Chapter 7 #2
Rocco’s eyes softened. “How old were you when she passed?”
“Fifteen. She had an undiagnosed brain aneurysm. One minute she was here, and the next she was gone.” Taylor gulped a big mouthful of cider.
It helped clear the lump in his throat. Even seventeen years later, it still invariably appeared whenever he had to talk about her.
And why shouldn’t it? Just because that agonizing burn of grief had died out, it still hurt. He still missed her, every day.
He wondered, all the time, if she’d be proud of him. Proud of the choices he’d made, the life he was living.
His dad was, sure, but he’d always been more straightforwardly accepting. But Teresa Hall had always held him to a higher standard. Reminded him, always, that he was capable of anything he set his mind to so he shouldn’t ever set the bar too low.
“Oh God, Taylor,” Rocco said unsteadily, and a second later, he had his arms full of warm Italian man, hugging him tightly.
Rocco didn’t let go quickly, and Taylor realized he didn’t want to, either. The lump was still there, in the back of his throat, but with Rocco holding him, he could live with it a little better.
Michael had been the same, a momentary respite from his grief—still fresh, even years later, as he’d tried navigating being an adult without her—but the key part of that phrase had been momentary.
He hadn’t stayed.
When it had come down to it, the only person Taylor could rely on was Taylor himself. He’d gotten used to that. Maybe too used to that.
He gradually disentangled himself, even though deep down, he didn’t want to.
“I’m so sorry,” Rocco said softly. His big dark eyes were full of empathy.
Normally, Taylor would hate that; it was why he didn’t share this story publicly.
Not really, anyway. A few people, like Mona, knew because they’d been around when Teresa Hall had come to Christmas Falls every year with her family, and a few others knew because they’d gotten close enough to Taylor that they’d deserved to know the truth.
Rocco Moretti hadn’t fallen into either of those categories, and Taylor had still told him.
“It’s . . .it’s been a long time,” Taylor said. He was still bad at accepting condolences, despite how many of them he’d been given. “But yeah, that’s why I want this job. I loved—love—this place, partly because of her, but also . . .” He trailed off.
“Partly because of who you are,” Rocco finished for him.
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Rocco said softly. He was still staring at Taylor like he was seeing him for the first time. Like this knowledge fundamentally altered the filter he saw Taylor through. Every other time, he’d have hated that. But he was just curious what was different, now.
“I should’ve before, but I don’t talk about it much,” Taylor admitted.
“And your dad is back in Chicago?” Rocco said casually.
“Yeah, he moved to this new retirement community two years ago. Likes it there. Lots of friends. It’s a good place. I think he’s happy there.”
“That why he doesn’t come out here for the holidays?” Of course that was where Rocco had been going with this.
“I . . .I guess. Yeah.” It wasn’t like his dad hadn’t ever come out to Christmas Falls, once he’d moved here. But he always had such a full schedule with the festival and his dad’s calendar always seemed busy enough, when they talked on the phone.
In some ways they were too alike. Burying themselves in work.
In distractions.
Maybe it had become a habit, for both of them.
“Huh, well, I get it. I didn’t want to drag my family away from each other at the holidays so . . .I’m on my own too, now.” Rocco shot him a bit of a melancholy smile. “It’s not so easy getting used to it.”
“No,” Taylor agreed. There was a part of him that wanted to say he’d never get used to his mom being gone, but then he didn’t need to say that for Rocco to understand it.
Rocco’s smile softened. “Thank you for telling me. I know you don’t like to talk about it. You didn’t need to say it, for me to understand that.”
“You should know why we’re doing this whole thing,” Taylor said.
“I knew before but yeah, I understand it a little better now. And after being part of the festival, that’s helped some too.”
“I was thinking, tonight, that we don’t want such different things,” Taylor said.
“Yeah?” Rocco’s dark eyes widened and he swayed closer, and for a second, Taylor was confused and also completely utterly thrilled. Rocco was going to kiss him. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t be mad about it, even though it was probably the last thing they should be doing.
This thing between them was already complicated enough without adding kissing to the equation.
But Rocco must have seen the confusion on his face, because he pulled back. “You didn’t mean romantically, did you,” he stated, rather than asked. The openness on his face shuttered.
“Uh, no. Um. Professionally. We both want Christmas Falls to be the most welcoming, the warmest, the uh . . .best version of itself. You with your coffee shop. Me with the town as a whole.”
“Oh.” Rocco laughed, a little bitterly, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I feel kind of stupid now. Yes, of course we do. That makes sense.”
“Sorry,” Taylor said. Meaning it.
“No, no,” Rocco insisted, brushing his apology away with a quick hand movement. “It was . . .it would be foolish. Complicated.”
“If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t about to goat cheese out of it, even if I probably should have.
” Taylor shouldn’t have said it, probably, because even though they’d admitted to a mutual attraction, this was him saying he wouldn’t stop Rocco if he did attempt to alter this fake relationship to make it a little more real.
Rocco winced. “I . . .I shouldn’t have, regardless. We talked about it. We’re on the same page.”
“Rocco,” Taylor said, hating that he felt guilty, that he felt bad. That was the very last thing he wanted. He reached out and took Rocco’s hand and squeezed it. “I consider you a friend. I wouldn’t have told you about my mom if I didn’t. We have that, and it’s not nothing.”
“No, it’s not,” Rocco agreed. But there was still a melancholy tinge to his eyes before he pushed it away and it disappeared before Taylor could ask about it. “I’m glad we’re friends.”
Taylor finished his cider and set the empty mug down on the counter. “I should get going.”
“When are we meeting up next?” Rocco wondered casually.
Yeah, I want to see you again, too. Goat cheese be damned.
“Tomorrow night? There’s a pretty cool ice carving demonstration. And then we could take a lap or two around the rink? I don’t think you’ve been down there yet.”
Rocco shook his head. “We could do that,” he said.
“Alright, I’ll meet you at the carving demonstration?”
“Yeah, that works for me,” Rocco said.
But Taylor still hesitated, even though he knew he should go. Definitely before he changed his mind—changed his whole freaking paradigm—and told Rocco he’d changed his mind. That he wanted him, even if it was a bad idea, even if it was complicated.
“I . . .”
Rocco raised an eyebrow. Taylor was mostly getting used to the visual impact of him, but every once in a while it hit him viscerally just how handsome he was.
How he’d have seen him walking down the street and done a double take.
How he’d walked into Jolly Java to meet him for the first time and felt his tongue grow thick and uncooperative at the sight of him.
Kind of like now, actually.
“We’re okay, right?” Taylor finally said.
Rocco nodded. “Of course. We’re friends. That makes sense.”
But as Taylor agreed, giving Rocco one last—very quick—hug on his way out of Jolly Java, he thought that maybe friends did make sense. The most sense.
But the heart wasn’t always logical.