Chapter 7
“When you said you had great seats, you weren’t kidding.”
Taylor glanced up and Rocco was standing there, a big grin on his face.
He was wearing that gorgeous peacoat again, with another luxurious-looking scarf—this time in green.
A knit cap of the same color was pulled down low over his head and his nose was already red from the cold.
Taylor felt his heart squeeze and then told himself to forget that feeling.
He didn’t need this. Rocco was going to be a friend, while also being a convenient means to an end.
An end they both wanted and needed.
“Yeah, it’s one of the perks of being the deputy mayor,” Taylor said. He gestured to the seat next to him.
The VIP grandstand was not large—and you couldn’t buy tickets, you could only be invited to sit up here, with its great view of the light parade, mid-route—but Taylor was one of the lucky few afforded tickets.
Technically he didn’t get a plus one, but he’d finagled an extra ticket out of Griff, who’d softened considerably since his grumpy days. “But only if it’s for Rocco,” Griff had said, making his own position on Taylor’s new relationship clear.
Frankly, he wasn’t alone. Everyone was thrilled they were together now.
Taylor had never had so many people come up to him on the street or at the grocery store or at all the festival events he’d been attending.
It was annoying and also gratifying. It turned out that Mona might have been right: the thing that had been keeping him on the outskirts of the town’s acceptance had been his singleness.
“I’m going to get spoiled,” Rocco joked, leaning in and nudging Taylor with his shoulder. “And I’m gonna have to be honest with you. I like it. I like it here.”
“Yeah?” Taylor hadn’t even realized that he’d been worried Rocco ultimately wouldn’t until he’d laid that fear to rest.
“Do I love that the town got pissed at me? Not really, but I’m dealing. And it’s getting better, slowly but surely,” Rocco said. “Emerson Maxwell—you know, the writer who’s with Arlo?—stopped by three times this week. He’s writing a book at my coffee shop. You know how exciting that is?”
Taylor didn’t, but he was happy that Rocco was happy. “That’s pretty cool,” he said.
“And there’s been a few new regulars too. Guys new to town, like Nova, the new wedding planner? And a few others. I want people to feel like my place is part theirs, you know? That they’re welcome to come and hang out, meet up, and feel accepted.”
“Like at your parents’ restaurant, or your cousin Luca’s bakery?”
“Yeah, kinda. Two of my other cousins run food trucks in LA, and one of them is permanently parked at this lot with a bunch of other food trucks—but it’s so much more than just a place to grab something to eat.
It’s a community gathering place, with music and parties and these big long tables everyone shares. That’s what I want too, someday.”
“You’re going to get there,” Taylor promised. “If anyone is capable of doing it, it’s you.”
Rocco’s dark eyes glowed. “You really think so?”
“There’s nothing that this town loves more than an inclusive vibe,” Taylor observed.
“Is that why this job is so important to you?” Rocco’s question was casual, but Taylor could feel its buried pointedness. He’d been trying to be vague, making only offhand comments about his history, but of course Rocco wouldn’t be placated or fooled by those. He’d want to know more.
“Yeah,” Taylor said. He knew he should say more, but he didn’t know where to start, or if he could start without unloading all his baggage. And surely Rocco didn’t want all of that. Taylor barely wanted to hold it all.
Rocco stared at him expectantly.
But then a cheer went up from the crowd, and in the distance, after Heath in his decorated car, at the position of honor as the grand marshal, Taylor could see the first float coming—traditionally, and there was nothing Christmas Falls loved more than tradition, it was always Santa—and this year was no exception.
Santa’s sleigh and his reindeer appeared to float along the road, the edges picked out in strand after strand of lights, the rest of the vehicles dark to add to the illusion.
Taylor had seen a version of this parade probably two dozen times by this point, but the truth was it never got old. The thrill of the lights coming out of the darkness, each float elaborately lit and decorated, shining in the night, was something else.
He glanced over at Rocco and saw the beauty of it reflected in his eyes.
“This is . . .wow,” Rocco breathed out.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “Just wait til you see the rest of it. But I agree, Cal’s a highlight.”
“Cal?”
“Santa, obviously,” Taylor said, with a cute little shoulder nudge.
“He’s a great Santa,” Rocco agreed.
“We’re lucky to have him. He’s been doing this a long time.”
Following Santa was the band and the color guard, their uniforms covered in brightly colored lights, the flags of the guard rippling with light and color as they spun them.
The band played “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” heavy on the horns and the drums, the sound echoing through the whole town, and Taylor’s heart throbbed with the beautiful nostalgia of it all.
He’d do anything to protect it. Anything.
Steve Mills might come in and want to make it more commercial. He’d cloak it in bigger and better but in the end, all it would mean was change.
Not all change was bad or destructive, but Taylor knew that this didn’t need altered, not in any way.
“This is incredible,” Rocco said, his voice full of wonder, the same feeling Taylor experienced every time he watched this.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed.
Rocco turned towards him and shot him a determined look. “This is what you want, this feeling, this is why you want that job.”
“Partially, yeah,” Taylor said. It was more complicated than that, but essentially, Rocco had nailed it.
“It’s special. Special enough to need protecting. Special enough that I get why you’re so determined,” Rocco said.
It helped that Rocco understood it; but then, why wouldn’t he? He was trying to build something like this. Without the fancy lights and the brass section, but the same kind of feeling.
That warm, cozy, protective, protected feeling.
If a town could wrap you up in a soft blanket, it would be Christmas Falls.
Rocco wanted the same feeling when you walked into Jolly Java as when you strolled through downtown Christmas Falls.
“I’m glad you see it,” Taylor said, meaning it.
Not even flinching when Rocco reached over and took one of Taylor’s gloved hands in his own, squeezing it. Maybe it was for the crowd around them but maybe it was also just for them.
If Taylor was better at lying to himself, he’d have claimed their dovetailing motives were why he’d agreed to this crazy fake dating plan in the first place.
But the truth was more complicated. Yes, Rocco was ultimately good for the town, the same as Taylor was trying to be, but he was attracted, too.
And not just to Rocco’s undeniably gorgeous exterior, but to the whole goddamned package.
His sly humor, his kindness, his creativity, his clear intelligence.
It had been a long time since Taylor had felt this kinship with someone. If he ever had. Michael had never understood Taylor’s obsession with Christmas Falls. The one winter he’d brought him, he’d liked it, sure, but he hadn’t felt the same.
It hadn’t grabbed him by the heart and wouldn’t let go.
At the time, Taylor had told himself it was because Michael didn’t have the same history with the town he did. But it was more than that too.
Because Rocco didn’t either, but he got it.
“You get it,” Taylor said in a low voice, ducking his head so only Rocco could hear him over the echoes of the band.
“Yeah,” Rocco said, eyes shining as they met Taylor’s.
There was a part of him that was screaming goat cheese, goat cheese, goat cheese, but he pushed it away.
He didn’t need that. Not tonight.
Tonight was perfect.
At least tonight was perfect, until after the last lights of the parade had disappeared, Rocco had sighed happily, said he wanted hot cider and didn’t Taylor want some, too?
Taylor hadn’t wanted to let the guy out of his sight—arguing with himself that if this was real, he certainly wouldn’t, anyway—and so he’d walked with Rocco back to Jolly Java.
The inside was wreathed in holly, the windows edged in faux ice and snow, the doorbell tinkling above as Rocco unlocked the door and let him in.
It was still perfect, Taylor decided, lulled into complacency as Rocco heated up cider and poured it into two heavy white mugs.
“Here,” he said, handing Taylor one of them and then leaning against the counter. “So are you going to tell me what else is going on?”
His question was still casual, but there was that steel edge in his eyes. A look that might not be demanding answers but asking very nicely to provide them.
“I . . .I’m not sure what you mean,” Taylor stuttered, fingers clenching around his mug.
Rocco shot him a look. “I know we’re not really dating, but we are becoming friends. And I shared why I’m doing this, but you didn’t. You sort of did, but I know there’s more you’re not telling me. You wouldn’t be so afraid of Steve Mills if there wasn’t.”
“I don’t like the crap Steve Mills is going around saying,” Taylor argued. “Mona doesn’t either.”
“You didn’t even grow up here, right? So what gives, Taylor?” Rocco’s voice was still smooth, still charming, but there was that undeniable will running through it, too.
“I used to come here with my parents,” Taylor said.
That was the rote answer he gave everyone.
But didn’t Rocco deserve more? He’s not going to want all that baggage, that voice inside him insisted.
It’s yours. Not his. But Rocco was asking.
He wanted to know. Most everyone else took his story at its face value, but not Rocco.
“Every year,” he added. Then kept going.
“Even the year my mom died, we came here.”