Chapter 10
Rocco was nervous.
It had been a week, exactly, since Taylor had gazed at him like he held all the secrets of the universe, kissed him, and then confessed, again, that he didn’t want a (real) boyfriend.
But this time, after a week of space and the universe giving him the nudge he needed, Rocco knew that Taylor was wrong and that he was going to prove it to him.
He walked in the door at Frosty’s and immediately spotted Taylor, holding down the fort at one of the few booths.
“Hey,” Taylor said, rising and Rocco had to swallow all his worries, because damn, after a week of only thinking about Taylor and not having a front row seat to all his deliciousness, Rocco had forgotten how bright and hot the attraction flared between them.
It was flaring now, wild and undeniable, and Rocco swore Taylor felt it too as they hugged.
Rocco had intended to keep the hug short and sweet, but Taylor lingered, his hands tucking under Rocco’s jacket and pressing warm and firm into his sweater.
Rocco swore he could feel every bit of that touch even through two layers of fabric.
How would it have felt if he hadn’t been wearing a stitch?
Ugh. Focus. Goat goddamn cheese.
Finally, he let go, but didn’t drift away or sit back down. “I’ve been having to fight half the bar off. Everyone wants this booth, but I wasn’t going to let anyone else take it.”
Rocco smiled, pleased. “Yeah?”
Maybe he’d forgotten the visceral impact of Taylor, but he hadn’t forgotten how kind and thoughtful he could be. How much he’d tried to do the right thing by his (fake) boyfriend, at least all the way up til he’d given Rocco a very real kiss.
And really, if he hadn’t immediately regretted it, then everything would have been different. They’d have been inseparable, in bed and out, this last week.
That could still happen, Rocco promised himself.
“Maybe after a week off, I want to get as close to you as possible,” Taylor said, his voice low and a little rough around the edges. Like he didn’t want anyone else to hear it. Like it was a confession.
Rocco took a deep breath. He’d been the one to tell Taylor it was still on. He was the one who’d invited Taylor tonight.
It was just hard when it looked and sounded and felt like Taylor really meant it.
And maybe he does.
Well, they were going to find out.
“I’m not gonna complain about that,” Rocco said softly, gazing up at him.
Taylor looked like he wanted to hug him again.
Or maybe more.
“Uh, okay, yeah,” Taylor stammered. “Let’s . . .uh . . .you want a drink? Do you want to see the song list?”
“Here I thought we were just coming out to remind everyone of our epic love, have a few drinks, and listen to the town humiliate themselves by singing Christmas songs badly?” Rocco teased.
“I . . .we can do that,” Taylor said with a grin. “We can definitely do that. What do you want? An espresso martini?”
“Sure,” Rocco said.
Taylor leaned down. “Don’t let anyone take our booth. I’ll be right back.”
Rocco sat down, slipped out of his coat, and looked around at the setup.
He’d only been in Frosty’s a handful of times since moving to Christmas Falls, but the few times he’d grabbed a quick meal or drink, he’d never seen the small stage set up at one end of the long room with a large screen behind it.
Or the queue of festively dressed people waiting in line to sign up to sing their favorite holiday song.
“Young man, are you going to get up there or just sit there and listen to the rest of the town make fools of themselves?”
Rocco glanced over and Mrs. Lil was standing there, grinning at him.
“Uh,” he hesitated. “I’m not much of a singer, to be honest.”
“I vote for we listen to them make fools of themselves,” she said.
Rocco chuckled as she sat down. He wasn’t that disappointed. After waltzing in in her full glory two months ago and seeing pumpkin spice was not on his menu, he hadn’t seen her grace Jolly Java since.
Mrs. Lil wasn’t capable of a cold shoulder, but if she was, she’d have spent the last few weeks giving Rocco one.
But not now. Now, she was sitting across from him expectantly, her gaze roving over him with that appraising stare.
“That sounds like a great plan,” Rocco said.
“Well, it’s a plan of some kind,” she said wryly. She leaned forward. “Now, Rocco Moretti, I hear you’re seeing sense.”
“Of some kind,” Rocco said with a laugh.
She looked surprised, and he had a feeling not much surprised her. “Oh, I like you,” she said.
“I like him too. Good evening, Mrs. Lil.” Taylor slid in next to him, all graceful movements, setting a full martini glass in front of him and a beer bottle in front of himself.
Drinks delivered, he slung an arm around Rocco and tucked him in close.
“Oh, are you two here . . .oh, you are.” She smiled. “You’re on a date.”
“Guilty as charged,” Rocco said. “But you’re welcome to stay.”
“And be a third wheel?” Mrs. Lil shook her head and continued tartly, “I hardly think so. But thank you for the invitation. And Rocco? Expect to see me next week.”
Rocco nodded as she slid out of the booth and headed over, ending up at the one two down with Griff and Logan.
“I guess she doesn’t mind crashing their date,” Taylor said mischievously.
“Guess we’re cuter than them,” Rocco said.
Taylor’s gaze slid to him. Eyed him up and down. “Yeah, we are,” he said. His fingertips skimmed over Rocco’s shoulder and settled on it, his touch light.
“I . . .” What Rocco was going to say died in his throat. He swallowed hard. Taylor’s eyes were so intent on him, his look so intense, it was like he could see right into Rocco. Could see all the parts where Rocco wanted this to be real.
“I should say I’m sorry,” Taylor said.
“For?” But Rocco had a feeling he knew.
Taylor winced. “Pushing you. Pushing us. Then freaking out like that. That was . . .I shouldn’t have done that.”
Rocco wanted to melt like candle wax, but he stayed strong. If he got this wrong . . .well, that didn’t bear thinking of. “To be clear, are you apologizing for kissing me?”
Taylor shook his head. “No, no way. For freaking out after. I . . .that was not my best moment.”
“I don’t think it was for either of us.” Rocco could at least admit that.
“I’m glad we got that out of the way,” Taylor said, and his grin was bright. “Now we can really enjoy listening to these people butchering Mariah Carey.”
“They wouldn’t,” Rocco objected.
Taylor shot him a look. “Oh, there’s a reason I told them to make your drink strong.”
“Ouch. That bad?”
Something pulled Taylor’s gaze from Rocco and then he made a face. “Worse, even.” He pointed to the doorway. And sure enough there were Steve Mills and Mrs. Gucci Boots.
“Ugh, why?” Rocco questioned.
“Bad luck, I suppose,” Taylor said.
Rocco nearly suggested they leave now. Find something else to do—a bed, his mind supplied, and both of us in it, naked—but before he could, Taylor turned to him and said, “I’m not letting them chase us out, okay?”
It was a good reminder that the lines between him and Taylor might’ve gotten blurred, but half the reason they’d started this relationship in the first place was to get Taylor the job he wanted.
“You got it,” Rocco said, taking a sip of his martini. “What other artists should I expect to be butchered tonight?”
“Oh, expect at least two off-key renditions of ‘Little Saint Nick’ by the Beach Boys and at least a few Brenda Lee and Jackson 5 copycats.”
“Sounds great,” Rocco said weakly. He liked Christmas music, but he liked it done well. Why had he suggested this? Well, truthfully, he’d just picked an event from the list. It hadn’t mattered to him what they were doing as long as he could see Taylor again.
The mayor stepped on stage to a loud cheer. “Good evening,” she said into the microphone. “I hope you’re all excited to hear our town’s vocal stylings.” There were additional cheers and a few boos.
“Now, now, none of that,” she said with a grin.
“We’re here to have fun. Our first caroler tonight is .
. .” She paused, looking at the paper in her hand.
“Is this right?” she asked the man running the karaoke machine, pulling the microphone away so the whole room couldn’t hear her.
But it wasn’t a very big room and after so long in office her voice just naturally carried. “This can’t be right.”
“It’s right. I’m definitely up first.” Steve Mills’ wife flounced onto the stage. That was the only way Rocco could describe it. She was dressed in a short, tight red velvet dress and sure enough, those same Gucci boots.
They were hot boots; Rocco could give her that at least.
But the mayor just stared at her incredulously, finally handing the microphone over as her song began to play.
It was, as Taylor had foretold, Mariah Carey’s seminal holiday hit, “All I Want For Christmas is You.”
It was not a song for an amateur, and unfortunately, from the first wobbly notes, it seemed Laura Mills was not of Mariah Carey’s caliber.
In fact, as the chorus hit, it got worse, and Taylor winced, taking a long drink of his beer. Rocco heard a few boos begin in the audience.
“Is this normal?” he asked Taylor, who shook his head.
“No. It’s not. Mona usually stops it if it gets too heated, or too mean, but she doesn’t look like she’s stopping it now.”
No, it didn’t. In fact, the mayor’s lips were set in a grim line, and she’d made no move to stop the song, or Laura Mills’ increasingly deranged and off-key wailing.
But apparently if the mayor wasn’t going to stop her, someone else would.
Rocco’s jaw fell open as Steve hopped onto the stage, a forced smile on his face, and tried to wrangle the microphone away. “Come on, honey, you told me you had this,” he hissed, loud enough and unfortunately for him, directly into the microphone. “You gotta stop. You’re making us all look bad.”
She vamped harder and then, pulling the microphone back, sang loudly, “All I want for Christmas is Heeeeaaaaaath.”
Rocco found Heath Kelly in the back of the room, and he was visibly wincing.