Chapter 8 #2
“Ah, well, a partner always believes that,” Steve said patronizingly. “And here’s my own. My wife, Laura.” She was just as blond and tan as Steve, and he was pretty sure she was wearing $5000 Gucci boots to mince around Sugar Plum Park’s snow-covered landscape, which really said it all, didn’t it?
She gave them each a nod. “Steve,” she chided. “I want you to come and say hello to the mayor. She’s with Heath Kelly, and you haven’t met him yet.”
“Sure thing,” Steve said, sending the pair of them a cocky, knowing grin. “Gotta make friends, you know?”
A minute later he was gone, none too soon, and Rocco turned to Taylor, still feeling his tense body, his face equally as strained. “God, he’s terrible,” Rocco muttered.
Taylor laughed, but he didn’t actually sound all that amused. “I know.”
“You hadn’t met him before?”
Taylor shook his head. “Could’ve done without it, too.”
“You’re going to get this job and send him back to Florida or wherever he came from.” Rocco said it with certainty.
But Taylor’s expression didn’t echo Rocco’s own belief. “I’m not sure I will. He’s working the council like a fucking politician. Not surprisingly, considering that’s why he wants the job.”
“Well, he can want it all he wants, ’cause it’s not happening,” Rocco said. “We’re gonna make sure of that. I can be just as good of a partner as his wife.”
“I would like you to see you navigate all this snow and ice in high-heeled boots,” Taylor joked, the tenseness in his face relaxing a fraction.
Rocco did roll his eyes then. “She was ridiculous. Also, someone should tell her that her Botox is showing.”
“Same as his,” Taylor said, and when he laughed this time, it sounded a lot more real.
“Please don’t get Botox to win this job,” Rocco said and reached up, smoothing away the creases on Taylor’s forehead. He was still worried. Rocco could see it by the shadows in his eyes. “You’re more qualified, you’re more capable, and frankly, you’re better for this town.”
“He looks better, on paper,” Taylor said.
“But in person? Oh, baby, you got him, hands down.” Rocco hoped Taylor would laugh again, and he did chuckle.
“I’m glad you’re on my side.”
Rocco opened his mouth to say he was, for as long as Taylor needed, for anything he needed, even if that was probably a goat cheese kind of declaration, but before he could, Jem was stepping forward on the stage, clapping for everyone’s attention, the demonstration beginning.
“Welcome to ice carving,” Jem said, his loud voice carrying across the crowd. “You all know Carl Nicholas and you might also be familiar with this other guy on stage . . .”
There was a round of cheers and applause as Murphy stepped forward, his head ducked low, an embarrassed smile on his face that softened when he looked over at his fiancé.
“Murphy’s been learning some from Carl, and he’s decided he’s going to give it a go this year,” Jem finished. “Welcome them both and we’ll do a quick Q and A after this, but in the meanwhile, enjoy watching them do their thing.” He shot Murphy a flirtatious look. “I know I will.”
Jem jumped down off the stage to another round of cheers, this time complete with a few catcalls.
“I wonder what they’re going to carve,” Rocco said, reaching over and grasping Taylor’s hip again, trying to drag his attention, which seemed divided, back to the stage. Back to him.
He knew Taylor was worried about Steve and the job, but there was nothing he could do about it right now.
In fact, he was doing something about it, already.
Maybe Rocco wasn’t wearing Gucci boots but he was still a Moretti.
He could go toe-to-toe with that lady and confidently come out on top, designer gear or no.
“Not sure,” Taylor said, relaxing a fraction.
“Carl’s looks like an animal of some kind,” Rocco speculated. “And Murphy’s? Well, I’m not sure what that is.” He shot Taylor a worried glance. “He knows what he’s doing, right?”
“He wouldn’t get up there if he didn’t,” Taylor said. “Besides, he told me the other day, ice isn’t really that different than wood. A little easier to carve, he claimed.”
“Well, I hope he meant it,” Rocco said. Because what Murphy looked like he was carving was a building of some kind.
Maybe? It was hard to tell. It just looked like one block stacked on another block, whereas Carl’s was already taking noticeable shape, between his chainsaw and the different chisels he was employing to carve away chunks of ice, leaving just the design behind.
“Murphy always says what he means,” Taylor murmured.
It wasn’t a stretch that Taylor was still thinking of someone else—someone who might not mean every word they said.
Rocco nudged him. “I know he bothered you,” he said.
Taylor just shrugged. “I guess,” he said absently, but the truth was obvious.
“No, he bothered you, and frankly, I can’t blame you for being bothered, because he was kind of a smug asshole, but don’t let him ruin your mood or this evening.”
Taylor looked over at Rocco and finally seemed to really be seeing him. “Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s just . . .I hadn’t met him before, and I could pretend that I had a shot easier, before I had.”
“I know,” Rocco said. “But I meant it. You’ve got this. Definitely more than Murphy does.”
“No, no, I know what he’s making. It’s a wedding cake,” Taylor said, and he laughed, suddenly and pointed at the stage.
It was. There were the cake layers emerging now, Rocco could see them even across the expanse between them and the stage. And Murphy was using a little chisel to carve out flowers and trim on each layer, and finally, the crowning glory, two small figures on the top, holding hands.
The cheers were deafening as Jem jumped back on stage and pulled Murphy into a big hug and then kissed him, hard and wild, leaving him blushing a bright red.
“I know mine’s not as exciting, but it’s still a present for you two,” Carl said laconically, smiling as he glanced at them. “They always say penguins mate for life.”
And yes, Carl’s penguin seemed to be gazing at Murphy and Jem with real affection in its icy eyes, congratulating them without words.
“That’s so cool,” Rocco said, looking over at Taylor. He was smiling, too, but Rocco wasn’t naive enough to think even the loving display had banished Taylor’s bad mood entirely.
He’d just have to try a little harder.
“You ready to take a spin around the rink?” Rocco said. “I could use some cocoa, to warm up.”
“Even substandard cocoa?” Taylor teased.
“You didn’t hear me say that,” Rocco said. “I spent like the first month I was here trying to convince Joel that we weren’t competitors. The last thing I need is for my opinion of his cocoa to get back to him.”
“Joel’s a cool guy. I think he knows he’s serving it more for quantity than quality,” Taylor said. “And yeah, let’s get some and skate.”
They walked over to the rink, where a lot of people had headed after the ice carving demonstration.
The rink was full, on a Saturday night, even without an official “social” being hosted, and Rocco recognized probably a dozen or so of the people sliding across the ice and milling around the refreshment area, just chatting with other townspeople.
“It’s busy tonight,” Rocco said.
“This your first time here?” Taylor asked.
Rocco nodded. “Just don’t ask me if I can skate.” He was trying not to be apprehensive about it, but he also knew Taylor wouldn’t let him humiliate himself.
“It’s alright, I couldn’t when I moved here, either.”
“And now?” Rocco wondered.
“Well, it’s practically a requirement of citizenship,” Taylor said. “But if you’re not ready—”
“No, no, we can, I just . . .I have no idea.”
“You can hang onto me,” Taylor said.
Rocco had been afraid—and also hoping—that Taylor might say that. “You’re not worried about me dragging you down?”
“Not at all.”
“So I guess that’ll be two birds, one stone, then,” Rocco said wryly.
Taylor shoved his hands in his pockets as they approached the stand that rented skates. “I guarantee if we were actually dating, I’d take you ice skating with the secret agenda of making sure I’d need to touch you as much as possible.”
Rocco swallowed hard and tried to focus on the sign that gave the skate rental prices. This was either a very good idea, or a terrible one.
Dipping his head low, Taylor murmured in the vicinity of his ear, “As long as you’re okay with that.”
Rocco nodded because he didn’t want to say there was no way he’d goat cheese out of this. Not with anticipation rushing through him in a thrilling wave.
“Well, let’s get some skates then,” Taylor said.
Ten minutes later, they were equipped and heading towards the rink—Taylor with confidence, Rocco with unsteady steps and wobbly knees.
“Just hang onto me,” Taylor said. “We’ll go slow. Careful.”
“But nobody else is going slow,” Rocco pointed out, trying to keep the hysteria out of his voice as he gestured towards the mass of people rotating around the rink, largely as confidently as Taylor seemed to be.
“Don’t care what they’re doing.”
Rocco glanced over at Taylor and felt his knees wobble even more dangerously at the intent look in his dark blue eyes.
“Alright, if you say so,” Rocco said as they approached the ice.
And it was not as bad as it could have been.
Sure, it was ice which meant it was inherently slippery and slick and he was only wearing a thin blade of metal that he was meant to balance on, but Taylor came through.
He balanced Rocco’s unsteadiness and refused to let go of him, and when some teenage kids went racing by, bumping them, he gave them an appropriately intense glare.
“You are good at this,” Rocco said as they made their second rotation. “And you were right, it’s actually not so terrible.”
“Maybe you might actually have fun?” The corner of Taylor’s mouth quirked up and his grip didn’t lessen. In fact, it seemed more solid than ever.