Chapter Twelve
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.