7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“When you said you had great seats, you weren’t kidding.”

Taylor glanced up and Rocco was standing there, a big grin on his face.

He was wearing that gorgeous peacoat again, with another luxurious-looking scarf—this time in green.

A knit cap of the same color was pulled down low over his head and his nose was already red from the cold.

Taylor felt his heart squeeze and then told himself to forget that feeling.

He didn’t need this. Rocco was going to be a friend, while also being a convenient means to an end.

An end they both wanted and needed.

“Yeah, it’s one of the perks of being the deputy mayor,” Taylor said. He gestured to the seat next to him.

The VIP grandstand was not large—and you couldn’t buy tickets, you could only be invited to sit up here, with its great view of the light parade, mid-route—but Taylor was one of the lucky few afforded tickets.

Technically he didn’t get a plus one, but he’d finagled an extra ticket out of Griff, who’d softened considerably since his grumpy days. “But only if it’s for Rocco,” Griff had said, making his own position on Taylor’s new relationship clear.

Frankly, he wasn’t alone. Everyone was thrilled they were together now.

Taylor had never had so many people come up to him on the street or at the grocery store or at all the festival events he’d been attending. It was annoying and also gratifying. It turned out that Mona might have been right: the thing that had been keeping him on the outskirts of the town’s acceptance had been his singleness.

“I’m going to get spoiled,” Rocco joked, leaning in and nudging Taylor with his shoulder. “And I’m gonna have to be honest with you. I like it. I like it here.”

“Yeah?” Taylor hadn’t even realized that he’d been worried Rocco ultimately wouldn’t until he’d laid that fear to rest.

“Do I love that the town got pissed at me? Not really, but I’m dealing. And it’s getting better, slowly but surely,” Rocco said. “Emerson Maxwell—you know, the writer who’s with Arlo?—stopped by three times this week. He’s writing a book at my coffee shop. You know how exciting that is?”

Taylor didn’t, but he was happy that Rocco was happy. “That’s pretty cool,” he said.

“And there’s been a few new regulars too. Guys new to town, like Nova, the new wedding planner? And a few others. I want people to feel like my place is part theirs, you know? That they’re welcome to come and hang out, meet up, and feel accepted.”

“Like at your parents’ restaurant, or your cousin Luca’s bakery?”

“Yeah, kinda. Two of my other cousins run food trucks in LA, and one of them is permanently parked at this lot with a bunch of other food trucks—but it’s so much more than just a place to grab something to eat. It’s a community gathering place, with music and parties and these big long tables everyone shares. That’s what I want too, someday.”

“You’re going to get there,” Taylor promised. “If anyone is capable of doing it, it’s you.”

Rocco’s dark eyes glowed. “You really think so?”

“There’s nothing that this town loves more than an inclusive vibe,” Taylor observed.

“Is that why this job is so important to you?” Rocco’s question was casual, but Taylor could feel its buried pointedness. He’d been trying to be vague, making only offhand comments about his history, but of course Rocco wouldn’t be placated or fooled by those. He’d want to know more .

“Yeah,” Taylor said. He knew he should say more, but he didn’t know where to start, or if he could start without unloading all his baggage. And surely Rocco didn’t want all of that. Taylor barely wanted to hold it all.

Rocco stared at him expectantly.

But then a cheer went up from the crowd, and in the distance, after Heath in his decorated car, at the position of honor as the grand marshal, Taylor could see the first float coming—traditionally, and there was nothing Christmas Falls loved more than tradition, it was always Santa—and this year was no exception. Santa’s sleigh and his reindeer appeared to float along the road, the edges picked out in strand after strand of lights, the rest of the vehicles dark to add to the illusion.

Taylor had seen a version of this parade probably two dozen times by this point, but the truth was it never got old. The thrill of the lights coming out of the darkness, each float elaborately lit and decorated, shining in the night, was something else.

He glanced over at Rocco and saw the beauty of it reflected in his eyes.

“This is . . . wow ,” Rocco breathed out.

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “Just wait til you see the rest of it. But I agree, Cal’s a highlight.”

“Cal?”

“Santa, obviously,” Taylor said, with a cute little shoulder nudge.

“He’s a great Santa,” Rocco agreed .

“We’re lucky to have him. He’s been doing this a long time.”

Following Santa was the band and the color guard, their uniforms covered in brightly colored lights, the flags of the guard rippling with light and color as they spun them. The band played “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” heavy on the horns and the drums, the sound echoing through the whole town, and Taylor’s heart throbbed with the beautiful nostalgia of it all.

He’d do anything to protect it. Anything .

Steve Mills might come in and want to make it more commercial. He’d cloak it in bigger and better but in the end, all it would mean was change.

Not all change was bad or destructive, but Taylor knew that this didn’t need altered, not in any way.

“This is incredible,” Rocco said, his voice full of wonder, the same feeling Taylor experienced every time he watched this.

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed.

Rocco turned towards him and shot him a determined look. “This is what you want, this feeling, this is why you want that job.”

“Partially, yeah,” Taylor said. It was more complicated than that, but essentially, Rocco had nailed it.

“It’s special. Special enough to need protecting. Special enough that I get why you’re so determined,” Rocco said.

It helped that Rocco understood it; but then, why wouldn’t he? He was trying to build something like this. Without the fancy lights and the brass section, but the same kind of feeling .

That warm, cozy, protective, protected feeling.

If a town could wrap you up in a soft blanket, it would be Christmas Falls.

Rocco wanted the same feeling when you walked into Jolly Java as when you strolled through downtown Christmas Falls.

“I’m glad you see it,” Taylor said, meaning it.

Not even flinching when Rocco reached over and took one of Taylor’s gloved hands in his own, squeezing it. Maybe it was for the crowd around them but maybe it was also just for them.

If Taylor was better at lying to himself, he’d have claimed their dovetailing motives were why he’d agreed to this crazy fake dating plan in the first place. But the truth was more complicated. Yes, Rocco was ultimately good for the town, the same as Taylor was trying to be, but he was attracted, too. And not just to Rocco’s undeniably gorgeous exterior, but to the whole goddamned package. His sly humor, his kindness, his creativity, his clear intelligence.

It had been a long time since Taylor had felt this kinship with someone. If he ever had. Michael had never understood Taylor’s obsession with Christmas Falls. The one winter he’d brought him, he’d liked it, sure, but he hadn’t felt the same.

It hadn’t grabbed him by the heart and wouldn’t let go.

At the time, Taylor had told himself it was because Michael didn’t have the same history with the town he did. But it was more than that too.

Because Rocco didn’t either, but he got it.

“You get it,” Taylor said in a low voice, ducking his head so only Rocco could hear him over the echoes of the band.

“Yeah,” Rocco said, eyes shining as they met Taylor’s.

There was a part of him that was screaming goat cheese, goat cheese, goat cheese, but he pushed it away.

He didn’t need that. Not tonight.

Tonight was perfect.

At least tonight was perfect, until after the last lights of the parade had disappeared, Rocco had sighed happily, said he wanted hot cider and didn’t Taylor want some, too?

Taylor hadn’t wanted to let the guy out of his sight—arguing with himself that if this was real, he certainly wouldn’t, anyway—and so he’d walked with Rocco back to Jolly Java.

The inside was wreathed in holly, the windows edged in faux ice and snow, the doorbell tinkling above as Rocco unlocked the door and let him in.

It was still perfect, Taylor decided, lulled into complacency as Rocco heated up cider and poured it into two heavy white mugs.

“Here,” he said, handing Taylor one of them and then leaning against the counter. “So are you going to tell me what else is going on? ”

His question was still casual, but there was that steel edge in his eyes. A look that might not be demanding answers but asking very nicely to provide them.

“I . . .I’m not sure what you mean,” Taylor stuttered, fingers clenching around his mug.

Rocco shot him a look. “I know we’re not really dating, but we are becoming friends. And I shared why I’m doing this, but you didn’t. You sort of did, but I know there’s more you’re not telling me. You wouldn’t be so afraid of Steve Mills if there wasn’t.”

“I don’t like the crap Steve Mills is going around saying,” Taylor argued. “Mona doesn’t either.”

“You didn’t even grow up here, right? So what gives, Taylor?” Rocco’s voice was still smooth, still charming, but there was that undeniable will running through it, too.

“I used to come here with my parents,” Taylor said. That was the rote answer he gave everyone. But didn’t Rocco deserve more? He’s not going to want all that baggage , that voice inside him insisted. It’s yours. Not his. But Rocco was asking . He wanted to know. Most everyone else took his story at its face value, but not Rocco. “Every year,” he added. Then kept going. “Even the year my mom died, we came here.”

Rocco’s eyes softened. “How old were you when she passed?”

“Fifteen. She had an undiagnosed brain aneurysm. One minute she was here, and the next she was gone.” Taylor gulped a big mouthful of cider. It helped clear the lump in his throat. Even seventeen years later, it still invariably appeared whenever he had to talk about her. And why shouldn’t it? Just because that agonizing burn of grief had died out, it still hurt. He still missed her, every day.

He wondered, all the time, if she’d be proud of him. Proud of the choices he’d made, the life he was living.

His dad was, sure, but he’d always been more straightforwardly accepting. But Teresa Hall had always held him to a higher standard. Reminded him, always, that he was capable of anything he set his mind to so he shouldn’t ever set the bar too low.

“Oh God, Taylor,” Rocco said unsteadily, and a second later, he had his arms full of warm Italian man, hugging him tightly.

Rocco didn’t let go quickly, and Taylor realized he didn’t want to, either. The lump was still there, in the back of his throat, but with Rocco holding him, he could live with it a little better.

Michael had been the same, a momentary respite from his grief—still fresh, even years later, as he’d tried navigating being an adult without her—but the key part of that phrase had been momentary.

He hadn’t stayed.

When it had come down to it, the only person Taylor could rely on was Taylor himself. He’d gotten used to that. Maybe too used to that .

He gradually disentangled himself, even though deep down, he didn’t want to.

“I’m so sorry,” Rocco said softly. His big dark eyes were full of empathy. Normally, Taylor would hate that; it was why he didn’t share this story publicly. Not really, anyway. A few people, like Mona, knew because they’d been around when Teresa Hall had come to Christmas Falls every year with her family, and a few others knew because they’d gotten close enough to Taylor that they’d deserved to know the truth.

Rocco Moretti hadn’t fallen into either of those categories, and Taylor had still told him.

“It’s . . .it’s been a long time,” Taylor said. He was still bad at accepting condolences, despite how many of them he’d been given. “But yeah, that’s why I want this job. I loved— love— this place, partly because of her, but also . . .” He trailed off.

“Partly because of who you are,” Rocco finished for him.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Rocco said softly. He was still staring at Taylor like he was seeing him for the first time. Like this knowledge fundamentally altered the filter he saw Taylor through. Every other time, he’d have hated that. But he was just curious what was different, now.

“I should’ve before, but I don’t talk about it much,” Taylor admitted.

“And your dad is back in Chicago?” Rocco said casually .

“Yeah, he moved to this new retirement community two years ago. Likes it there. Lots of friends. It’s a good place. I think he’s happy there.”

“That why he doesn’t come out here for the holidays?” Of course that was where Rocco had been going with this.

“I . . .I guess. Yeah.” It wasn’t like his dad hadn’t ever come out to Christmas Falls, once he’d moved here. But he always had such a full schedule with the festival and his dad’s calendar always seemed busy enough, when they talked on the phone.

In some ways they were too alike. Burying themselves in work.

In distractions.

Maybe it had become a habit, for both of them.

“Huh, well, I get it. I didn’t want to drag my family away from each other at the holidays so . . .I’m on my own too, now.” Rocco shot him a bit of a melancholy smile. “It’s not so easy getting used to it.”

“No,” Taylor agreed. There was a part of him that wanted to say he’d never get used to his mom being gone, but then he didn’t need to say that for Rocco to understand it.

Rocco’s smile softened. “Thank you for telling me. I know you don’t like to talk about it. You didn’t need to say it, for me to understand that.”

“You should know why we’re doing this whole thing,” Taylor said.

“I knew before but yeah, I understand it a little better now. And after being part of the festival, that’s helped some too.”

“I was thinking, tonight, that we don’t want such different things,” Taylor said.

“Yeah?” Rocco’s dark eyes widened and he swayed closer, and for a second, Taylor was confused and also completely utterly thrilled. Rocco was going to kiss him. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t be mad about it, even though it was probably the last thing they should be doing.

This thing between them was already complicated enough without adding kissing to the equation.

But Rocco must have seen the confusion on his face, because he pulled back. “You didn’t mean romantically, did you,” he stated, rather than asked. The openness on his face shuttered.

“Uh, no. Um. Professionally. We both want Christmas Falls to be the most welcoming, the warmest, the uh . . .best version of itself. You with your coffee shop. Me with the town as a whole.”

“Oh.” Rocco laughed, a little bitterly, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I feel kind of stupid now. Yes, of course we do. That makes sense.”

“Sorry,” Taylor said. Meaning it.

“No, no,” Rocco insisted, brushing his apology away with a quick hand movement. “It was . . .it would be foolish. Complicated.”

“If it makes you feel better, I wasn’t about to goat cheese out of it, even if I probably should have.” Taylor shouldn’t have said it, probably, because even though they’d admitted to a mutual attraction, this was him saying he wouldn’t stop Rocco if he did attempt to alter this fake relationship to make it a little more real.

Rocco winced. “I . . .I shouldn’t have, regardless. We talked about it. We’re on the same page.”

“Rocco,” Taylor said, hating that he felt guilty, that he felt bad. That was the very last thing he wanted. He reached out and took Rocco’s hand and squeezed it. “I consider you a friend. I wouldn’t have told you about my mom if I didn’t. We have that, and it’s not nothing.”

“No, it’s not,” Rocco agreed. But there was still a melancholy tinge to his eyes before he pushed it away and it disappeared before Taylor could ask about it. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

Taylor finished his cider and set the empty mug down on the counter. “I should get going.”

“When are we meeting up next?” Rocco wondered casually.

Yeah , I want to see you again, too. Goat cheese be damned.

“Tomorrow night? There’s a pretty cool ice carving demonstration. And then we could take a lap or two around the rink? I don’t think you’ve been down there yet.”

Rocco shook his head. “We could do that,” he said.

“Alright, I’ll meet you at the carving demonstration?”

“Yeah, that works for me,” Rocco said.

But Taylor still hesitated, even though he knew he should go. Definitely before he changed his mind—changed his whole freaking paradigm—and told Rocco he’d changed his mind. That he wanted him, even if it was a bad idea, even if it was complicated.

“I . . .”

Rocco raised an eyebrow. Taylor was mostly getting used to the visual impact of him, but every once in a while it hit him viscerally just how handsome he was. How he’d have seen him walking down the street and done a double take. How he’d walked into Jolly Java to meet him for the first time and felt his tongue grow thick and uncooperative at the sight of him.

Kind of like now, actually.

“We’re okay, right?” Taylor finally said.

Rocco nodded. “Of course. We’re friends. That makes sense.”

But as Taylor agreed, giving Rocco one last—very quick—hug on his way out of Jolly Java, he thought that maybe friends did make sense. The most sense.

But the heart wasn’t always logical.