4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Taylor forced himself out of bed on Saturday morning, pretending he didn’t understand exactly why he’d tossed and turned far too much the night before and a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed guy had taken up seemingly permanent residence in his dreams. He threw on his sweats and a Northwestern sweatshirt and went for his normal Saturday morning run.

Waiting for him as he swung by his house two streets over was Hayden Bradley, who did IT work for the city. They’d started jogging together six months ago when they’d discovered they kept running into each other on Saturdays—literally.

“Hey,” Hayden said as he picked up speed next to Taylor.

“Hey back,” Taylor said .

“Heard about the new applicant,” Hayden said, the winter sun shining on his freckled face.

Taylor groaned. “You and everyone else. Was it too easy for me to just apply for this goddamn job and have nobody else serious apply?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Hayden said wryly. “That was a pipe dream, dude.”

“Ugh,” Taylor said, groaning again.

“And what’s this I heard from Murphy about you ditching Heath Kelly?”

Taylor groaned a third time.

“You okay? Eat something off?”

“No, no, I just . . .” Taylor didn’t know how to say it. He’d told Rocco, just yesterday, that he didn’t have anyone he felt he had to come clean with, but now, faced with Hayden, who’d first been a casual acquaintance but was now a friend, Taylor didn’t want to lie.

“You’re interested in someone else.” Hayden said it matter-of-factly and then shot him a shit-eating grin.

“God, does everyone know already?”

“That you and Rocco Moretti had a drink together on Thursday and then you went to Jolly Java yesterday, even though you don’t drink coffee ? Oh, it’s definitely making the rounds. When I ran into Arlo and Mrs. Lil last night at the rink, she was practically salivating when she told me all about it. How you’re going to fall madly in love and Rocco’s going to seduce you into drinking coffee.”

Taylor gave a short bark of laughter. “Not likely,” he said.

“Which part?”

He hesitated. He didn’t want to lie. But he couldn’t exactly tell him the truth either. Maybe he could stick to a version of the truth. “I don’t think I’d ever like anyone enough to drink coffee, but if there was a chance, it would probably be Rocco Moretti.”

Hayden shot him a knowing look. “So you are interested, then.”

They turned down St. Nick Avenue, and sped up a little, both of them fully warmed up now, despite the chill in the air.

“He seems like a cool guy.” Playing things close to the vest was too much of a habit, Taylor knew it. He should be more effusive. But he didn’t know how , without giving everything away.

Hayden raised his eyebrow. “A cool guy?”

“Okay, a hot cool guy,” Taylor admitted.

“Better,” Hayden said, giving him an approving nod.

“I don’t . . .I don’t date much.”

Hayden patted him on the shoulder. “Yeah, we know. If you want advice, you know who to come to.”

“You?” Taylor said, his voice full of faux disbelief.

“I ended up with the guy, didn’t I?” Hayden said, referring to Joel, who ran Ginger’s Breads.

“You literally tripped and fell onto him,” Taylor joked. “I’m not sure that counts. ”

“Hey, it definitely counts. Honestly, though, you’re gonna do just fine. Rocco does seem like a cool guy. Pumpkin spice notwithstanding.”

“God, not you, too.”

“It wasn’t me. Mrs. Lil was complaining about it. She wondered if maybe she could ask you to persuade him to put it back on the menu.”

“Tell her it’s already back. Not only that, he’s part of this town now. Deserves a second chance, same as us all.”

Taylor hadn’t realized how insistent he sounded until Hayden laughed. “Oh, I can see it now. Your freaking enormous crush is visible from space.”

He almost said, no it’s not, not remotely, but 1) that was not what someone who’d be very publicly dating the guy would say, and 2) it sounded a whole lot like he doth protest too much .

“Uh, yeah,” Taylor admitted bashfully.

“Aw, it’s cute. I’m happy for you, Taylor. This is good.”

Taylor sure hoped so.

Hayden peeled off two miles later, to visit Joel at the bakery, and instead of cooling down, Taylor did an extra mile to try to compensate for the visions of Rocco still insistently dancing in his head and then on his way home, stopped by the Arts and Crafts Fair to make an appearance.

It was the first day and that meant Murphy was in his booth, alongside Tasha who ran his carved gnome business .

Taylor waved to Murphy, talking earnestly to a customer, showing her all the different-sized gnomes. Tasha was hovering close by, a tablet in her hands, probably ready to show her all the available inventory.

Murphy’s booth was the centerpiece of the festival every year, but it felt like each successive year, as the event grew, the waiting list for vendors who wanted to display their wares was growing more and more competitive.

Taylor walked through the narrow aisles, taking in all the sights and smells. Hand-dipped and hand-poured candles in dozens of holiday scents, hand-built birdhouses decorated in festive colors, and even a few decked out in professional sports team colors, including one in the Charleston Condors’ signature red and orange. No doubt that vendor was hoping that Jem, retired from the Condors, might walk by and buy it for the new house he was building just outside of town with Murphy.

Knowing Jem, he might do just that.

Speaking of Jem . . .there he was, walking in the opposite direction, next to a woman with dark hair the exact same shade as his and a nose and cheekbones that Jem had been lucky enough to win in the genetic lottery. Sophie Knight he’d met lots of times before this, but Jem had only recently moved back to town.

“Oh, hey, Taylor. Out for a run this morning?” Jem asked, and they shook hands briefly .

He and Jem had worked together pretty closely over the summer with funding for the Holiday Hope Foundation, making sure there’d be enough money in the coffers for them to hire Mason and also for the foundation’s move to better facilities that could support them year-round.

“Yep,” Taylor said, nodding. “Hayden Bradley and I try to meet up every Saturday morning. Good to see you, too, Mrs. Knight.”

“You, too, Taylor, and I always have to tell you to call me Sophie,” she said, a small smile on her face. “Jem, you should join them.”

Jem flushed. “I don’t want to invite myself—”

“You’d be welcome to join,” Taylor said. “Just don’t expect too much. Neither of us are professional athletes. Not even close.”

“And neither am I anymore,” Jem said wryly.

Taylor shot him a look. “I’d still bet you’d run circles around us.”

“I’ll try not to,” Jem said, “but it’s not going to be a problem. I promise.”

“I love a serendipitous moment,” Sophie said.

“You here to see Murphy?” Taylor asked.

Jem grinned. “Per Tasha, if he makes a break for it, I’m supposed to drag him back to the festival by his ear. ”

“Ouch,” Taylor said. He knew Murphy Clark was far, far more comfortable in his barn, carving his fanciful and whimsical gnomes, than selling them to an interested crowd.

“I told him I’d do it by the hair, instead,” Jem joked.

“Jeremiah!” Sophie said, smacking her son on his arm. “That’s my future son-in-law you’re talking about.”

Jem’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he said.

Taylor wanted to ask if this was a faraway future kind of expectation or a solid reality that would be happening soon, but before he could, Jem shot his mother a look and Sophie turned to Taylor, changing the subject. “And what’s this about you and the new coffee shop owner, Taylor?”

“Uh, well . . .” Taylor stammered.

He was going to have to practice his answer to this question. The whole freaking point of dating Rocco was for it to be public knowledge, but right now, he couldn’t even manage a simple question about him.

“Aw, you’re cute,” Sophie said, patting him on his arm. “You’ve got a real crush on him. I can tell. You look just like Jem did when he first came back to town last year. Walked around every day with his head in the clouds and hearts in his eyes.”

“Mom,” Jem said, flushing redder.

“You did ,” she said with affection. “And it was just as adorable then as it is now, with Taylor here. It’s beautiful how much Christmas Falls loves love . ”

“That’s a lot of love,” Jem said. But he didn’t look like he hated it. In fact, he looked happier and more relaxed, comfortable in his own skin in a way he hadn’t been, when he’d first come back to Christmas Falls last year.

“And you love it,” Sophie said, poking him in the arm. “Will we see you at the skating rink tonight, for the social?”

“Uh . . .sure,” Taylor said. Mona had said, get out and be present , remind everyone who you are, and that you love this town, even if you’re not from it , so he supposed that included wobbling around on the temporary rink set up in Sugar Plum Park and drinking lukewarm hot chocolate.

It would be better if Rocco was by his side, but he still had their date on Monday night to look forward to.

He wouldn’t be alone, then.

And maybe before that, he’d practice acknowledging his interest in public without stammering or flushing an even brighter red than Jem Knight when his mom teased him about his boyfriend.

“Well, see you then,” Jem said, patting him on the shoulder.

Taylor walked around for another few minutes. He bought a chai snickerdoodle candle that he hoped would make his house smell like he actually baked chai snickerdoodles and a cat ornament that reminded him of Meredith from the booths, and shook more hands. Greeted tourists and townspeople alike, until forty minutes later, purchases in hand, he headed home.

By Monday night, Taylor felt like the whole town not only knew about their date, but they’d gone out of their way to ask him about it.

Repetition helped him answer their questions better, but it was still undeniably awkward.

More than once, he’d been tempted to text Rocco and ask if he’d had a similar level of interest—and if they’d detoured to Jolly Java, buying coffee and scones and muffins, to do it.

Maybe just the thought of them dating had been enough to get Rocco back into everyone’s good graces.

But then, that wouldn’t fix Taylor’s problem.

And you wouldn’t get to hang out with him, and you want to. Even if you don’t want to admit it.

He did.

He could barely think it without a blaring goat cheese accompanying the thought, but that had only turned into amusing punctuation, not even a deterrent.

By the time the wine tasting rolled around, he’d avoided actually texting Rocco, but Rocco had texted him twice.

Once to confirm they’d be meeting there, and another, just a minute ago, telling Taylor he was running slightly behind.

Taylor had read the first one—a fairly straightforward exchange—and the second, even though it had only just come in, more times than he wanted to admit to .

This is not a real date.

But it felt like a real date.

Then he heard footsteps behind him, and turned, and yeah , he’d felt this way the last time he’d been on a first date. That sharp wave of exhilaration and terror surging through him, though then it hadn’t been nearly as strong as it was now, faced with a Rocco Moretti trying to make a good impression.

Or maybe he always cleaned up this good.

His hair was curling around his head in a dark halo, his cheekbones carved out of his face, brown eyes hot as they took in Taylor standing there, under the streetlight.

He wore a black wool peacoat, with a maroon scarf wrapped around his neck, and a pair of form-fitting black jeans and dark boots.

Goat cheese, Taylor thought dazedly. All the goat cheese.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Rocco said breathlessly.

Taylor thought, I’d wait a hell of a lot longer for you . But he didn’t say that, because nobody was here, and there was no point in saying anything sappy and romantic when they didn’t have an audience. That was the whole idea behind this charade.

“It’s fine,” Taylor said. “You ready to go in?”

“Oh yeah,” Rocco said.

Taylor gestured towards the door, and with his late mother’s voice admonishing him in his head to be a gentleman, he pressed a palm to Rocco’s firm, warm back.

Felt his muscles tense under his touch and then relax .

“So,” Rocco asked under his breath as they walked in, “how does this work?”

“You’re asking me? I’ve no idea. Never been to this event before.”

It looked fairly straightforward though. The main dining room of The White Elephant had been rearranged, the tables in a half-moon shape, with different bottles of wine scattered across the surfaces.

“Hello,” Elaine Watson said as they approached the main table. She managed The White Elephant for Kody Campbell, who’d taken over from his parents. “I didn’t know you two were coming tonight.”

That was a lie. He’d emailed her himself, making sure they were both on the list, and instead of merely emailing him back his confirmation, Elaine had called him up on his official line, asking half a dozen leading questions that she didn’t really need the answer to.

He liked Elaine, had always liked her, but he discovered he didn’t like the intense interest in what the two of them were doing here together.

Wasn’t it obvious ?

He shouldn’t need to spell it out. Anyone who looked at Rocco Moretti had to understand exactly why Taylor had gone out of his way to take him out.

“Yep,” Taylor said and gazed down at Rocco with what he hoped was a lovestruck expression .

Frankly it didn’t feel that much different than it had when he’d turned a minute ago and seen Rocco walking up to him.

“Oh lovely,” Elaine said. “Let me tell you how it works. Taylor’s paid for your registration, which gets you each six tastes, which you can mark off on this card here—along with your impression and a score of each wine.”

“Makes sense,” Rocco said, picking up their two glasses and the cards Elaine had indicated. He handed one to Taylor, and if the deliberate way their fingers brushed when he passed the glass over was any indication, he was going to be a lot better at this than Taylor was.

Not very surprising.

“You can hang your coats over there,” Elaine said, gesturing towards the rack they’d set up in the corner. “And feel free to start wherever, though the tables are arranged from light whites to medium whites to more light-bodied reds and finally, at the end there, the more full-bodied reds.”

Taylor plucked the second glass from Rocco’s hand and then set them both on the table, setting his fingers on the collar of Rocco’s coat, helping him out of it.

Underneath, he wore a silvery gray button-up, open at the throat, showcasing a wedge of olive-toned skin and a thin gold chain around his neck.

Taylor’s hand trembled as he hung up the coat and divested himself of his own .

“So polite,” Rocco said, and there was another one of those eyelash flutters of his, the one that seemed unfairly designed to make Taylor’s pulse stutter.

It would be both a lot easier and a lot harder to do this whole fake dating thing if he found Rocco less appealing.

“I . . .I’m trying,” he said, settling on the least difficult response.

“You’re doing better than that,” Rocco said, patting him on the arm and shooting him a brilliant smile. His heart rate, not quite settled back to normal from the eyelash flutter, accelerated again.

If they kept this up for months, he was either going to have to get used to the potency of Rocco Moretti or go on blood pressure medication.

“Thanks,” Taylor said.

“And for the record,” Rocco said, his gaze sweeping from Taylor’s feet to the top of his head, “you clean up real good, too.”

Taylor flushed. He’d taken extra care with his appearance tonight, justifying it with the reasoning that if he was actually taking Rocco out on a date, he’d have approached it with not only some careful planning, but optimizing all his advantages.

His knit polo was a little clingier— sluttier , Joey would have called it—than he’d normally have worn to work, calling attention to his biceps and pecs and chest, and he’d worn it with his best pair of dark jeans. Maybe he wasn’t a freaking smoke show, not like Rocco, but he wasn’t hopeless, either.

From the way Rocco was looking at him, real or fake, he was pretty damn far from hopeless.

Well, the good news was everything was going to plan. Nobody would see the two of them and think they weren’t definitely into each other.

“You good?” Rocco asked, leaning in closer. He still smelled like coffee—the best part of it, the rich deep scent of it—but like something woodsy and faintly floral too. Taylor had to remind himself that he was supposed to be doing the opposite of hands off.

He was supposed to be freaking hands on .

“Yeah, I’m good,” Taylor said.

Maybe he should be goat cheesing all over the place, but he wasn’t even tempted.

The truth was, it was easier than it should have been to put his hand on the small of Rocco’s back, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of his shirt, and guide him towards the first table.

Rocco picked up their glasses and they approached the first station.

“Oh, this looks good,” Rocco said, gesturing towards the bottles. “They’ve got a cremant, a prosecco, and a cava.”

“You’re speaking Greek,” Taylor admitted .

Rocco raised an eyebrow. “You don’t drink wine.” He stated it, rather than asked.

“Not usually, no,” Taylor said. Ironically enough, that hadn’t even occurred to him as a problem during the time between Rocco suggesting this as their first date and tonight. He’d been too focused on doing this right , on convincing everyone he was crazy about the guy, and not painfully awkward, like he was trying too hard.

“It’s alright,” Rocco reassured him. “I do. One of my cousins, Luca, is practically a professional sommelier. I spent some time with him and his husband, during the last year, and what I didn’t already know from working at my parents’ restaurant in San Francisco, I picked up pretty quickly from him.”

“So you’re like . . .a wine expert then?” God, this was even worse. Not only was Taylor freaking clueless, but Rocco was the opposite.

“Not an expert , necessarily, but I know my way around. And don’t worry, okay? I’ve got you.” Rocco touched him on the chest, fingers lingering there, and his gaze was knowing.

Because he was playacting for everyone who was no doubt watching them, or because he knew how much Taylor enjoyed it—and didn’t want to? It was unclear.

“If you’ll help me, that would be . . .” Taylor cleared his throat. Mona was always telling him to be a little less competent and accept some help once in awhile, and he had a feeling this was one of those times. “That would be great. ”

“Oh, baby, I got you,” Rocco repeated.

“Baby, huh?”

“Seems simpler, easier, than holy hot hunk, ” Rocco teased.

Taylor swallowed hard. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. Baby it is, then.”

Taylor let his palm, sweaty and damp, press even more firmly into Rocco’s back, sliding it a fraction lower.

From the way Rocco looked at him—from Elaine’s expression he caught out of the corner of his eye—he had a feeling they were being extremely convincing.

Excellent.

“So, what are these? Should we try them?” Taylor motioned to the bottles on the table with the hand that wasn’t occupied with touching Rocco as firmly as he dared.

Rocco leaned in, and Taylor’s hand slid lower still and sweat prickled under his arms. Rocco’s back had been firm enough under his touch, but now he was edging closer to his ass, and it felt even better than it looked.

He half-expected Rocco to hiss goat cheese under his breath, but he didn’t.

“Oh yeah, definitely this prosecco.” Rocco lifted the bottle and tipped a taste into his glass. It fizzed as he lifted it to his nose, giving it a long sniff. “That’s nice.”

“It smells good?” Taylor had never really smelled wine before.

Rocco handed him the glass .

And it did smell good, like freshly baked bread and apple and sunshine.

“Now,” Rocco murmured, “you give it another swirl. Just a little one. And then another sniff. Then, finally, you taste.”

Taylor tried to do exactly as Rocco described and thought he got pretty close, the flavor of the wine exploding like fireworks against his tongue. “That’s . . .that’s really good, actually.”

“Yeah,” Rocco agreed, nodding after he’d plucked the glass from Taylor’s hand and taken a sip of his own.

“Did I do it right?”

Rocco shot him a look that both reassured and challenged. “You don’t have to get precious about wine. You want to taste something without doing all that? I’m not going to judge. Wine’s good, and you should drink it, however you want.”

“Huh.”

Rocco tipped the rest of the glass back and they moved on. “I’ve never been at a tasting where they didn’t pour for you,” Rocco said under his breath as they approached the next table. “They’re clearly not worried about me taking more than six samples—or what size those samples are.”

Taylor had never been to a wine tasting before, so he had no idea what was normal. But then there was the way he’d felt his neck prickle, more than once, while they’d been sampling the prosecco .

Elaine had definitely been watching them. He’d assumed it was because of who he was with, but maybe it hadn’t entirely been because of that.

“Don’t worry, we’re being monitored,” Taylor said, leaning down a fraction, to whisper it into Rocco’s ear. Hopefully Elaine would assume he was murmuring sweet nothings.

“Huh, yeah.” Rocco flashed him a brilliant smile—though Taylor was beginning to believe that Rocco didn’t own a smile that wasn’t brilliant.

“You keep smiling at me like that, Elaine’ll call Mrs. Lil and Marlene and every other gossip in town and tell her we’re halfway to being madly in love,” Taylor said, nudging him with his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“The smile is kind of a Moretti thing,” Rocco said, a trace of apology in his voice, as they stood in front of the next table. These were supposedly the “light whites,” per Elaine and also the discreet tented sign on the table, though Taylor had no idea what the hell that meant.

“There’s more of you and they all smile all like that?”

“Oh, yeah,” Rocco said.

“Geez.” Taylor couldn’t imagine. “Have you considered trying to take over a small country?”

There was another flash of white teeth, and this one was so potent Taylor swore he felt butterfly wings fluttering in his stomach. “We try to only use our powers for good.”

“Us mere mortals appreciate it,” Taylor said dryly .

Rocco elbowed him, not hard, but not exactly gently either. Taylor glanced up, looking the way Rocco had nudged him. “Is that a . . .”

Taylor laughed. “Uh, yeah. And weirdly, having some guy wandering around in an elf costume is not that surprising, at least in Christmas Falls.”

“Wow,” Rocco said.

“Okay, tell me about these,” Taylor said, gesturing to the table.

This time, Rocco poured an inch or so of pale yellow wine into Taylor’s glass. “If you’re not a wine drinker, the sparkling stuff is good, like the prosecco we just tried, but this would be good too. It’s a pinot grigio, from Italy.”

Taylor tried just drinking it with only taking the barest hint of a whiff first and then a little sip. Yeah, it was good. Sharp and a little sour, but refreshing on his tongue, too.

Tried to ignore when Rocco sipped it too, putting his lips almost exactly where Taylor’s had been.

Cleared his throat.

If he said goat cheese now, this would stop. And he liked having his hands on Rocco. He liked the way Rocco gazed up at him, that intoxicating mixture of faith and delight. Like there was nothing Rocco enjoyed more than watching as Taylor experienced something new that he happened to love, too.

“Next table?” Taylor suggested .

They worked their way around the half-moon, four more tables, and even though they barely took more than a sip, by the time they hit the “mature reds,” Taylor felt a little light-headed and possibly intoxicated.

He wanted to blame the wine, but he had a feeling it had more to do with the guy he was with.

“You good?” Rocco said, licking his lips as he tasted the dark red wine he’d poured himself.

Rocco had lost Taylor around “damp asphalt” and “tobacco” notes, even though he insisted there was dark red fruit too, in the profile.

If Taylor wanted to taste asphalt, he’d go lick the freaking ground.

Still, even if he hadn’t drunk the last round himself, he’d enjoyed watching as Rocco did.

“Yeah, I’m great.”

Elaine approached then. Taylor had to give her full points. He’d felt her gaze on them quite a bit, but she’d actually left them alone. Until now.

“Feel free to pour yourself a glass of your favorite and stay awhile,” she said, gesturing towards some of the empty booths. “I can tell how much you’re enjoying yourself.”

“It’s an excellent list you’ve curated,” Rocco said.

“Thank you. Nice to see it’s being appreciated,” Elaine said with a warm smile. “Have a wonderful evening. ”

“What are you thinking of having a glass of?” Rocco asked him after she’d gone back to the registration table. He was eyeing the second-to-last table they’d been at, and if Taylor had to guess, from the way he’d cataloged the miniscule differences in all of Rocco’s delighted expressions as he’d tasted the wine, he’d be pouring himself a glass of the Sonoma County pinot noir.

Rocco had made a point of saying it was as good as anything he’d ever tried out of the famous Moretti cellars, and Taylor had a feeling that was high praise.

As for him? It was a no-brainer. Taylor broke off, hating to let go of him, but that was normal, right? Nobody was supposed to touch someone else the entirety of a date.

He poured himself a full glass of the prosecco. Watched as Rocco indeed picked up the bottle of pinot noir.

“All the way at the beginning?” Rocco sounded delighted. “Oh, I love a man who enjoys his bubbly.”

“Yeah?” Taylor hadn’t thought it was weird to pick the prosecco but maybe it was? Except he’d genuinely liked the way it had felt like fireworks on his tongue, like the way his blood fizzed every single time Rocco looked over at him.

“It’s nice,” Rocco said, patting him on the arm.

Taylor guided him towards one of the empty booths and decided it was the fault of the wine and also this whole ridiculous fake dating scheme that after Rocco slid in, he moved right in next to him.

“Aw,” Rocco cooed, grinning, “you like me. ”

More than he was entirely comfortable with, if Taylor was being honest.

But instead of confessing that, he said instead, “Aren’t I supposed to?”

Rocco patted him on the cheek. His touch fleeting and then gone, far too quickly, even though his whole side, including, God , his thigh, was solid and warm against Taylor’s own.

“Yeah, and don’t worry, I think that very nosy woman is going to tell everyone,” Rocco said.

It seemed likely.

“They were already thinking you and me was happening,” Taylor confessed. “I think I got asked about it a dozen times, since I went to Jolly Java last week.”

“Same,” Rocco said. “But did they come to Jolly Java to ask? No . Instead, they cornered me in the supermarket. In the hardware store. When I stopped by the Arts and Crafts Fair. Once, even when I was outside the coffee shop, but inside it? No way.” He sounded a little bitter, but Taylor wasn’t sure he could blame him for being frustrated.

“Well, maybe they will now.” Taylor was trying to be optimistic. He already knew they’d be committed to this charade through the hiring process, which culminated in the April city council meeting where they made the final decision. But he’d hoped, maybe a little foolishly, that if they launched hard, they might not have to put much effort in after.

Maybe that assumption had been naive .

How are you gonna deal with Rocco smiling at you like that for four plus months and keep a level head on your shoulders?

Taylor didn’t have an answer for that.

“We’ll see. Though Remy from The Snowflake Shack came over and ordered some coffees. Even tried my marzipan latte. The worst part was that Luca’s husband Oliver got the recipe from me and he said it’s already a big hit in Indigo Bay.” Rocco made a face. “Totally unfair. But then that guy could get a priest to drink all his communion wine.”

“There’s someone more charming on earth besides you?” Taylor realized a second too late he probably shouldn’t have been that honest. He took a long drink of his wine.

Whoops.

“You should meet my cousin Lorenzo,” Rocco said dispiritedly. “Though, maybe not. His husband Seth might kill you, and he’s ex-military so that’s something he’s really good at.”

Taylor didn’t like it when Rocco felt bad. So he changed the subject. “Luca’s your cousin too, right?” It was probably not part of the fake-boyfriend playbook to memorize Rocco’s family tree, but most people didn’t have a family like Rocco either. Taylor hadn’t heard that much about them yet, and they already seemed memorable.

“Yep,” Rocco said. “The one in charge of everything—Nonna’s, and also married to Oliver. They live in Indigo Bay. Run the Italian deli there, and the Lowcountry Bistro, the restaurant they own together. And Oliver owns the bakery and coffee shop.”

“A lot of cousins,” Taylor said. It was hard for him to even conceptualize that much family. He only had his dad, and his mom had had a sister, much older, and she’d never had kids.

“God, so many cousins,” Rocco said, the corner of his mouth tilting up. He sipped his wine. “And they’re all terribly, terribly competent.”

“A lot of pressure on you then, to live up to their legacy.” Taylor didn’t really have experience with that, but he imagined how it must feel.

Maybe bad, but also really, really great.

“Yeah,” Rocco agreed. “How about you?”

Ugh. No. Let’s not talk about my family.

“Uh, not much to say. Just my dad and me.” Taylor changed the subject, because he really, really did not want to discuss why that was. Maybe the hurt had long since scabbed over and eventually healed, at least on the surface, but that didn’t mean he liked talking about it, either. “So why didn’t you settle down in Indigo Bay, it was, right?”

Rocco nodded. “You ever know that couple? The one that’s absolutely fucking adorable and you know you should love them, and you do , but you also kind of want to scream in their face that their happiness is the worst ? That it’s a daily fucking reminder of everything you don’t have? ”

Taylor chuckled. “My old college friend, Joey, and his wife, Libby.”

“Yep, you know. I just . . .I couldn’t stay there. I love them, but I couldn’t. And I wanted my own corner of the Moretti pie, you know? My own corner.”

“I get that,” Taylor said.

“I could’ve stayed. They’d have made room for me, because that’s how Luca and Oliver are, and that’s what Morettis do. Or I could have settled in LA, with my cousins, Gabe and Ren.”

“But then it wouldn’t have been your corner,” Taylor guessed.

“Exactly.” Rocco looked relieved that he understood, but it wasn’t like this was a real date and it actually mattered if Taylor approved of the way he was choosing to live his life.

“When you brought up that we should do this, I thought you were insane,” Taylor confessed.

“I know,” Rocco said.

“But actually . . .I think it’s a good idea.” I’m probably going to go out of my mind doing it, but that’s okay. ’Cause it’ll be worth it. The job’ll be worth it. “This has been fun.”

Rocco elbowed him, grinning. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m a great time.”

“I’m not sure I am, so maybe I should apologize for that,” Taylor said. He didn’t add that his reserve was so much a habit now it was hard for him to let it down, even on purpose.

“You’re fine,” Rocco said. Waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Somehow even then he was hot, defying logic. “And fine . I don’t mind the company or the visuals.”

Did he mind the visuals?

No. No, he did not.

Taylor was even afraid that tonight when he returned home alone and lay in bed, as he stared unblinking at the ceiling, that it was going to be this visual he remembered—Rocco tucked up close next to him, his beautiful face tilted up towards his own.

“Good,” Taylor said, nodding. “So we’ll do this again?”

Rocco finished his wine.

Taylor nearly suggested he try finagling another glass out of Elaine, but then Rocco shot him a disappointed look. “I should really be getting home. The alarm goes off early.”

“How early?”

“Four AM,” Rocco admitted.

“Jesus, and I thought I got up early.”

“Don’t mistake me for a morning person. I just own a coffee shop and like to do the baking early in the morning,” Rocco said. “And do the baking. I could still get my stuff from Joel, I suppose, but I . . .well . . .”

They slid out of the booth and headed to grab their coats.

“You wanted your own corner.” Taylor did understand. Rocco wanted Jolly Java to be his , to put his own mark on it. Which was probably why he’d taken pumpkin spice off the menu and tried to convince Christmas Falls to give goat cheese a chance .

Rocco nodded. “You get it.”

“We’ll make it thrive, I promise,” Taylor said, even though he could not possibly promise that. But he would, and he would make it happen. He knew that now, as surely as he knew he would work his hardest to convince the city council that he was the right city manager for Christmas Falls, not Steve Mills.

“And you’re going to get the job,” Rocco said. He slipped his coat on, and Taylor took advantage of his last chance to touch him, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders.

“I sure hope so,” Taylor said.

“Goodnight,” Elaine called out as they headed through the door, Taylor’s hand brushing the small of Rocco’s back.

“I should walk you back to your place,” Taylor said as they stepped out onto the sidewalk. It was cold, now, and the sky looked like snow might be threatening.

“Well, it wouldn’t be a proper date if you didn’t,” Rocco teased, wrapping his scarf around his neck. He shivered a bit, and Taylor didn’t think, just grabbed his hand and tucked into his bigger one, squeezing it carefully to try to warm it.

He was cold, that was all. And someone might see, theoretically, and then they could say they’d watched as Taylor walked Rocco Moretti home after their date, holding hands.

Taylor told himself firmly that was what mattered as they walked down the city streets. What everyone else saw, not the firm pressure of Rocco’s hand in his, warming him from the inside out, even though it was colder than his own .

“This was really nice,” Rocco said quietly as they turned the corner, where Jolly Java sat, light glowing out from its lantern next to the door.

He stopped and tilted his head up. It was still early, and there were a handful of people wandering around, taking advantage of the festival time to get some last-minute shopping in.

Would it be anyone who’d recognize them? Taylor didn’t know.

But he also knew if this had been a real date, he’d do this, no questions whatsoever.

So he leaned in, murmured, “just say goat cheese ,” and brushed his lips quickly over Rocco’s cheek.

He pulled back, hypnotized by the look in Rocco’s dark eyes—the surprise, and the pleasure. Rocco’s hand went to his cheek and he pressed his fingertips to it, like he wanted to feel it.

Rocco didn’t say that he’d needed to goat cheese , and maybe he didn’t need to. The fact that he hadn’t wanted to was obvious enough.

Neither did you .

“Well, uh, have a nice night,” Taylor said, trying not to stammer. Shoved his hands back into his own pockets so they wouldn’t find their way back to Rocco’s body.

“You too.” Rocco flashed him one last of those smiles, and Taylor turned and walked off.

Telling himself the whole time that if he didn’t leave right then, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave at all.