Chapter 4 #4
“Uh, not much to say. Just my dad and me.” Taylor changed the subject, because he really, really did not want to discuss why that was.
Maybe the hurt had long since scabbed over and eventually healed, at least on the surface, but that didn’t mean he liked talking about it, either.
“So why didn’t you settle down in Indigo Bay, it was, right? ”
Rocco nodded. “You ever know that couple? The one that’s absolutely fucking adorable and you know you should love them, and you do, but you also kind of want to scream in their face that their happiness is the worst? That it’s a daily fucking reminder of everything you don’t have?”
Taylor chuckled. “My old college friend, Joey, and his wife, Libby.”
“Yep, you know. I just . . .I couldn’t stay there. I love them, but I couldn’t. And I wanted my own corner of the Moretti pie, you know? My own corner.”
“I get that,” Taylor said.
“I could’ve stayed. They’d have made room for me, because that’s how Luca and Oliver are, and that’s what Morettis do. Or I could have settled in LA, with my cousins, Gabe and Ren.”
“But then it wouldn’t have been your corner,” Taylor guessed.
“Exactly.” Rocco looked relieved that he understood, but it wasn’t like this was a real date and it actually mattered if Taylor approved of the way he was choosing to live his life.
“When you brought up that we should do this, I thought you were insane,” Taylor confessed.
“I know,” Rocco said.
“But actually . . .I think it’s a good idea.” I’m probably going to go out of my mind doing it, but that’s okay. ’Cause it’ll be worth it. The job’ll be worth it. “This has been fun.”
Rocco elbowed him, grinning. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a great time.”
“I’m not sure I am, so maybe I should apologize for that,” Taylor said. He didn’t add that his reserve was so much a habit now it was hard for him to let it down, even on purpose.
“You’re fine,” Rocco said. Waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Somehow even then he was hot, defying logic. “And fine. I don’t mind the company or the visuals.”
Did he mind the visuals?
No. No, he did not.
Taylor was even afraid that tonight when he returned home alone and lay in bed, as he stared unblinking at the ceiling, that it was going to be this visual he remembered—Rocco tucked up close next to him, his beautiful face tilted up towards his own.
“Good,” Taylor said, nodding. “So we’ll do this again?”
Rocco finished his wine.
Taylor nearly suggested he try finagling another glass out of Elaine, but then Rocco shot him a disappointed look. “I should really be getting home. The alarm goes off early.”
“How early?”
“Four AM,” Rocco admitted.
“Jesus, and I thought I got up early.”
“Don’t mistake me for a morning person. I just own a coffee shop and like to do the baking early in the morning,” Rocco said. “And do the baking. I could still get my stuff from Joel, I suppose, but I . . .well . . .”
They slid out of the booth and headed to grab their coats.
“You wanted your own corner.” Taylor did understand. Rocco wanted Jolly Java to be his, to put his own mark on it. Which was probably why he’d taken pumpkin spice off the menu and tried to convince Christmas Falls to give goat cheese a chance.
Rocco nodded. “You get it.”
“We’ll make it thrive, I promise,” Taylor said, even though he could not possibly promise that.
But he would, and he would make it happen.
He knew that now, as surely as he knew he would work his hardest to convince the city council that he was the right city manager for Christmas Falls, not Steve Mills.
“And you’re going to get the job,” Rocco said. He slipped his coat on, and Taylor took advantage of his last chance to touch him, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders.
“I sure hope so,” Taylor said.
“Goodnight,” Elaine called out as they headed through the door, Taylor’s hand brushing the small of Rocco’s back.
“I should walk you back to your place,” Taylor said as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was cold, now, and the sky looked like snow might be threatening.
“Well, it wouldn’t be a proper date if you didn’t,” Rocco teased, wrapping his scarf around his neck. He shivered a bit, and Taylor didn’t think, just grabbed his hand and tucked into his bigger one, squeezing it carefully to try to warm it.
He was cold, that was all. And someone might see, theoretically, and then they could say they’d watched as Taylor walked Rocco Moretti home after their date, holding hands.
Taylor told himself firmly that was what mattered as they walked down the city streets. What everyone else saw, not the firm pressure of Rocco’s hand in his, warming him from the inside out, even though it was colder than his own.
“This was really nice,” Rocco said quietly as they turned the corner, where Jolly Java sat, light glowing out from its lantern next to the door.
He stopped and tilted his head up. It was still early, and there were a handful of people wandering around, taking advantage of the festival time to get some last-minute shopping in.
Would it be anyone who’d recognize them? Taylor didn’t know.
But he also knew if this had been a real date, he’d do this, no questions whatsoever.
So he leaned in, murmured, “just say goat cheese,” and brushed his lips quickly over Rocco’s cheek.
He pulled back, hypnotized by the look in Rocco’s dark eyes—the surprise, and the pleasure. Rocco’s hand went to his cheek and he pressed his fingertips to it, like he wanted to feel it.
Rocco didn’t say that he’d needed to goat cheese, and maybe he didn’t need to. The fact that he hadn’t wanted to was obvious enough.
Neither did you.
“Well, uh, have a nice night,” Taylor said, trying not to stammer. Shoved his hands back into his own pockets so they wouldn’t find their way back to Rocco’s body.
“You too.” Rocco flashed him one last of those smiles, and Taylor turned and walked off.
Telling himself the whole time that if he didn’t leave right then, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave at all.