notwithstanding.”

“Well, that’s really nice of you,” Rocco said. “And if anyone asks, it is back.”

“I’ll make sure to tell anyone who asks,” Harvey said with a firm nod. “Anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope,” Rocco said. He couldn’t deny it; he was excited to be able to look through the cookbook and see if there was anything he could use.

“Awesome. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to swing by,” Harvey said .

“I definitely won’t,” Rocco said.

A few minutes later, he was walking back to Jolly Java, the cookbook burning in his hands. He stepped inside the coffee shop, made sure that Rebecca didn’t need any help, grabbed a coffee and his notebook and then settled at a table in the corner.

He was about two thirds of the way through the book, deep into the dessert section, making notes and jotting down ideas and page numbers, when he saw it.

Rocco froze.

It could be a coincidence but he knew, deep down, that it wasn’t.

The almond cookie recipe by Teresa Hall had to be from Taylor’s mom, and these had to be the same cookies he’d talked about her baking. The cookies that had given him that sweet-pained look deep in his eyes when he’d tasted Rocco’s marzipan latte.

Rocco looked up. Knowing what he should do, even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to get his ass kicked again by the universe.

“If you really think so,” he told it. “But I’m not so sure.”

That was a lie though. He was sure. He wouldn’t have been so fucking disappointed by the aftermath of their kiss if he wasn’t sure. If he wasn’t convinced, deep down, in a place he couldn’t deny even if he wanted to, that Taylor was someone special.

That he wanted Taylor to be someone special to him.

“You talking to yourself out there?” Rebecca asked .

“Sort of,” Rocco said wryly. “To the universe. To fate. Maybe even to Taylor.”

Rebecca approached his table and made a face. “Are you finally gonna talk to him?”

He’d not been able to hide his post-kiss bad mood from her, so he’d admitted they’d had a little hiccup and he was giving himself some space from the guy.

She’d been supportive but also said that she thought she’d never seen him happier than when he was with Taylor.

And that was the kicker, wasn’t it?

It was true.

“Yeah,” Rocco said and picked up one of the schedule flyers he’d shoved into his notebook, noting next weekend’s events, then pulled his phone from his pocket.

Up for some Carol-oke this weekend? he texted Taylor.

He didn’t say anything about the kiss. What else was there to say about it, other than he desperately wanted to do it again? And this time have it mean something?

Maybe Taylor didn’t agree, but how could he if Rocco didn’t convince him to change his mind?

I am, Taylor texted back almost immediately. I was thinking about you.

And that, Rocco decided, was the universe telling him he’d made the right call.