Chapter 2 #2
The shining faces gazing up at Mona, and the unbridled joy in them as she flipped the switch. There was a power in that, but not the kind of power that Heath probably assumed it was.
It wasn’t about the title. It was about understanding the true power of this town, the pulse of it that ran so steady and bright underneath every street and was the lifeblood of the festival.
The reason so many tourists came once and then returned every year, just the way that Taylor and his family had.
It was the power of happiness. Of nostalgia. Of hope and care and selflessness. And Taylor had learned, since he’d moved here four years ago, that he’d do anything in his power to protect that and to nurture it.
Taylor let Murphy and Jem collect Heath at the end of the lighting ceremony, and he wasn’t sure where they’d be taking him, but it wasn’t with him, and that was all he cared about.
Polite deflections were only going to get him so far.
Taylor was heading out of Sugar Plum Park, weaving through the knots of people carrying cups of steaming hot cocoa and cider, holding brightly decorated sugar cookies in their mitten-covered hands when Mona caught up to him.
He saw Mason over at his table, talking to a handful of people about the new foundation, and Elias in the crowd, handing out flyers for the pet pics event for the shelter.
“You heading out?” she asked.
For someone pushing seventy, she moved fast.
Taylor shouldn’t be surprised by this, but he still was.
“Yep,” he said. Though he already knew he was too keyed up to go home to his quiet little house, on its brightly decorated street.
He’d stop by Rudolph’s, grab a spot at the bar, and have a drink.
The park was still full, and the after-party at The White Elephant would mean Rudolph’s would be fairly chill tonight.
“You didn’t go with Heath.” Mona sounded disappointed.
“The guy’s a movie star. What am I gonna do? Ask him to recommend me to the city council?” Taylor kept his voice light.
“You could have,” she said sternly.
He shrugged. “He’s nice. Handsome, too. But not my type.”
“What is your type?” Mona asked, and Taylor knew he had to cut this right off, right now.
“Getting the city manager job. That’s my type,” Taylor said, layering in a joking undertone. “You’d better be careful, you’re gonna give Nick Morgan a run for his matchmaking money.”
“I just hate you’re always so alone,” Mona said, and there was truth in her eyes. Affection, too. She really cared about him. And the town too. She’d devoted fifteen years of her life to it. Well, maybe Taylor hadn’t had fifteen years to give, yet, but he cared, too.
“And you hate that there’s a handful of people on the city council who’ll look at my application and wish I had a family,” Taylor retorted lightly. “Wish I was older. Wish I was settled.”
She smiled. “Yes, and that too.”
“I’ll figure it out,” Taylor said. Even though he had no idea how he would do that. Maybe he could come up with a positive spin on really fucking single and even more fucking alone.
“Of course you will.” Mona gave him a quick hug. “You’re so smart, Taylor. And the best thing this town could have. I wouldn’t be recommending you to take Martin Granger’s place if I didn’t think you’d be more than capable of doing the job.”
“I won’t let you down,” Taylor promised.
She patted him on the cheek. “You wouldn’t. Now go off and have fun, alright?”
Taylor didn’t know if quiet drink at Rudolph’s counted as fun, necessarily, but for him these days, that more than fulfilled the definition.
He walked over and had just settled down on a stool at the far end of the long wooden bar when a commotion behind him caught his attention.
Taylor turned and wished he hadn’t.
Rocco Moretti, the new owner of Jolly Java, and the only man to come close to heating him up in the last few years, was approaching, muttering and gesturing, clearly upset about something.
Don’t come sit next to me, don’t come sit next to me, don’t come sit next—
But Rocco looked up and down the bar, and even though there were several open barstools, took the one right next to Taylor.
Of course.
They’d met only once before, when in his official capacity, Taylor had dutifully gone to the coffee shop to welcome him to Christmas Falls as one of its new business owners.
It had been a completely routine sort of visit, one he’d done a dozen times before, except for the fact that Rocco’s good looks and charm had left him stammering and awkward.
“Hey,” Rocco said, leaning over right into Taylor’s personal space. With anyone else he’d have shifted his barstool over a fraction, making it clear just how much he wasn’t into having his bubble invaded by a stranger.
But Taylor didn’t move.
He let himself stay for a minute and just enjoy all that fucking warmth.
“Hey,” Taylor replied, adopting a very casual, very much, I’ll be nice, but I’d actually prefer to be left alone tone.
Even in the middle of winter, Rocco’s skin was a warm olive, like he’d just stepped off a plane from the sunny coast of Italy, his dark eyes bright and animated, full of fire. He tugged his hat off and dark curls spilled out, falling over his forehead.
Taylor forced himself to look away. It was annoying that Rocco Moretti was more interesting to him than Heath freaking Kelly, who was just here for a few weeks and would be a perfect way to break his long dry spell.
Rocco Moretti, on the other hand, lived in town.
Nothing with him would be simple, or cut-and-dried.
But apparently Rocco didn’t get his memo about being left alone, because he leaned in even farther, and Taylor swore he could smell coffee on his skin, he was that freaking close.
He didn’t like coffee, but he was afraid he liked Rocco.
“God, this town,” Rocco said. “I want to love it, I do, but it’s kind of driving me nuts.”
“I think that means you do love it,” Taylor said dryly.
He didn’t need to ask what had Rocco so hot under his collar. He knew. Rocco’s changes to Jolly Java had not all been welcome, and the town was a little pissy about that particular fact.
“Ugh, I think you must be right. We don’t always like the people we love, right?”
Taylor wanted to ask what kind of experience he had with that, with love, but he didn’t, because he wasn’t stupid enough to flirt with Rocco Moretti.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. He was predisposed to feel empathy for Rocco—they were both outsiders, and also undeniably because he wanted to—but Mona would probably caution him not to wade into this mess.
The town would eventually forgive Rocco, they always did, but right now they were giving him the cold shoulder. Punishing him for getting rid of their comfortable favorites and attempting to introduce them to goat cheese . . .or something.
Taylor had listened to several people complain one morning over his breakfast plate at The Snowflake Shack, and that seemed to be the conclusion they’d come to.
They didn’t appreciate being deprived of pumpkin spice and they didn’t want to like goat cheese.
Personally, Taylor didn’t have skin in the game, as he didn’t drink coffee and he was neutral on the concept of goat cheese, but he’d listened anyway.
At the time, he’d told himself it was because he was the deputy mayor and it was his job and his responsibility to keep an ear out for relevant issues in the town, even if it was just gossip.
But he knew, deep down, that wasn’t entirely why he’d listened.
Someone had said, very loudly, the name Rocco Moretti and his whole body had perked up.
Kinda like how it was doing now.
“Did you know I delivered a dozen boxes of cookies to the festival committee? Hand baked. Hand packed. Freaking hand delivered. They wouldn’t even listen to me.
” Rocco sounded disgusted. “And Joel isn’t even who normally does it!
Holly and Joelle did it every single year before he did last year’s, because of an emergency. I should’ve gotten that job back.”
Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say—
“Maybe they thought you’d fill the cookies with goat cheese,” Taylor said, saying it anyway.
Enjoying, way more than he should have, how Rocco’s eyes lit up.
In amusement. In passion. Probably in everything.
Rocco was the kind of guy who never held back.
Taylor didn’t even realize how cold he’d gotten until he metaphorically stripped off his gloves and held his freezing hands up to that warmth.
Rocco laughed, long and loud, not worrying about any of the sets of eyes that swiveled in their direction. “They probably do think that. I’m gonna have to come up with a goat cheese cookie, just to piss them off.”
“Maybe not,” Taylor said hurriedly.
“Or maybe I’d be doing it to tempt you into Jolly Java,” Rocco teased. “You haven’t been back since that first time you visited.”
Even if Taylor liked coffee, he’d have avoided Jolly Java on principle.
Self-preservation principle.
“I actually don’t drink coffee,” Taylor admitted. Stupidly, irrationally worried that his admission would mean Rocco would no longer be interested in talking to him.
That would be okay. You’d be okay with that.
“You haven’t had my coffee,” Rocco said, apparently not turned off, but in fact, intrigued by the challenge Taylor presented.
“My friend Joey’s tried for years.” Taylor rubbed his neck. Already feeling the prickle of inevitable disappointment. “Even in college, I wouldn’t.”
Rocco only looked more fascinated. “What did you drink instead? Don’t tell me you don’t drink caffeine? A hot, professional guy like you? I can’t even deal with it if you don’t.”
Taylor’s brain, mostly unaffected by Heath’s obvious interest, stuttered to a complete fucking halt at Rocco’s words.
“You think I’m hot?”
Rocco took his drink—unsurprisingly an espresso martini—from the bartender, and saluted Taylor with it. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “That’s not even a compliment. It’s just a plain fact.”