Love on the Rise Read online

  A NineStar Press Publication

  www.ninestarpress.com

  Love on the Rise

  ISBN: 978-1-64890-432-5

  © 2021 A.C. Thomas

  Cover Art © 2021 Natasha Snow

  Edited by Elizabetta McKay

  Published in November, 2021 by NineStar Press, New Mexico, USA.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact NineStar Press at [email protected].

  CONTENT WARNING:

  This book contains sexually explicit content, which may only be suitable for mature readers.

  Love on the Rise

  A Belleview Holiday Romance, Book Two

  A.C. Thomas

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Love on the Rise

  Nonna's Amaretti Cookies

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  For Cliff, who lived as his authentic self and loved without fear.

  It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, birds were singing, and Matteo Leonelli had finally gotten laid.

  He whistled some Sinatra as he patted down the dough for the next morning, then covered it with a clean flour cloth to rise overnight.

  Suppressing a yawn, he piped the last batch of the cupcakes of the day with lemon cream. Lemon was the theme because Matt felt like a tart in the best way possible. Sweet and sharp and bright with satisfaction. And, notably, like the guy who had gone home with his date the night before.

  Nothing could bring him down, not even the slow grip of sleepiness tugging on his heels. Matt’s date had kept him up all night, and he’d only gotten a few hours of rest. Matt had stayed over, even though he needed to be in the bakery by 4 a.m. to start the bread and pastry for the day.

  It had been worth it.

  He could have happily worked all day on zero hours of sleep if his date, Ethan, hadn’t curled up around him after round two, long limbs wrapped as tightly as the wisteria vines that climbed the bakery porch. He had been big and warm and whispered sweet nothings into Matt’s sweaty hair until they’d both fallen asleep.

  Matt hadn’t even minded being the little spoon, although sometimes it rubbed him the wrong way when people just assumed. They thought since Matt was small, that was where he belonged. Ethan had never commented on his size. In any measure.

  Matt was short and compact, not svelte by any means, but he wasn’t muscular either. He existed somewhere in the soft, gray area in between. Strong enough to haul fifty-pound bags of flour but equipped with a layer of padding from tip to toes.

  That used to bother him, but as he’d gotten older, he’d only grown more comfortable with himself. He didn’t worry about his perpetual lack of abs so much anymore. He was a baker, not an athlete.

  Sure, things had been rough when he was a kid, and his classmates had called him names like “doughboy.” But now? He was finally comfortable with himself.

  Comfortable enough to fuck with the lights on.

  All the better to appreciate the view of his partner. And, oh, what a spectacular view it had been.

  Ethan was classically handsome, like an Old Hollywood heartthrob, and deceptively willowy in his clothing, but all wiry muscle underneath. His height merely gave the impression of slenderness because he was so stretched out. But there was plenty of him to hold on to.

  His broad shoulders had provided a firm, solid ledge for Matt to cling to, and his big hands had caressed Matt’s few extra pounds as if they were something to covet, a bonus in his eyes. As if there weren’t an inch of Matt that was extra or overflow. It had felt as if he truly appreciated every ounce of him.

  Matt could count on the thumbs of both hands how many times a lover had treated him like that, as though he were nothing less than irresistible.

  It was addictive.

  So today, Matt was floating on a cloud, lighter than his nonna’s famous meringue. He bit back a grin as his phone buzz-buzz-buzzed with a text notification, the fifth one from Ethan since Matt had reluctantly crawled out of his hotel room before dawn.

  The guy had no chill, but Matt wasn’t exactly complaining.

  Can’t stop thinking about you. It’s impossible to focus on work when I know you smell like cinnamon sugar and sex. I just want to lick you all over to see if I can find the source.

  Oh, cheese crepes, that was hot.

  His cheeks burned after reading that one, hotter than the antique brick oven at his back.

  Matt fanned himself surreptitiously while he checked the clock. All he had left for the day was a meeting with the bank, and then he could leave the bakery to Miz Rose to run upstairs and get ready for his date.

  His second date in as many days. Matt had big plans. He was even going to exfoliate, and he didn’t do that for just anybody. He hoped Ethan would appreciate the snickerdoodle scent of his sugar scrub.

  Neither of them had been able to pretend they didn’t want to see each other immediately after last night. It was refreshing to meet someone who laid all his cards on the table, who didn’t play games.

  Maybe Matt was acting like a lovestruck fool, but so was Ethan. They were in the same ridiculous romantic boat, and he had never felt better. He was finally lucky in love. It had only taken a decade.

  He hurried to finish the cupcakes, prepping for the lunch rush before his meeting with the bank. The bakery usually flooded with locals around noon, and he didn’t want to run out of cupcakes again. Last time, the lovely ladies of Central Presbyterian had threatened a riot.

  The year-round jingle bells attached to the bakery door rang out their cheerful call, and Matt set down his pastry bag to turn with a smile on his face.

  A smile that immediately froze once he saw who had walked through the door.

  Ethan.

  He looked much less approachable than he had the night before, in his soft sweater and jeans, rangy limbs sprawled around the table to brush up against Matt wherever he could, charming smile framed by an artful scattering of dark stubble.

  Now, he wore a black suit and carried a briefcase. A man of the exact same height and coloring followed him, dressed so similarly he’d be identical if not for the bald patch on his head contrasting with Ethan’s thick chestnut waves.

  Ethan stumbled, staring wide-eyed across the shop at Matt as his companion walked right into him with an irritated curse.

  Ethan’s pale skin flushed pink as he stepped aside and avoided Matt’s searching gaze. Instead, he lifted his briefcase to the nearest tabletop to fiddle with the latch.

  What on earth was he doing here? Matt hadn’t given him the address to the bakery. They hadn’t even exchanged last names last night, the chemistry between them so strong they’d barely finished their meal before stumbling love-drunk to Ethan’s hotel room.

  After that, they’d been too busy for conversation.

  Sure, they’d talked a little at dinner, but all Matt really recalled was the insistent thump of his heart when Ethan had first raised clear gray eyes to his. The low rumble of Ethan’s voice as he’d mentioned his hotel with a searching glance.

  The scrape of wallpaper against Matt’s shoulders when Ethan had pinned him to the wall the moment the door clicked shut behind them.

  All memory of their light conversation had faded in comparison.

  The balding suit held out his hand wi
th a perfunctory approximation of a smile. “Mr. Leonelli? Preston Price. We’re here representing Price Banking. Where should we conduct the meeting?”

  Matt wiped his flour-dredged hands on his apron, then caught Price’s grimace as he gingerly shook his hand. Afterward, Price held it slightly out from his body as though he didn’t wish to touch any of his belongings until he had washed it first.

  Ethan just continued to stare into his briefcase as if it held state secrets.

  Matt gestured vaguely at the table Ethan had chosen, zeroing in on the way Ethan’s grip tightened on the case handle, knuckles gone white when Matt stepped closer. “Here’s fine. It’s just a formality anyway. Annual meeting, right? The last one took about ten minutes, so this should be quick. I believe we were working with your father, previously, Mr. Price?”

  Preston Price dropped the last remnants of his smile, the lines of his face settling comfortably into a frown as he gave a brief nod. “Yes. Unfortunately, Father passed last year. We’ve taken on his accounts. Cleaning house, tightening up the business. Banking isn’t the same landscape it was in the 1970s.”

  He bit out his words so sharply Matt felt as though he’d fallen into an argument he wasn’t aware of joining. He pulled out the battered bentwood chair across from Ethan and sank onto it slowly, glancing between the two men. Ethan still hadn’t shown the slightest inclination to acknowledge Matt, and the butterflies in his stomach were turning into rocks.

  “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry to hear that. He was a good man. Helped me with our finances when my dad got sick and couldn’t handle them anymore.”

  Ethan dropped a pen and cursed softly as he ducked beneath the table to pick it up, conveniently avoiding Matt’s befuddled stare and Price’s irritated glance.

  The banker’s expression was so severe Matt considered offering him a cupcake. He’d never seen anyone frown with a Leonelli cupcake in their hand. Matt would bet his favorite whisk that the man preferred lemon. It went with his sour face.

  Matt offered his most winning smile, instead, focusing the full force of it on Mr. Price when Ethan dropped the pen again as soon as he’d caught sight of it. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the situation here at Leonelli’s. I know I said the last extension would be final, but you know how it is. It’s an old building, and we needed repairs after the last big storm. I promise I can pay by next quarter.”

  Mr. Price shook his head and lifted his own briefcase onto the table beside Ethan’s with a muted slam that carried a disconcerting air of finality. He gestured at Ethan expectantly. “Unfortunately, that won’t be an option. My partner, Mr. Price, can explain.”

  Rather than explaining anything, Ethan turned to his partner and made an agonizing series of minute facial expressions that could have indicated anything from acute constipation to an imminent alien invasion.

  Matt glanced between the two of them, wiping his hands on his apron once again as his palms began to sweat. The rocks in his stomach were slowly forming into a boulder. “Mr. Price? As in—”

  Preston arched a superior brow at him, and Matt suppressed the sudden, childish urge to kick him in the shins. “Price Banking, yes. My brother Ethan and I run the firm in our father’s stead. I should think that Mr. Leonelli of Leonelli’s Bakery might find that less than astonishing.”

  “Enough, Preston. Let’s get this over with.” Ethan said, his voice cold and sharp and nothing near the slow, honey-warm tones he’d used to whisper filthy praise in Matt’s ear until the early hours of the morning.

  He finally looked up, the beautiful eyes Matt had been daydreaming about framed in pained lines. “The bank wishes to remind you that the terms of your loan have changed. You have until the end of the quarter to either pay it off in full or clear the premises before Price Banking takes possession of the property.”

  Matt finally fell the last few feet from where he had been floating all day, his metaphorical ass hitting the ground with a thud. “But, today’s the last day of November. The fourth quarter ends next month. That’s holiday season, our busiest time of year. I’m going to be up to my elbows in sprinkles, and the full profits won’t even be in until January!” His voice rose in both pitch and volume as the reality of the situation crept up on him. He cast his mind back to the stack of official-looking envelopes strewn across his desk, letters he had never opened. Matt wasn’t great at the administrative aspects of his job, but he could bake his ass off.

  Ethan winced and reached across the table, fisting his hand around the empty air beside Matt’s wrist when his brother chimed in.

  “Price Banking is in the business of loans, not charity, Mr. Leonelli. This is your final notice. You’ve had six months to prepare. Pay your debts or relinquish the property.”

  Price’s bored tone scraped down Matt’s nerves like a rusty knife until he was left flayed open and raw. Six months. He really, really should have opened those letters.

  He glanced between the brothers, unable to tamp down on the rising panic in his throat. “I can’t lose the bakery. This is my family legacy, and I’m the only one left. Leonelli’s has always been in this location, in the center of town. It’s a pillar of the community!”

  Mr. Price pulled a neat stack of papers from his briefcase and slid them across the table to Matt. “Then I suggest you either raise the necessary funds or find a new location to conduct your”—he gave the cozy front room a disdainful glance—“small baking business. Might I suggest a truck? I understand that’s something of a trend in food service. Less overhead.”

  Ethan hadn’t said a word, but his expression indicated he was chewing on nails as he glared at his brother. Matt tried not to remember the way those same teeth had pressed gently against the back of his neck while Ethan worked inside him mere hours before.

  He tried to pick up the papers, but his hands were shaking, so he opted to hide them beneath the table instead. “You can’t shut us down right at Christmas. People count on us to provide their holiday baking. It’s a cherished part of many families’ traditions.”

  All pretense of politeness abandoned, Preston huffed as he shut his briefcase with an odious click. “How will the illustrious citizens of Backwoods, North Carolina survive without their daily artery-clogging sugar bombs from your little shop? They’ll have to settle for something from the bakery I spotted three blocks away. Which appears to be up and running, likely due to having paid their debts in a timely fashion.”

  Ethan slammed an open palm on his brother’s briefcase when he attempted to lift it, hissing out of the side of his mouth, “Shut up, Preston. Why are you being such an ass? Couldn’t we, just—”

  At this point, Matt’s mother would have been out of her seat, shouting and gesticulating in fury. His father would have gone quiet and still as an imminent storm, and when he finally spoke, each word would’ve fallen like an axe blade. Matt tried to channel an ounce of their forceful personalities as he shoved up from the table and leaned over the startled bankers.

  “This is Belleview. Backwoods is fifty miles south of here. And you wouldn’t be so quick to speak against my baking if you gave it a try.” He lifted a hand toward the kitchen, ignoring Mr. Price as he protested:

  “Oh, no, thank you. Not interested. I have a low tolerance for gluten.”

  Matt’s bellow shook the wavy, Victorian panes of glass in the parlor windows. “Miz Rose! Italian pastry platter to go, please!”

  Miz Rose didn’t even pretend not to have been eavesdropping as she bustled out of the kitchen at her top speed, an arthritic tortoise on a mission. She refused to use the cane Matt had gotten for her and insisted on tottering around everywhere, giving him heart palpitations wondering when she was going to break another hip.

  She was as much a fixture as the building itself, having managed the bakery for two generations. As ubiquitous and necessary as the hand-carved rosewood columns holding up the roof. Matt couldn’t do without her.

  A cloud of powdered sugar puffed in the brothers’ faces as Miz Rose
dropped a cheery green-striped cardboard box on the table from far too great a height, fire in her cloudy eyes. “Y’all don’t eat that all at once now, make yourselves sick.”

  Her muttered “sick as you make me” was far from inaudible as she creakily stomped away. The heavy wooden kitchen door swung shut behind her with an articulate swish.

  Preston actually pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket to dab at his face while Ethan just wiped his off on his sleeve. Preston sniffed imperiously as he tucked the cloth back into his pocket, and Matt couldn’t focus on anything but the smudge of sugar across his nose.

  “We’ll be conducting an audit for the remainder of the quarter to verify your ability to pay and will be in touch to ensure compliance,” Preston said as he rose from the table.

  Matt scrambled to follow him to the door. “Spying, you mean.”

  Preston tilted his briefcase toward Ethan as he opened the door, speaking over the tinkling of bells. “You may direct your ire at Ethan, here. He’s the one management has chosen to stay behind. Good day.”

  “What!?” Matt spun to glare at Ethan as they both spoke at once, equally incredulous.

  Ethan’s chair fell over when he stood too quickly, his jaw dropping as the door closed tightly behind his brother. He rubbed both hands over his face, shoulders slumped as he muttered into his palms, “—him. I’m going to kill him. I don’t care anymore; I’m pushing him off the edge of the nearest cliff. I swear to—”

  His teeth clicked shut, and his hands slid up into his hair when Matt cleared his throat to gain his attention. He turned to focus on Matt like a man led to the gallows.

  Rage choked out the threat of tears by a bare, merciful margin as Matt leaned against the table. “Well, babe, when you asked me out again, I didn’t realize I was going to meet the family, or else I would’ve put on my good apron. Your brother’s a real charmer, Ethan. Almost as sweet as you. And twice as genuine.”

  The color drained from Ethan’s face at the acidic bite in Matt’s voice. He held out an entreating hand that Matt simply stared at until it fell back to his side. “Listen, Matt. About last night. I didn’t know, didn’t even catch your last name. I would never—”