Chapter 4 #3
And it did smell good, like freshly baked bread and apple and sunshine.
“Now,” Rocco murmured, “you give it another swirl. Just a little one. And then another sniff. Then, finally, you taste.”
Taylor tried to do exactly as Rocco described and thought he got pretty close, the flavor of the wine exploding like fireworks against his tongue. “That’s . . .that’s really good, actually.”
“Yeah,” Rocco agreed, nodding after he’d plucked the glass from Taylor’s hand and taken a sip of his own.
“Did I do it right?”
Rocco shot him a look that both reassured and challenged. “You don’t have to get precious about wine. You want to taste something without doing all that? I’m not going to judge. Wine’s good, and you should drink it, however you want.”
“Huh.”
Rocco tipped the rest of the glass back and they moved on. “I’ve never been at a tasting where they didn’t pour for you,” Rocco said under his breath as they approached the next table. “They’re clearly not worried about me taking more than six samples—or what size those samples are.”
Taylor had never been to a wine tasting before, so he had no idea what was normal. But then there was the way he’d felt his neck prickle, more than once, while they’d been sampling the prosecco.
Elaine had definitely been watching them. He’d assumed it was because of who he was with, but maybe it hadn’t entirely been because of that.
“Don’t worry, we’re being monitored,” Taylor said, leaning down a fraction, to whisper it into Rocco’s ear. Hopefully Elaine would assume he was murmuring sweet nothings.
“Huh, yeah.” Rocco flashed him a brilliant smile—though Taylor was beginning to believe that Rocco didn’t own a smile that wasn’t brilliant.
“You keep smiling at me like that, Elaine’ll call Mrs. Lil and Marlene and every other gossip in town and tell her we’re halfway to being madly in love,” Taylor said, nudging him with his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“The smile is kind of a Moretti thing,” Rocco said, a trace of apology in his voice, as they stood in front of the next table. These were supposedly the “light whites,” per Elaine and also the discreet tented sign on the table, though Taylor had no idea what the hell that meant.
“There’s more of you and they all smile all like that?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rocco said.
“Geez.” Taylor couldn’t imagine. “Have you considered trying to take over a small country?”
There was another flash of white teeth, and this one was so potent Taylor swore he felt butterfly wings fluttering in his stomach. “We try to only use our powers for good.”
“Us mere mortals appreciate it,” Taylor said dryly.
Rocco elbowed him, not hard, but not exactly gently either. Taylor glanced up, looking the way Rocco had nudged him. “Is that a . . .”
Taylor laughed. “Uh, yeah. And weirdly, having some guy wandering around in an elf costume is not that surprising, at least in Christmas Falls.”
“Wow,” Rocco said.
“Okay, tell me about these,” Taylor said, gesturing to the table.
This time, Rocco poured an inch or so of pale yellow wine into Taylor’s glass. “If you’re not a wine drinker, the sparkling stuff is good, like the prosecco we just tried, but this would be good too. It’s a pinot grigio, from Italy.”
Taylor tried just drinking it with only taking the barest hint of a whiff first and then a little sip. Yeah, it was good. Sharp and a little sour, but refreshing on his tongue, too.
Tried to ignore when Rocco sipped it too, putting his lips almost exactly where Taylor’s had been.
Cleared his throat.
If he said goat cheese now, this would stop. And he liked having his hands on Rocco. He liked the way Rocco gazed up at him, that intoxicating mixture of faith and delight. Like there was nothing Rocco enjoyed more than watching as Taylor experienced something new that he happened to love, too.
“Next table?” Taylor suggested.
They worked their way around the half-moon, four more tables, and even though they barely took more than a sip, by the time they hit the “mature reds,” Taylor felt a little light-headed and possibly intoxicated.
He wanted to blame the wine, but he had a feeling it had more to do with the guy he was with.
“You good?” Rocco said, licking his lips as he tasted the dark red wine he’d poured himself.
Rocco had lost Taylor around “damp asphalt” and “tobacco” notes, even though he insisted there was dark red fruit too, in the profile.
If Taylor wanted to taste asphalt, he’d go lick the freaking ground.
Still, even if he hadn’t drunk the last round himself, he’d enjoyed watching as Rocco did.
“Yeah, I’m great.”
Elaine approached then. Taylor had to give her full points. He’d felt her gaze on them quite a bit, but she’d actually left them alone. Until now.
“Feel free to pour yourself a glass of your favorite and stay awhile,” she said, gesturing towards some of the empty booths. “I can tell how much you’re enjoying yourself.”
“It’s an excellent list you’ve curated,” Rocco said.
“Thank you. Nice to see it’s being appreciated,” Elaine said with a warm smile. “Have a wonderful evening.”
“What are you thinking of having a glass of?” Rocco asked him after she’d gone back to the registration table.
He was eyeing the second-to-last table they’d been at, and if Taylor had to guess, from the way he’d cataloged the miniscule differences in all of Rocco’s delighted expressions as he’d tasted the wine, he’d be pouring himself a glass of the Sonoma County pinot noir.
Rocco had made a point of saying it was as good as anything he’d ever tried out of the famous Moretti cellars, and Taylor had a feeling that was high praise.
As for him? It was a no-brainer. Taylor broke off, hating to let go of him, but that was normal, right? Nobody was supposed to touch someone else the entirety of a date.
He poured himself a full glass of the prosecco. Watched as Rocco indeed picked up the bottle of pinot noir.
“All the way at the beginning?” Rocco sounded delighted. “Oh, I love a man who enjoys his bubbly.”
“Yeah?” Taylor hadn’t thought it was weird to pick the prosecco but maybe it was? Except he’d genuinely liked the way it had felt like fireworks on his tongue, like the way his blood fizzed every single time Rocco looked over at him.
“It’s nice,” Rocco said, patting him on the arm.
Taylor guided him towards one of the empty booths and decided it was the fault of the wine and also this whole ridiculous fake dating scheme that after Rocco slid in, he moved right in next to him.
“Aw,” Rocco cooed, grinning, “you like me.”
More than he was entirely comfortable with, if Taylor was being honest.
But instead of confessing that, he said instead, “Aren’t I supposed to?”
Rocco patted him on the cheek. His touch fleeting and then gone, far too quickly, even though his whole side, including, God, his thigh, was solid and warm against Taylor’s own.
“Yeah, and don’t worry, I think that very nosy woman is going to tell everyone,” Rocco said.
It seemed likely.
“They were already thinking you and me was happening,” Taylor confessed. “I think I got asked about it a dozen times, since I went to Jolly Java last week.”
“Same,” Rocco said. “But did they come to Jolly Java to ask? No. Instead, they cornered me in the supermarket. In the hardware store. When I stopped by the Arts and Crafts Fair. Once, even when I was outside the coffee shop, but inside it? No way.” He sounded a little bitter, but Taylor wasn’t sure he could blame him for being frustrated.
“Well, maybe they will now.” Taylor was trying to be optimistic.
He already knew they’d be committed to this charade through the hiring process, which culminated in the April city council meeting where they made the final decision.
But he’d hoped, maybe a little foolishly, that if they launched hard, they might not have to put much effort in after.
Maybe that assumption had been naive.
How are you gonna deal with Rocco smiling at you like that for four plus months and keep a level head on your shoulders?
Taylor didn’t have an answer for that.
“We’ll see. Though Remy from The Snowflake Shack came over and ordered some coffees.
Even tried my marzipan latte. The worst part was that Luca’s husband Oliver got the recipe from me and he said it’s already a big hit in Indigo Bay.
” Rocco made a face. “Totally unfair. But then that guy could get a priest to drink all his communion wine.”
“There’s someone more charming on earth besides you?” Taylor realized a second too late he probably shouldn’t have been that honest. He took a long drink of his wine.
Whoops.
“You should meet my cousin Lorenzo,” Rocco said dispiritedly. “Though, maybe not. His husband Seth might kill you, and he’s ex-military so that’s something he’s really good at.”
Taylor didn’t like it when Rocco felt bad.
So he changed the subject. “Luca’s your cousin too, right?
” It was probably not part of the fake-boyfriend playbook to memorize Rocco’s family tree, but most people didn’t have a family like Rocco either.
Taylor hadn’t heard that much about them yet, and they already seemed memorable.
“Yep,” Rocco said. “The one in charge of everything—Nonna’s, and also married to Oliver. They live in Indigo Bay. Run the Italian deli there, and the Lowcountry Bistro, the restaurant they own together. And Oliver owns the bakery and coffee shop.”
“A lot of cousins,” Taylor said. It was hard for him to even conceptualize that much family. He only had his dad, and his mom had had a sister, much older, and she’d never had kids.
“God, so many cousins,” Rocco said, the corner of his mouth tilting up. He sipped his wine. “And they’re all terribly, terribly competent.”
“A lot of pressure on you then, to live up to their legacy.” Taylor didn’t really have experience with that, but he imagined how it must feel.
Maybe bad, but also really, really great.
“Yeah,” Rocco agreed. “How about you?”
Ugh. No. Let’s not talk about my family.