Chapter 5
“And here I thought after your big date, you’d be on top of the world,” Rebecca joked gently as she leaned against the big stainless steel prep counter running the full length of the back kitchen of Jolly Java.
“I’m not not on top of the world. Just trying to get these chai buns in the oven,” Rocco said. He continued carefully rolling out the dough.
It was early morning, just after six, two days after his big date with Taylor.
And as many times as he had reminded himself that it wasn’t a date, that Taylor had absolutely no reason to call or text him, that he had Taylor’s number and he could certainly reach out if it mattered so goddamn much, he couldn’t quite convince himself.
Or that corner of his heart that was stuck on the fact that his evening with Taylor had been one of the best first dates he’d ever been on.
But it wasn’t really a first date. It was a fake first date.
Rocco was tired of reminding himself of that fact.
“You waltzed in here the next morning like you’d just been swept off your feet. And then by closing yesterday, you were as grumpy as I’ve ever seen you.” Rebecca was trying to be kind, he knew that. Which is why he didn’t tell her to shut up or get out of the kitchen or leave him alone.
Rocco couldn’t tell her that reality had come creeping in, along with silence from Taylor, bursting his happy bubble, and then there was the fact that it hadn’t made a single bit of difference. By eleven, Jolly Java was still empty.
He’d known it would take time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still frustrated.
“Oh wait, did he not call you?” Rebecca continued.
No. No, he didn’t call me. Or text me. Or send out any smoke signals.
Rocco pursed his lips and brushed butter onto his dough.
“But Elaine said you were—”
“Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me,” Rocco interrupted. God, why had he even said that? He added, in a rush, “And if that’s true, then it’s fine. I don’t mind. I don’t have time to date anyway.”
Rebecca looked skeptical. “When the right person comes along, you make time.”
Rocco sprinkled the brown sugar and spice mixture over the buttered dough. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Come on,” Rebecca said. “It’s the ornament party tonight. You’ll really enjoy that. Griff said we’re making little miniature Christmas Falls snow globes. You need one, for your first year here.”
And that was the other thing that had taken his bad mood and plunged it off the cliff. Last night, in an attempt to cheer himself up, he’d decided to set up the little tree in his apartment.
Once he’d gotten the lights all strung, he’d started to hang all the ornaments—generic boxes of sets of twelve, red glitter balls and shiny gold bells and evergreen trees—but all Rocco had been able to think of was the tree his parents and he always set up in their restaurant foyer, cramming it in between the host station and the glass-fronted wine storage.
It was an absolute mishmash of ornaments.
Ones with crooked popsicle sticks that Rocco had made in school, ornaments that regulars brought them from their travels, ornaments from Italy and Scotland and Japan.
The tree had told a story. It had weight and history.
Rocco had always looked at it and knew exactly what it meant.
But last night, he’d looked at his new tree and realized the only story it was telling was that he was far away from home and didn’t know what the fuck he was even doing anymore.
His black mood had only darkened even further.
Maybe he was becoming as overdramatic as the rest of the Moretti clan.
He’d woken up this morning and wished, more than anything, that he could just stay closed today, closely followed by the realization that being an adult and owning a business meant that he had to get up and tend to his responsibilities, even though the desire to pull his blankets over his head and pretend that none of this was happening was painfully strong.
“Rebecca, I know you mean well, but I’m really not in the mood for the ornament party.”
“And what?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna just go home, alone, and sit on your couch watching Real Housewives of Duluth?”
That sounded only marginally better than sitting on his couch staring at his meaningless tree. Or waiting for a text message that wasn’t forthcoming.
What he should really do was meet Taylor and tell him this whole fake dating thing was off. That he’d miscalculated. That he couldn’t do this.
But he wanted to do this. He wanted another date like the one they’d had. He wanted a lot more than one, if he was being very honest with himself.
“I like Real Housewives of Duluth,” Rocco said stubbornly.
Rebecca grinned. “If there was a Real Housewives of Duluth, you probably would. Come on, come with me. Make an ornament. Felix over at Milton Falls farm told me you got a tree, a cute little one. I bet it needs some kind of ornament that doesn’t come from the big box store.”
It was annoying how perceptive his employee and friend could be. Because she had a point. How was he ever going to be able to replace his horribly generic ornaments with anything more personal if he didn’t try? “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”
“Excellent.” The doorbell tinkled and Rebecca shot him one last triumphant smile before walking out through the swinging doors to serve their first customer of the day.
Rocco finished rolling up his buns, deftly cut them with a serrated knife, and set them on a tray to do one last quick rise before baking.
By seven, the whole bakery would smell like fresh bread and spices. He’d even risk the heating system by opening the door—it was supposed to be a high of a brisk forty-two today—and hopefully wafting some of those delicious scents down the street.
If that wasn’t inviting, he didn’t know what else to try.
He ducked out from the kitchen and was pleased to see a second person in line, behind the obvious tourist.
“Hey, welcome to Jolly Java,” Rocco said to them, “what can I start making for you?”
For the rest of the morning, Rocco baked chai buns, made coffee and hot chocolate, and even once, he got to make a caramel hot cider—but of course, it wasn’t for Taylor, though he thought about him and the way he’d looked taking that first sip, as he’d made it.
By noon, his mood had improved—along with the visitors. He saw two old regulars, poured them both pumpkin spice lattes, and even convinced them to each take a chai bun to go, on the house.
“You’re actually smiling again, and looking like you mean it,” Rebecca said, as she cleaned tables and he re-stocked the glass-front case. “Did he text you?”
For a second, Rocco wasn’t sure who she meant—then he remembered. But he was proud that he hadn’t been obsessing about Taylor. That was progress, right?
“Uh, no, but it’s fine. He will,” Rocco said confidently.
With a trickle of regulars returning to Jolly Java, admittedly because they’d “heard that he’d brought pumpkin spice back and that you’re dating Taylor Hall, that nice man at Town Hall,” Rocco was newly committed to the plan.
Okay, maybe he liked Taylor a little too much, but that was normal right?
They were both single, attractive people, and Rocco could admit that it had been awhile for him.
He’d been too busy buying this place, remodeling it, and getting it up and running before festival season started.
And Taylor’s dry spell sounded like an eternity compared to Rocco’s own.
Which really . . .that begged the question why that was?
Were they to the point in their “relationship” where Rocco could ask that question?
“That’s the attitude,” Rebecca said. “He’s probably just busy. Obviously this is Griff’s busiest time, but the mayor’s office isn’t exactly slacking either.”
“I’d think not,” Rocco said.
“You still want to go to the ornament party?” Rebecca asked.
Rocco was a little surprised she’d asked. He’d fully been expecting to get dragged there, whether he wanted to go or not. And he found he did kinda want to go. If only to make his tree slightly less depressing.
“Yeah, I do,” Rocco said.
She smiled. “Awesome. Meet you there?”
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“And after, there’s a Grinch cocktail calling my name,” Rebecca claimed.
“Is that the special this month? That bright green monstrosity?”
“It’s like an apple martini, but spiced. With a caramel drizzle. It’s freaking delicious,” Rebecca argued.
Rocco nearly said, “Taylor likes caramel, I should have him try one,” but at the last second, he kept his stupid mouth shut.
It was bad enough that Taylor was beginning to feel like an omnipresent force in his mind. He didn’t need Rebecca oohing and ahhhing over how cute the pair of them were, too.
“I do like how they make an espresso martini,” Rocco said.
“How you drink that much caffeine right before bed is baffling. I’d be awake for hours.”
“We Morettis practically drink espresso in the crib. We’re used to it by now,” Rocco pointed out dryly.
Rebecca laughed. “Alright, if you think you can handle it.”
“I can always handle it,” Rocco said confidently. He did feel like he’d gotten a little of his normal swagger back. He was good at this. He just needed the town to see it, and they would. With a little time, and Taylor’s help, they would come around.
“Good,” Rebecca said and pulled him into an unexpected quick hug. “I hated seeing you all pissy and diminished. That’s not you, Rocco. And he’s going to text, he will. If he doesn’t, well, that’s his loss.”
“He’s gonna text,” Rocco said. It was easy to be confident about this, because Taylor would text, eventually. He needed him, just like Rocco needed Taylor.
But by the time Rocco pulled on his scarf and was heading down towards Santa’s Workshop, the toy shop where the ornament party was hosted, just down the street from Jolly Java, Taylor had not texted and his confidence had deflated a little.