Chapter 29 Bastian
BASTIAN
Taylen’s “this isn’t a date” protest died quickly when I turned up at his doorstep with a bunch of flowers to take him out to the festival. One very hot make-out session later, and we walk our private path to the festival—perks of having it so close.
The way he leans into my touch when I rest my hand on his lower back suggests he’s not even trying very hard to maintain the pretense anymore.
“Hot cocoa?” I ask. His eyes light up despite the obvious attempt to maintain a neutral expression.
“If you insist,” he says with affected indifference that makes me want to laugh. “Though this still isn’t—”
“A date,” I finish for him. “Just two friends enjoying the festival together. Completely platonic hot beverage sharing.”
My fingers find a sensitive spot just above his waistband, drawing a slight shiver that contradicts his attempted stoicism. “I thought you said you love me.”
“I lied,” he lies.
The vendor adds extra marshmallows to Taylen’s cup without being asked, the kind of small-town knowledge that makes my heart ache with the rightness of being here.
“Cinnamon?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
Taylen nods. The way his eyes close at the first sip makes my cock a little less comfortable in my jeans, especially since my boyfriend told me we weren’t allowed to come earlier. We had to save it for later.
“Stop watching me drink,” he mutters, color rising in his cheeks. “It’s weird.” But he doesn’t move away when I step closer, using the crowd as an excuse to press against his side.
“Can’t help it,” I tell him honestly. “You make everything look sexual.”
The words draw a fresh blush to his face.
“Keep it in your pants,” he says.
“I’m trying, but you’re not helping.”
Before he can formulate a cutting response, something catches my eye that makes a smile spread across my face.
“No,” he says immediately, following my gaze to Santa’s booth decorated with oversized candy canes and twinkling lights. “Absolutely not.”
“Is that Tommy Matthews?” I ask, though I’m certain it is. “Didn’t you two have chemistry together senior year?”
The question makes him groan, but he doesn’t resist when I begin steering him toward the booth with a gentle pressure against his back.
“He copied all my lab notes,” Taylen says. “Then asked me to tutor him because he ‘couldn’t read his own handwriting.’ Now he’s got five kids and teaches second grade. How do you know?”
I raise a brow. “Did you meet your brother? You couldn’t jump without him proudly announcing to the world how high.”
Tommy spots us approaching, recognizing us immediately. “Ho, ho, ho!” he booms with an enthusiasm that manages to sound both practiced and sincere. “Have you been a good boy this year?”
“Kill me now,” Taylen starts, but I’m already reaching for my wallet to pay the booth fee. His protests die as I guide him toward the elaborately decorated chair. “I hate you,” he mutters, but the way he settles onto Tommy’s lap suggests he’s accepted his fate.
“No, you don’t,” I tell him cheerfully, positioning myself for the perfect photo angle.
Tommy plays his role with admirable dedication, asking about Christmas wishes while Taylen maintains an expression of dignified suffering that makes the whole situation even funnier.
“Smile,” I say before snapping a photo.
“I’m never forgiving you for this,” he declares as we walk away, but his hand still finds mine.
“Yes, you will,” I tell him confidently, pulling him close enough to press a quick kiss to his temple. “Because you love me.” The words still feel new enough to send a thrill through my system, though we’ve been saying them more frequently since our hotel room confessions.
His response is to lean into my contact briefly before pulling away. “Jury’s still out,” he mutters.
Taylen tastes like chocolate and cinnamon when I steal a quick kiss behind the wreath vendor’s display, his hands clutching my jacket as if he’s torn between pulling me closer and pushing me away.
The festival swirls around us in happy chaos, but all I can focus on is the way his breath catches when my fingers find the gap between his coat and scarf.
“Behave,” he mutters against my mouth, though he was the one who initiated this particular hidden moment. “We’re in public.”
“You started it,” I remind him. “I was being perfectly innocent until you dragged me behind these wreaths.”
We make our way through the festival grounds slowly, stopping frequently to greet people who want to discuss everything from apple crops to Hall of Fame’s last album.
The veterinary charity booth appears ahead, and Dr. Hunter Cross’s short frame almost looks taller as he talks passionately about animals.
“Dr. Cross,” I call when a family moves away, drawing his attention.
“Sebastian,” he greets, then nods to Taylen. “How’s our newest arrival doing?” The question draws a proud smile to my face as I think about Martha’s heifer.
“Thriving,” I report happily, squeezing Taylen’s hand as I remember the night we spent watching the birth. “Though Gouta’s appointed herself the unofficial guardian. Won’t let anyone near the baby without her approval first.”
Hunter’s laugh holds genuine amusement. “That goat has more personality than most people I know,” he observes, shaking his head slightly. “Should I be concerned about her adopting all your newborns?”
“Probably,” I admit, thinking about the way Gouta herds the calf around the barn like an anxious mother. “My cabin’s already turning into an impromptu animal sanctuary. Wouldn’t be surprised to come home and find them both asleep on my bed one of these days.”
My attention is suddenly drawn to Stone approaching the booth with the determination that suggests a man on a mission.
His perfectly styled hair and usual designer clothes look almost out of place among the festival’s casual atmosphere, yet somehow, he manages to make even winter wear seem effortlessly fashionable.
“Dr. Cross,” Stone purrs. “How nice to see you again.” His smile holds a practiced charm that’s worked on countless admirers over the years, but Hunter’s polite response suggests immunity to such tactics.
“Mr. Murphy,” Hunter acknowledges professionally. “Are you interested in supporting our local animal rescue efforts?”
Stone’s laugh carries a hint of frustration beneath the surface charm. “Always happy to support good causes,” he says smoothly. “Especially when they’re championed by such dedicated professionals.”
Taylen’s thumb continues tracing patterns against my palm as we watch Stone make a few more attempts at engagement before accepting temporary defeat.
“Poor Stone,” I murmur against Taylen’s ear, using the crowd as an excuse to pull him closer. “He’s not used to having his charm fail so completely.”
“Should we be concerned?” he asks quietly, watching Stone’s perfectly styled hair disappear into the festival crowd. “About him buying a house so close to Hunter?”
I shake my head slightly, using my hold on his hand to guide him away from the booth. “Stone rarely pursues anyone he’s likely to see regularly,” I explain. “Besides, there’s no indication Hunter’s even interested in men.”
We weave between clusters of festival-goers, past the mulled cider stand, and around a group of carolers warming up for their next performance, until we find ourselves in a quiet corner where the vendor stalls back up against the temporary fencing.
Taylen’s back meets the rough wood with a soft sound that sends heat through my core as I cage him between my arms.
“You really think Stone will give up that easily?” he asks, though his attention seems more focused on the way my body brackets his against the stall’s wall. His fingers find my waist, slipping beneath my jacket to trace patterns that make it hard to concentrate on the conversation.
“Stone’s not used to rejection,” I manage, trying to maintain coherent thoughts despite the way Taylen’s touch sends electricity through my system. “But he’s also careful about not creating awkward situations. If he actually buys that house…” I trail off as his hands slide higher under my jacket.
“Living that close to Hunter would definitely be awkward,” Taylen finishes for me, but the smile playing around his mouth suggests he’s enjoying the effect he’s having on my ability to focus. “Especially if Hunter’s straight.”
I lean closer, using my position to trap his wandering hands between us. “Stone will figure that out,” I assure him, my voice dropping lower as the festival sounds fade into background noise. “He’s smarter than he lets people think. More careful with his heart too.”
“Unlike some people?” Taylen asks, the challenge clear in his tone.
“Unlike me,” I agree easily, letting one hand cup his face while the other maintains our position against the wall. “I gave you my heart years ago, even when I was pretending I hadn’t.”
His eyes search mine for an endless minute. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters. “Always saying things like that when I can’t properly respond.”
“Why can’t you?” I ask, my thumb tracing a line across his jaw. “Nothing ever stopped you from saying whatever you want, especially when it comes to me.”
His response is to surge forward, closing the distance between us with a kiss that steals all the air from my lungs. His hands escape the jacket prison to tangle in my hair.
“I love you,” he whispers against my lips when we break for air. “Even when you’re being dramatic.”
Laugh bubbles up from my chest, my joy too big to contain. “Especially then?”
“Especially then,” he agrees, tilting his head to capture my mouth again.
The festival noise gradually filters back into my awareness as the kiss ends.
“We should probably rejoin civilization,” he suggests. His fingers are playing with the buttons on my jacket.
“Or we could go back to my cabin. It’s closer. I declare this date over. Time to ravish my boyfriend in the relative safety of my own home.”
He shakes his head. “Not a date.”
I sigh.
“Come on,” he says finally. “Let’s go see what other trouble we can find at this festival.” The words carry a teasing note that makes my heart stumble with joy.
I take his hand as we emerge from between stalls.
The Christmas lights seem brighter somehow as we rejoin the main flow of celebration, although maybe that’s just the effect of happiness making everything shine more intensely. Taylen’s grip remains steady in mine as we weave between booths and crowds.
Even though I would give anything to have Taylen naked in my bed, I can’t deny loving this carefree, teasing Taylen.