5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“And here I thought after your big date, you’d be on top of the world,” Rebecca joked gently as she leaned against the big stainless steel prep counter running the full length of the back kitchen of Jolly Java.

“I’m not not on top of the world. Just trying to get these chai buns in the oven,” Rocco said. He continued carefully rolling out the dough.

It was early morning, just after six, two days after his big date with Taylor.

And as many times as he had reminded himself that it wasn’t a date, that Taylor had absolutely no reason to call or text him, that he had Taylor’s number and he could certainly reach out if it mattered so goddamn much, he couldn’t quite convince himself. Or that corner of his heart that was stuck on the fact that his evening with Taylor had been one of the best first dates he’d ever been on.

But it wasn’t really a first date. It was a fake first date.

Rocco was tired of reminding himself of that fact.

“You waltzed in here the next morning like you’d just been swept off your feet. And then by closing yesterday, you were as grumpy as I’ve ever seen you.” Rebecca was trying to be kind, he knew that. Which is why he didn’t tell her to shut up or get out of the kitchen or leave him alone.

Rocco couldn’t tell her that reality had come creeping in, along with silence from Taylor, bursting his happy bubble, and then there was the fact that it hadn’t made a single bit of difference. By eleven, Jolly Java was still empty.

He’d known it would take time, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still frustrated.

“Oh wait, did he not call you?” Rebecca continued.

No. No, he didn’t call me. Or text me. Or send out any smoke signals.

Rocco pursed his lips and brushed butter onto his dough.

“But Elaine said you were—”

“Maybe it wasn’t as good for him as it was for me,” Rocco interrupted. God , why had he even said that? He added, in a rush, “And if that’s true, then it’s fine. I don’t mind. I don’t have time to date anyway.”

Rebecca looked skeptical. “When the right person comes along, you make time.”

Rocco sprinkled the brown sugar and spice mixture over the buttered dough. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on,” Rebecca said. “It’s the ornament party tonight. You’ll really enjoy that. Griff said we’re making little miniature Christmas Falls snow globes. You need one, for your first year here.”

And that was the other thing that had taken his bad mood and plunged it off the cliff. Last night, in an attempt to cheer himself up, he’d decided to set up the little tree in his apartment.

Once he’d gotten the lights all strung, he’d started to hang all the ornaments—generic boxes of sets of twelve, red glitter balls and shiny gold bells and evergreen trees—but all Rocco had been able to think of was the tree his parents and he always set up in their restaurant foyer, cramming it in between the host station and the glass-fronted wine storage. It was an absolute mishmash of ornaments. Ones with crooked popsicle sticks that Rocco had made in school, ornaments that regulars brought them from their travels, ornaments from Italy and Scotland and Japan. The tree had told a story. It had weight and history. Rocco had always looked at it and knew exactly what it meant.

But last night, he’d looked at his new tree and realized the only story it was telling was that he was far away from home and didn’t know what the fuck he was even doing anymore.

His black mood had only darkened even further .

Maybe he was becoming as overdramatic as the rest of the Moretti clan.

He’d woken up this morning and wished, more than anything, that he could just stay closed today, closely followed by the realization that being an adult and owning a business meant that he had to get up and tend to his responsibilities, even though the desire to pull his blankets over his head and pretend that none of this was happening was painfully strong.

“Rebecca, I know you mean well, but I’m really not in the mood for the ornament party.”

“And what?” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re gonna just go home, alone, and sit on your couch watching Real Housewives of Duluth?”

That sounded only marginally better than sitting on his couch staring at his meaningless tree. Or waiting for a text message that wasn’t forthcoming.

What he should really do was meet Taylor and tell him this whole fake dating thing was off. That he’d miscalculated. That he couldn’t do this.

But he wanted to do this. He wanted another date like the one they’d had. He wanted a lot more than one, if he was being very honest with himself.

“I like Real Housewives of Duluth ,” Rocco said stubbornly.

Rebecca grinned. “If there was a Real Housewives of Duluth , you probably would. Come on, come with me. Make an ornament. Felix over at Milton Falls farm told me you got a tree, a cute little one. I bet it needs some kind of ornament that doesn’t come from the big box store.”

It was annoying how perceptive his employee and friend could be. Because she had a point. How was he ever going to be able to replace his horribly generic ornaments with anything more personal if he didn’t try ? “Fine, fine. I’ll go.”

“Excellent.” The doorbell tinkled and Rebecca shot him one last triumphant smile before walking out through the swinging doors to serve their first customer of the day.

Rocco finished rolling up his buns, deftly cut them with a serrated knife, and set them on a tray to do one last quick rise before baking.

By seven, the whole bakery would smell like fresh bread and spices. He’d even risk the heating system by opening the door—it was supposed to be a high of a brisk forty-two today—and hopefully wafting some of those delicious scents down the street.

If that wasn’t inviting, he didn’t know what else to try.

He ducked out from the kitchen and was pleased to see a second person in line, behind the obvious tourist.

“Hey, welcome to Jolly Java,” Rocco said to them, “what can I start making for you?”

For the rest of the morning, Rocco baked chai buns, made coffee and hot chocolate, and even once, he got to make a caramel hot cider—but of course, it wasn’t for Taylor, though he thought about him and the way he’d looked taking that first sip, as he’d made it.

By noon, his mood had improved—along with the visitors. He saw two old regulars, poured them both pumpkin spice lattes, and even convinced them to each take a chai bun to go, on the house.

“You’re actually smiling again, and looking like you mean it,” Rebecca said, as she cleaned tables and he re-stocked the glass-front case. “Did he text you?”

For a second, Rocco wasn’t sure who she meant—then he remembered. But he was proud that he hadn’t been obsessing about Taylor. That was progress, right?

“Uh, no, but it’s fine. He will,” Rocco said confidently.

With a trickle of regulars returning to Jolly Java, admittedly because they’d “heard that he’d brought pumpkin spice back and that you’re dating Taylor Hall, that nice man at Town Hall,” Rocco was newly committed to the plan.

Okay, maybe he liked Taylor a little too much, but that was normal right? They were both single, attractive people, and Rocco could admit that it had been awhile for him. He’d been too busy buying this place, remodeling it, and getting it up and running before festival season started. And Taylor’s dry spell sounded like an eternity compared to Rocco’s own.

Which really . . .that begged the question why that was?

Were they to the point in their “relationship” where Rocco could ask that question ?

“That’s the attitude,” Rebecca said. “He’s probably just busy. Obviously this is Griff’s busiest time, but the mayor’s office isn’t exactly slacking either.”

“I’d think not,” Rocco said.

“You still want to go to the ornament party?” Rebecca asked.

Rocco was a little surprised she’d asked. He’d fully been expecting to get dragged there, whether he wanted to go or not. And he found he did kinda want to go. If only to make his tree slightly less depressing.

“Yeah, I do,” Rocco said.

She smiled. “Awesome. Meet you there?”

“Yeah, sounds good.”

“And after, there’s a Grinch cocktail calling my name,” Rebecca claimed.

“Is that the special this month? That bright green monstrosity?”

“It’s like an apple martini, but spiced . With a caramel drizzle. It’s freaking delicious,” Rebecca argued.

Rocco nearly said, “Taylor likes caramel, I should have him try one,” but at the last second, he kept his stupid mouth shut.

It was bad enough that Taylor was beginning to feel like an omnipresent force in his mind. He didn’t need Rebecca oohing and ahhhing over how cute the pair of them were, too.

“I do like how they make an espresso martini,” Rocco said.

“How you drink that much caffeine right before bed is baffling. I’d be awake for hours.”

“We Morettis practically drink espresso in the crib. We’re used to it by now,” Rocco pointed out dryly.

Rebecca laughed. “Alright, if you think you can handle it.”

“I can always handle it,” Rocco said confidently. He did feel like he’d gotten a little of his normal swagger back. He was good at this. He just needed the town to see it, and they would. With a little time, and Taylor’s help, they would come around.

“Good,” Rebecca said and pulled him into an unexpected quick hug. “I hated seeing you all pissy and diminished. That’s not you, Rocco. And he’s going to text, he will. If he doesn’t, well, that’s his loss.”

“He’s gonna text,” Rocco said. It was easy to be confident about this, because Taylor would text, eventually. He needed him, just like Rocco needed Taylor.

But by the time Rocco pulled on his scarf and was heading down towards Santa’s Workshop, the toy shop where the ornament party was hosted, just down the street from Jolly Java, Taylor had not texted and his confidence had deflated a little.

Rocco was debating pulling his phone out and sending Taylor a text himself, something along the lines of what the hell, dude— but he told himself he’d do it after the workshop. Give him a little time to calm down, and maybe sound less outraged that Taylor hadn’t contacted him after their (fake) first date .

But when he pulled open the door, immediately spotting Rebecca at one of the long tables dotted with craft supplies, there was a very familiar face next to her.

Taylor freaking Hall, in the flesh. Not too busy to text Rocco, not even close.

The only thing that made Rocco feel better was the shock on Taylor’s face when he noticed Rocco approaching.

Taylor had not expected to see him tonight.

Rocco shot Rebecca a reproachful glance that told her they’d be talking about this later, because surely this was why she’d been so insistent he attend—she’d known Taylor would be here.

“Rocco,” she said delightedly. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Rebecca,” he acknowledged, and then because it felt like the whole room was staring at the pair of them and how they’d greet each other, he turned to Taylor. “Hi, Taylor,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as he could. “Good to see you again.”

Taylor cleared his throat, and then the idiot pulled him into a tight hug. Not even giving Rocco a chance to goat cheese out of it, even if he’d wanted to.

And that was the real reason his ego was smarting, wasn’t it? Because he didn’t want to goat cheese out of anything, not when it came to Taylor.

Tonight, he was wearing a T-shirt and another pair of jeans that hugged his long legs, cupping an ass that was completely, unfairly perfect.

Rocco was feeling a little punchy, so he let his hands drift lower as Taylor finally released him, giving that ass a little squeeze.

If Taylor looked surprised before, he looked shocked now. Well, Rocco hadn’t exactly missed Taylor touching him all over during their wine tasting date, so as far as he was concerned, that squeeze had only been fair play.

“Imagine seeing you here,” Rocco said dryly.

Taylor was still staring at him. Like he’d never seen his face before. God, he’d barely looked in the mirror before running out the door. Did he have a smear of pizza sauce on his face, from the frozen pie he’d thrown into the oven and eaten standing up by his miniscule kitchen counter?

“You okay?” Rocco said.

“Just . . .” Taylor cleared his throat. “Uh, glad to see you, honestly.”

“Huh. And here I thought you might’ve forgotten all about me,” Rocco muttered under his breath after he turned towards where Marlene was calling for everyone’s attention.

“Never,” Taylor said in a loud and clear voice that probably nobody missed, even anyone randomly passing by Santa’s Workshop on the sidewalk.

Rocco did not roll his eyes. He was a grownup, wasn’t he?

A mature adult who did not throw hissy fits like a child, beating their fists against the nearest convenient surface when they didn’t get their way .

He watched as Marlene and Griff demonstrated how to fill the clear plastic globe with fake snow, and then miniature trees and buildings, finishing it off with glitter glue on the outside. There were also paint pens scattered on the tables, if they wanted to include a special message.

“Maybe I should paint my number on it,” Rocco muttered under his breath.

“Are you okay?” Rebecca asked, looking concerned.

“Oh, just fine,” Rocco said, just as Taylor also added, “He’s just fine.”

There was nothing worse than being told how you felt by a person who could not remotely have any idea.

Rocco decided this fake dating thing was actually worse than real dating. It had all the same potholes you could fall into, twisting your ankle or breaking your heart, without any of the associated benefits.

It was bad enough that he’d been thinking for the last two days what Taylor kissing him on his doorstep would’ve been like. It was terrible, heaped on top of complete shit, that apparently Taylor hadn’t been thinking of it at all .

“Oh good,” Rebecca said. “Hey, I’m gonna go ask Marlene something.”

She left, even grabbing her purse, which probably meant she was permanently relocating.

Rocco huffed under his breath. They were going to have to discuss how transparent her efforts were. He picked up an empty plastic globe and began to carefully trickle in the fake snow, twisting and turning the sphere to make sure it was arranged in pleasant-looking piles.

When he glanced up from his work, he realized Taylor had not started his ornament and he was just standing there, staring at Rocco.

“Seriously?” Rocco asked. “Do I have tomato sauce on my face or something?”

“Do you think you have tomato sauce on your face?” Taylor countered.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” Rocco set his partially filled ornament down. “You keep looking at me like I might.”

Taylor shrugged, pretending now and smiling easy, like he hadn’t just been staring like he wanted to catalog every nonexistent smear of tomato sauce along Rocco’s jaw.

“Well, that’s really helpful,” Rocco hissed under his breath. It sucked they were doing this here , in public, because he couldn’t even act mad. No, he had to look lovestruck.

Was it worse that he was actually, legitimately torn between berating him and gazing at the guy with heart eyes that didn’t feel all that fake?

“Listen, I’ve never done this before,” Taylor said. “And I’m shitty at dating, anyway, but fake dating? That’s a whole other thing.” He made a face. “I should’ve texted you, I know. I . . .well, if I’m being honest, I wanted to a little more than I felt comfortable with and that was weird. ”

Rocco felt that hard, anxious place inside him unwind a little. Like all it had needed to untangle was the right thread pulled, and Taylor’s words had done just that.

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, it is a little weird. Probably that I wanted you to, a little too much.”

“Should we—”

Rocco imagined that Taylor was going to suggest they quit this whole stupid charade, and maybe he was right, because it was weird, but he didn’t think Taylor would then suggest they date for real. The alternative was that they’d go back to being merely friendly acquaintances, and that was terrible. So Rocco interrupted him. “No,” he said firmly. “I had a regular come back today. And it’s a regular who I’m pretty sure is on the city council.”

“Oh yeah?” Taylor didn’t look disappointed by Rocco’s interruption. In fact, he looked relieved. Like he hadn’t even wanted to suggest it, either.

That soothed the rest of Rocco’s ruffled feathers.

“Yeah,” Rocco said with an emphatic nod. “I poured him the best goddamn pumpkin spice latte I’ve ever made. Maybe I even told him your inherent Christmas spirit inspired me.”

“Thanks,” Taylor said with genuine gratitude.

“I should . . .” Rocco didn’t want to come clean, but he should tell the truth. Taylor deserved the truth. “I should be honest about something.”

Taylor raised an eyebrow .

“My cousin?” Rocco continued. “The one who had the fake relationship and uh . . .I told you that it really helped? Well, it really helped. Better than either of them ever expected. They fell in love. They got together for real. They’re still together, for real.”

Taylor stared at him, and Rocco suddenly wished the floor would eat him up. Why had he brought this up? And here , of all places?

“You said it worked great,” Taylor said slowly.

“Well, it did ,” Rocco said. And then added hurriedly, “It sure got his mom off their backs. And if you ever meet Giana Moretti, you know that’s not an easy task. The rest of it was just . . .uh . . .coincidence. That doesn’t mean it’s going to happen with us.”

“You seem sure about that.” Taylor didn’t sound so sure himself—or that he liked it. That took Rocco’s ego down a peg. Maybe deservedly.

“You said you’re not looking for a relationship. Neither am I. That hasn’t changed. Sure, we had a great time the other night. But that doesn’t really change that.”

Taylor looked like he was five seconds away from goat cheese- ing out of this whole thing—the conversation, the Christmas ornament party, and maybe even their fake relationship—so Rocco forged ahead .

“Honestly, yes, maybe there’s a little attraction. On both our sides. But if we just acknowledge it, then that doesn’t mean it has to control us . We control it .”

Taylor looked dubious at this claim, and frankly even Rocco wasn’t that convinced. But the alternative was worse.

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” he finally said.

“Sure it is,” Rocco said breezily. “We just need to promise to be honest. And in worst-case scenarios, there’s always goat cheese .”

Taylor laughed then, long and loud, like it had been completely startled out of him.

“Right. Of course. That’s true. I didn’t think about that.” He paused. “Well . . .uh . . .maybe we should take advantage of the fact we’re both here and I’m pretty sure at least half the room is staring at us.” Taylor’s voice had dropped even more, and to make sure Rocco had heard him, he’d stepped closer, and now he was practically murmuring into his ear.

Rocco swayed closer, felt his side brush up against Taylor’s.

It was funny, how everything—the doubts, the anxieties, the worries—seemed to quiet when he was with Taylor.

“I’m good with that,” Rocco said. “I can be spontaneous.”

“Not me, but I can try,” Taylor said wryly.

“Hey, you’re doing pretty good so far,” Rocco said, even though he really wasn’t. He handed Taylor an empty snow globe. “Let’s make some ornaments. ”

“What am I supposed to do?” Taylor sent him a beseeching look. “I was too busy panicking that I fucked everything up, I didn’t really listen to Griff.”

“Panicking that you fucked everything up and staring at me like I had pizza smeared across my face,” Rocco corrected.

Taylor laughed. “Yeah, yeah, uh, that’s it.”

“You’re gonna fill your globe with snow,” Rocco instructed, shaking his own. “Then we’re going to make it look all cool.”

“That I can do. Or at least I can try.”

Rocco reached out and squeezed his forearm. Ignored how good it felt under his fingers. “You got this,” he promised.

They spent the next hour finishing their ornaments, Rocco carefully writing the year and Christmas Falls on his, so he’d never forget his first ornament since moving to town.

“I can’t wait to hang this on my tree. It’s full of all these incredibly generic ornaments,” Rocco said as he shook his snow globe and watched as the white flakes showered down over his buildings.

He’d attempted to construct a replica of Blitzen Street, with Jolly Java at the center.

“I love yours,” Taylor said earnestly. “That’s Jolly Java, in the middle, isn’t it?”

Rocco nodded. “At my parents’ restaurant, they had this old tree they put up every year, and it was full of ornaments they’d bought on trips, that I’d made in school, even ornaments our regulars brought us. It was full of memories. Looking at mine last night . . .it was just depressing.”

“At least you have a tree up. I keep meaning to get out to the farm—Bruce set a tree aside for me, as a favor—but I’ve been so busy at work. It feels like there’s always a hundred fires to put out during festival season.”

Rocco felt guilty, instantly. Here he’d been all upset that it had been days since their first “date” and Taylor hadn’t texted him or called, but of course he had big, important things he needed to take care of for his job.

Rocco might frame his job as important—after all, keeping people caffeinated was vital to the happiness of the town—but Taylor’s job helped keep the town actually running .

“Oh yeah.” Rocco felt so awkward. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I hope so. Have you heard about this Secret Santa?”

Rocco shook his head. “There’s a real-life Secret Santa in town? Who is it?”

“Nobody knows. That’s the problem. They’re doing a hell of a lot of good, already, but I’ve gotten probably a dozen phone calls about it and even more emails. Everyone wants to know if it’s something the town’s doing and I have to keep telling them no.”

“Let me guess, they don’t believe you.”

“ No . Not after the graffiti last year. They just think we’re pretending we’re not involved, but honestly, we’re just as much in the dark as everyone else. ”

“Well, if they’re doing good . . .” Rocco trailed off.

“They sure are, but ugh , it’s added some to my plate, that’s for sure.”

“What does the mayor think?”

“Oh, she loves it. Not surprisingly.” Taylor chuckled. “Between that and fitting in more of these events because Mona thought it would be helpful, it’s been crazy. But it has helped. I’ve definitely had an opportunity to talk to a few city council members.”

“That’s great, Taylor,” Rocco said, meaning it. “Did you finally meet your competitor?”

“Ugh, no . I keep missing him. Maybe that’s for the best.” Taylor made a face. “Maybe I’d say something I couldn’t take back. Something that isn’t very advisable. But I keep hearing stuff about Steve Mills. How he fronts about how much he cares about Christmas Falls, but then turns around and does some shit that proves he couldn’t possibly.”

“That sucks.” Rocco put a hand on Taylor’s back and told himself he didn’t enjoy how it felt—the way he tensed and then relaxed under his touch—and then let his fingers linger. Just because, damnit, he wanted to. “But we’re going to make sure you get this job.”

Taylor flushed, ducking his head a little. “You’re kind of the best,” he admitted in a low voice.

So low that nobody else probably heard him.

And Rocco realized, as he was walking home ten minutes later, that his comment hadn’t been for the public; it had been just for Rocco alone.