Page 90 of Flake It Til You Make It

“Too busy for you?” Walter asked the question a little sharply, and Taylor realized how stupid that had been. “Never too busy for you.”

Taylor swallowed hard. “I think that was kind of dumb of me,” he admitted. “I was . . .” He wasn’t sure he could explain it.

Like he’d been encased in a thin coating of ice, since Teresa Hall had died. Like he’d been too afraid to put himself out there, too afraid to take chances, too afraid to even embrace the family he had left. He’d tried, once, with Michael, and that had only reinforced the bad assumptions he’d carried with him.

But Michael wasn’t everyone, and he’d never been right for him. Taylor could see that now—but only because Rocco with his heat and his passion and his humor had melted all that ice right off him, when Taylor wasn’t even paying attention.

“It’s alright, son, we all deal with grief in different ways. I shut down too, after your mother died.” Walter Hall’s back straightened. “But that’s done with now. I won’t do it any longer.”

“I won’t, either,” Taylor promised, and he was suddenly dragged into another big hug.

“Now,” Walter said, when he finally let him go. “I want to meet this new man of yours. He seems pretty great, when I talked to him.”

“He is.” Taylor swallowed hard. “He’s incredible. I love him. And I think you’ll love him too.”

“Best Christmas present I could have asked for, for you,” Walter said with an approving nod. “You’ve been alone too long.”

“Not anymore. Neither of us is alone anymore,” Taylor said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. “Come on, come meet my boyfriend and yourmanynew relatives.”

“Lead the way,” his dad said, squeezing back.

The table was strewn with the remnants of the many, many dishes the combined culinary talents of the Moretti clan had produced.

“I’m so full I think I’m going to burst,” Enzo said, leaning back in his chair. “Those mussels?” He kissed his fingers. “Bellissimo.”

“If you’d believe it,” Luca teased from the other side of the table, “that recipe wasn’t even from us. Will made those.”

Enzo looked over at his boyfriend, who just flushed pink. Or maybe that was from all the wine they’d drunk with dinner.

It had been an incredible meal. Rocco wasn’t sure in all his years of Christmas Eves there’d ever been a Feast of the Seven Fishes quite like this one.

It wasn’t just the family and friends lining each side of the big long table, or the incredible variety and quality of the dishes they’d scattered up and down them—the mussels, of course; two huge branzinos that his dad had had flown in and Luca had stuffed with lemon and thyme and garlic; a delicate lobster and shrimp bisque that Joy and Giana had made, or even theenormous dish of stuffed calamari in tomato sauce that Gabe and Ren had made together, pureeing fresh tomatoes down and then simmering the sauce all day—it was the way they’d all come together to do it.

And, of course, it was the love in Taylor’s eyes as Rocco looked over at him.

He’d been a little bit worried that his big Christmas surprise might not be well-received, but when Taylor had come up to him in the kitchen, tears and joy in his eyes and had introduced him to his father, it was clear that not only was he forgiven for interfering, Taylor was actually grateful that he had.

“Best meal I’ve had in as long as I can remember,” Walter Hall said. “Son, you hooked up with the right family.”

Taylor laughed. “I think so,” he agreed.

“I think,” Luca said loyally, “the bread was amazing.”

Everyone laughed, because of course he did. Because Oliver had baked it.

Oliver elbowed him hard. “You’re ridiculous.”

Luca’s smile was soft, affectionate. “You love it.”

“I loveyou,” Oliver retorted.

“You two are almost as sappy as the two brand-new lovebirds,” Enzo exclaimed.

“Oh, you no longer get that title, then?” Luca challenged.

Enzo spluttered. “Oh, we never gave it up,” he said.

“Speaking of that,” Taylor piped up, “did I ever tell you that Rocco suggested we fake date first, using you two as an example?”

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