Chapter 8
They’d been on several “dates” by the time Saturday night rolled around, but as he and Taylor walked towards Sugar Plum Park, Rocco’s gloved hand tucked into Taylor’s, it felt like this one was a big one, a Date with a capital D.
It seemed like most of the town was swarming around downtown, despite the snow that had fallen last night and into the morning, coating everything in a sparkling layer of pristine white.
And many of them seemed to be out in pairs, holding hands the way he and Taylor were doing, gazing up at each other with the joy of the season and the joy of simply being together written all over their faces.
That is not you. You’re just pretending.
But it didn’t feel that way.
Rocco could at least admit that now. Especially after Taylor had finally let him in a little, let him see him, and why this job he wanted was so important to him.
Even though he’d done his regular routine this Saturday morning—pouring coffee and making lattes and cappuccinos and espressos, warming up cinnamon buns and scones, packing up to-go orders of breakfast sandwiches—his mind had been on Taylor’s confession.
Even Rebecca had mentioned how distracted he seemed, and he had been.
She’d assumed it was because of the growing regularity of customers coming in their door, but it was more than that.
Rocco had been pretty sure that after this was over, after they both had what they wanted, they could gradually shift down into a more casual friendship and he would be fine with it.
Maybe they could even have one last hurrah in bed, ending their fake relationship with a bang.
But now he wasn’t so sure.
“Seems busy out here tonight,” he said, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between the two of them as they walked towards the park where the ice carving demonstration was being held.
Next door was the temporary ice rink that was set up for the duration of festival season, and that according to Taylor, was where they needed to be seen on a Saturday night.
“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “But I’m not surprised. Carl’s always a big draw.”
“He’s the ice carver?”
“Yeah, but I guess he and Murphy have been working together this year, and they’re going to do a piece together. Might be why there’s even more of a crowd than normal. Murphy kind of hates it, but he’s incredibly popular here.”
“I’d love one of his gnomes,” Rocco agreed, nodding.
“Good luck with that,” Taylor said wryly. “He’s got a waiting list about a hundred miles long. I only got one for my dad last year.”
Rocco nearly asked then why is your dad not here?
But he’d already pushed Taylor hard enough on his history and his family situation.
He knew Taylor hadn’t wanted to tell him about his mom, and he understood why.
Taylor presented a smooth, in-control front, professional and easygoing.
But there was so much more to him—such a big heart and so much commitment and loyalty, buried deep underneath.
And even deeper still, a secret, carefully hidden pool of old pain.
“Well, good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere then. Maybe in ten years I’ll get one,” Rocco said, shooting Taylor a grin and squeezing his hand hard. Ignoring how his own heart squeezed back.
What would it feel like if they were really on a date tonight? If this wasn’t all just a front? If he had hope that in a year, in two years, in ten years, they’d still be walking hand in hand toward the entrance of Sugar Plum Park?
If tonight, Taylor didn’t drop him off at the front door of Jolly Java, but came upstairs and they made their own heat in his big bed with its fluffy ivory comforter?
For a second, he lost himself in the vision, but then Rocco shook his head clear.
He didn’t need these kind of distractions. Taylor being honest with him about his motivations had only made him more determined that he’d make sure he got this job. He not only deserved it, but he and the town needed each other. Rocco could see that now.
“Here we are,” Taylor said, guiding them towards a good spot, near a stand of trees, a good ways back from the stage that had been set up with two huge, pristine blocks of ice.
Rocco could recognize Murphy now, from his broad shoulders and distinctive red-and-green plaid jacket, talking to another man and his new fiancé, Jem Knight.
“We can get closer, if you’d like, but I think this spot gives the best view,” Taylor added, glancing over at Rocco.
“No, no, this is perfect.”
It was even more perfect when Taylor arranged himself behind Rocco, casually wrapping a hand around his waist and pulling him against his firm, warm body.
“You good?” he asked, dipping his head low.
Rocco guessed Taylor was worried that he’d goat cheese out of this particular snuggly arrangement, but at this point, he didn’t think there was a single scenario in which those words were going to cross his lips.
Whatever Taylor was willing to give him, he’d take, gratefully.
“No, I’m good.” More than good. He gestured towards the stage. “You hear about the engagement?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Hear about it?” Taylor was smiling, Rocco could hear it in his voice. “I feel like that’s all anyone’s wanted to talk about since Thanksgiving. But I’m surprised you’ve heard about it.”
“Oh, well, Marlene came in for a late afternoon pick-me-up, right before we closed.”
It felt good that he could say that.
Rocco had been pleased, because she was one of the first who’d come back, for her pumpkin spice latte, and she’d returned half a dozen times now.
Doubly pleased, because she’d stood there with him, as she sipped her coffee, and inducted him truly into Christmas Falls by giving him all the good gossip.
And the biggest gossip was that last weekend, at the pie bakeoff, Jem had gone down on one knee and proposed to Murphy. Murphy, who’d had his own engagement surprise planned.
“Part of the Christmas Falls gossip circle now?” Taylor teased. “You must be thrilled.”
It had felt damn good, that was for sure. Maybe not as good as the way Taylor felt behind him, his warm body encircling his.
“I am. It’s really beginning to turn around.”
“I’m so glad for you,” Taylor said, and it sounded like he meant every single word.
“Oh look, there’s that movie star guy.” Rocco gestured towards a spot in the middle of the crowd where the mayor was standing with Griff and Heath Kelly.
“I think Mona may never get over her disappointment that I ended up with you instead of him,” Taylor said with a chuckle.
Rocco rolled his eyes. Not feeling jealous at all. Nope. No way. Morettis didn’t get jealous. They were the ones who made everyone else jealous.
“But I’m not disappointed,” Taylor said in a low voice, and Rocco swore his lips brushed his neck, and he had to restrain his resulting shiver. Or maybe he’d just imagined it. Wanted it so badly that he’d hoped it into existence.
“Good.” Rocco could hear the smugness in his voice and decided that if Taylor heard it too that it didn’t matter. He’d hardly made his attraction and affection secret.
But before he could point out that Heath Kelly wasn’t all that handsome or that good of an actor—really, you’re not so hot yourself, Moretti—Rocco could feel Taylor tense and then force himself to relax.
A second later, he was letting go of Rocco and coming to stand next to him. Rocco swallowed his disappointment and tried to figure out what had caused the change.
It was coming towards them now. A tall man, not quite as tall as Taylor, walking with purpose in their direction, blond hair, with maybe a touch of gray at the temples, and a complexion that said he definitely didn’t usually spend winters in Christmas Falls.
He was wearing a designer quilted jacket and a politician’s smile, all empty charm.
“Hello, you must be Taylor Hall,” he said, extending his hand. “Steve Mills. I’m glad we’ve finally met.”
Ah. This was the guy who was Taylor’s competition for the city manager job.
Rocco leaned closer, letting his whole side plaster against Taylor’s, and this time it was his arm wrapping around Taylor’s waist.
After they shook, Steve glanced over at Rocco and Rocco stuck out his chin and his hand. “Rocco Moretti. I own Jolly Java,” he said firmly.
He had a weak handshake. Rocco hoped it was only one of many chinks in this guy’s armor.
“Ah, the coffee shop. Looks charming.”
But Rocco knew this guy had never been through its doors, and even though plenty had shunned him at the height of the pumpkin spice debacle, he took Steve Mills’ absence more personally.
He wanted to run this town, he needed to understand it, and there was no way he could, or that he loved it even a fraction as much as Taylor did.
Taylor had made it a point to come by, and he didn’t even drink coffee.
“Thanks,” Rocco said dryly.
“I’m glad I ran into you, because I wanted to tell you what a great job you’ve done as deputy mayor. Everyone talks about what a great assistant you’ve been to Mayor Grayson.”
Rocco wanted to roll his eyes. How did this guy make great job sound like the opposite? And relegating Taylor to an assistant to the mayor when the truth was he was a power in his own right?
But he didn’t. Taylor’s face was implacable, blank, and he just nodded. Rocco wasn’t going to embarrass him, even if he wanted to tell this guy where he could put his backhanded compliments.
“Thank you,” Taylor said stiffly.
“You do invaluable work behind the scenes,” Steve said, and the insinuation was not even veiled any more. Taylor should keep the deputy job and continue to do all the work, unacknowledged while Steve got the public-facing job and took all the credit.
“He does more than that,” Rocco said. He kept his voice smooth and even, but his point was clear.