8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

They’d been on several “dates” by the time Saturday night rolled around, but as he and Taylor walked towards Sugar Plum Park, Rocco’s gloved hand tucked into Taylor’s, it felt like this one was a big one, a Date with a capital D.

It seemed like most of the town was swarming around downtown, despite the snow that had fallen last night and into the morning, coating everything in a sparkling layer of pristine white. And many of them seemed to be out in pairs, holding hands the way he and Taylor were doing, gazing up at each other with the joy of the season and the joy of simply being together written all over their faces.

That is not you. You’re just pretending.

But it didn’t feel that way .

Rocco could at least admit that now. Especially after Taylor had finally let him in a little, let him see him , and why this job he wanted was so important to him.

Even though he’d done his regular routine this Saturday morning—pouring coffee and making lattes and cappuccinos and espressos, warming up cinnamon buns and scones, packing up to-go orders of breakfast sandwiches—his mind had been on Taylor’s confession. Even Rebecca had mentioned how distracted he seemed, and he had been.

She’d assumed it was because of the growing regularity of customers coming in their door, but it was more than that.

Rocco had been pretty sure that after this was over, after they both had what they wanted, they could gradually shift down into a more casual friendship and he would be fine with it.

Maybe they could even have one last hurrah in bed, ending their fake relationship with a bang.

But now he wasn’t so sure.

“Seems busy out here tonight,” he said, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between the two of them as they walked towards the park where the ice carving demonstration was being held. Next door was the temporary ice rink that was set up for the duration of festival season, and that according to Taylor, was where they needed to be seen on a Saturday night.

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “But I’m not surprised. Carl’s always a big draw.”

“He’s the ice carver? ”

“Yeah, but I guess he and Murphy have been working together this year, and they’re going to do a piece together. Might be why there’s even more of a crowd than normal. Murphy kind of hates it, but he’s incredibly popular here.”

“I’d love one of his gnomes,” Rocco agreed, nodding.

“Good luck with that,” Taylor said wryly. “He’s got a waiting list about a hundred miles long. I only got one for my dad last year.”

Rocco nearly asked then why is your dad not here? But he’d already pushed Taylor hard enough on his history and his family situation. He knew Taylor hadn’t wanted to tell him about his mom, and he understood why. Taylor presented a smooth, in-control front, professional and easygoing. But there was so much more to him—such a big heart and so much commitment and loyalty, buried deep underneath. And even deeper still, a secret, carefully hidden pool of old pain.

“Well, good thing I’m not planning on going anywhere then. Maybe in ten years I’ll get one,” Rocco said, shooting Taylor a grin and squeezing his hand hard. Ignoring how his own heart squeezed back.

What would it feel like if they were really on a date tonight? If this wasn’t all just a front? If he had hope that in a year, in two years, in ten years, they’d still be walking hand in hand toward the entrance of Sugar Plum Park ?

If tonight, Taylor didn’t drop him off at the front door of Jolly Java, but came upstairs and they made their own heat in his big bed with its fluffy ivory comforter?

For a second, he lost himself in the vision, but then Rocco shook his head clear.

He didn’t need these kind of distractions. Taylor being honest with him about his motivations had only made him more determined that he’d make sure he got this job. He not only deserved it, but he and the town needed each other. Rocco could see that now.

“Here we are,” Taylor said, guiding them towards a good spot, near a stand of trees, a good ways back from the stage that had been set up with two huge, pristine blocks of ice. Rocco could recognize Murphy now, from his broad shoulders and distinctive red-and-green plaid jacket, talking to another man and his new fiancé, Jem Knight.

“We can get closer, if you’d like, but I think this spot gives the best view,” Taylor added, glancing over at Rocco.

“No, no, this is perfect.”

It was even more perfect when Taylor arranged himself behind Rocco, casually wrapping a hand around his waist and pulling him against his firm, warm body.

“You good?” he asked, dipping his head low.

Rocco guessed Taylor was worried that he’d goat cheese out of this particular snuggly arrangement, but at this point, he didn’t think there was a single scenario in which those words were going to cross his lips.

Whatever Taylor was willing to give him, he’d take, gratefully.

“No, I’m good.” More than good . He gestured towards the stage. “You hear about the engagement?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Hear about it?” Taylor was smiling, Rocco could hear it in his voice. “I feel like that’s all anyone’s wanted to talk about since Thanksgiving. But I’m surprised you’ve heard about it.”

“Oh, well, Marlene came in for a late afternoon pick-me-up, right before we closed.”

It felt good that he could say that.

Rocco had been pleased, because she was one of the first who’d come back, for her pumpkin spice latte, and she’d returned half a dozen times now. Doubly pleased, because she’d stood there with him, as she sipped her coffee, and inducted him truly into Christmas Falls by giving him all the good gossip.

And the biggest gossip was that last weekend, at the pie bakeoff, Jem had gone down on one knee and proposed to Murphy. Murphy, who’d had his own engagement surprise planned.

“Part of the Christmas Falls gossip circle now?” Taylor teased. “You must be thrilled.”

It had felt damn good, that was for sure. Maybe not as good as the way Taylor felt behind him, his warm body encircling his.

“I am. It’s really beginning to turn around. ”

“I’m so glad for you,” Taylor said, and it sounded like he meant every single word.

“Oh look, there’s that movie star guy.” Rocco gestured towards a spot in the middle of the crowd where the mayor was standing with Griff and Heath Kelly.

“I think Mona may never get over her disappointment that I ended up with you instead of him,” Taylor said with a chuckle.

Rocco rolled his eyes. Not feeling jealous at all. Nope. No way. Morettis didn’t get jealous. They were the ones who made everyone else jealous.

“But I’m not disappointed,” Taylor said in a low voice, and Rocco swore his lips brushed his neck, and he had to restrain his resulting shiver. Or maybe he’d just imagined it. Wanted it so badly that he’d hoped it into existence.

“Good.” Rocco could hear the smugness in his voice and decided that if Taylor heard it too that it didn’t matter. He’d hardly made his attraction and affection secret.

But before he could point out that Heath Kelly wasn’t all that handsome or that good of an actor— really, you’re not so hot yourself, Moretti— Rocco could feel Taylor tense and then force himself to relax.

A second later, he was letting go of Rocco and coming to stand next to him. Rocco swallowed his disappointment and tried to figure out what had caused the change.

It was coming towards them now. A tall man, not quite as tall as Taylor, walking with purpose in their direction, blond hair, with maybe a touch of gray at the temples, and a complexion that said he definitely didn’t usually spend winters in Christmas Falls. He was wearing a designer quilted jacket and a politician’s smile, all empty charm.

“Hello, you must be Taylor Hall,” he said, extending his hand. “Steve Mills. I’m glad we’ve finally met.”

Ah. This was the guy who was Taylor’s competition for the city manager job.

Rocco leaned closer, letting his whole side plaster against Taylor’s, and this time it was his arm wrapping around Taylor’s waist.

After they shook, Steve glanced over at Rocco and Rocco stuck out his chin and his hand. “Rocco Moretti. I own Jolly Java,” he said firmly.

He had a weak handshake. Rocco hoped it was only one of many chinks in this guy’s armor.

“Ah, the coffee shop. Looks charming.”

But Rocco knew this guy had never been through its doors, and even though plenty had shunned him at the height of the pumpkin spice debacle, he took Steve Mills’ absence more personally.

He wanted to run this town, he needed to understand it , and there was no way he could, or that he loved it even a fraction as much as Taylor did.

Taylor had made it a point to come by, and he didn’t even drink coffee .

“Thanks,” Rocco said dryly.

“I’m glad I ran into you, because I wanted to tell you what a great job you’ve done as deputy mayor. Everyone talks about what a great assistant you’ve been to Mayor Grayson.”

Rocco wanted to roll his eyes. How did this guy make great job sound like the opposite? And relegating Taylor to an assistant to the mayor when the truth was he was a power in his own right?

But he didn’t. Taylor’s face was implacable, blank, and he just nodded. Rocco wasn’t going to embarrass him, even if he wanted to tell this guy where he could put his backhanded compliments.

“Thank you,” Taylor said stiffly.

“You do invaluable work behind the scenes,” Steve said, and the insinuation was not even veiled any more. Taylor should keep the deputy job and continue to do all the work, unacknowledged while Steve got the public-facing job and took all the credit.

“He does more than that,” Rocco said. He kept his voice smooth and even, but his point was clear.

“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.

To the point of Rocco wondering, even if we’re not actually dating, would you still take me ice skating, to give you the excuse to hold on to me and not let go?

“That might possibly be occurring,” Rocco said, trying to keep a straight face.

But Taylor smiled. “Good.”

They made two more rounds of the rink, and then Rocco tugged his arm. “Hot chocolate,” he insisted, and Taylor led him off the rink, stopping to untie and return their skates before heading towards the refreshment stand.

And who else should they spot there but Steve Mills and Mrs. Gucci Boots?

“Oh, look at how cute you two are,” she cooed as they approached the line to grab cocoa. “You actually went ice skating!”

“That is what people do at a rink,” Rocco said dryly.

“Right, and oh, he’s funny too,” Mrs. Gucci Boots said with an annoyingly high-pitched giggle.

“It’s why I like him,” Taylor said, putting an arm around Rocco’s waist and firmly tugging him closer. “One of many reasons. You ever tried his marzipan latte?”

“What’s that?” she asked .

Steve turned away from the tourist he’d no doubt been attempting to charm and said, “Oh, honey, that’s some weird foreign thing. You wouldn’t want that.”

Rocco stiffened. Wondered if they also thought of him as ‘some weird foreign thing’ even though his family had been citizens for four generations.

“There’s plenty of that here,” Taylor said firmly, quietly. “So better get used to it.”

“Not when I grew up here, there wasn’t.” Steve’s tone was still friendly, but casual, but Rocco knew neither he nor Taylor were particularly happy.

Rocco wasn’t particularly familiar with this town yet, he’d only been here a few months, but he had a feeling Steve didn’t really remember what Christmas Falls had been like, because for a town that celebrated nostalgia, it also embraced so many different kinds of people and traditions. And that didn’t seem like a particularly new thing.

“We’ll have to agree to disagree,” Taylor finally said politely.

“Steve,” Mrs. Gucci Boots whined, “I see Heath over there. Let’s go over and chat.”

He gave his wife an indulgent smile, sent a frostier one in Taylor and Rocco’s direction, and thank God, they were gone.

“That freaking guy,” Taylor muttered after he’d grabbed them two paper cups of hot chocolate. Rocco took one and sipped, not even minding the weak flavor because he was too preoccupied with how upset Taylor was .

“He’s shitty, for sure,” Rocco agreed. “But punching him in the face isn’t going to get you the job you want, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” Taylor grumbled. He glanced over at Rocco. “It’s getting late. I know you get up early . . .”

“We can head back,” Rocco said, hiding his disappointment that the evening had ended on such a low note. He took another long drink of his hot chocolate as they headed out of Sugar Plum Park.

Taylor didn’t say anything as they walked down Candy Cane Lane. Stewing, Rocco assumed, in silence. He needed to do something to drag Taylor out of this angst. Because angsting about it wasn’t going to change anything, and what he was doing, getting out into the town and showing them who Taylor Hall really was, was actually giving him the best chance to get the job.

A stray snowflake dropped down to his cheek, and Rocco brushed it away. But it gave him the idea. On the next block, he tossed his empty paper cup into the trash and then leaned down, gathering a handful of snow in his gloved hand and before he could think better of it, tossed it right at Taylor.

It glanced off his shoulder, spraying snow into his face, and his jaw dropped.

“What? Are you serious?” Taylor gasped.

Rocco laughed, the sound startled out of him by the shock on Taylor’s face.

Taylor couldn’t believe Rocco had just thrown a snowball at him and then laughed about it. But then, maybe he could. Because the look on his face was all playful heat.

Hot enough to melt whatever snow Taylor might toss his way.

Leaning down, he grabbed a handful of the softest snow and a second later, Rocco was still laughing but spluttering too as he wiped his face off.

“Oh, baby, it’s on now,” he called out and Taylor wasn’t stupid. He ran, ducking back into the coverage of some of the trees on the edge of the park, Rocco right on his heels, pelting snowballs at his back. He chanced looking back and got a mouthful of snow that he hoped was at least clean-ish. Scooped up some more and hopefully gave back as good as he got.

But right after he did, Rocco shocked another breathless laugh right out of him by tackling him right to the ground, their landing softened by a snow drift.

Rocco was strong, but Taylor wasn’t a slouch, and he turned them, flipping Rocco, and then letting Rocco wrestle himself back on top.

Taylor froze as Rocco leaned down, laughter spilling out of his mouth and mischief glowing in his eyes. He’d lost his hat somewhere, and his curls were messed up.

You could mess them up even further .

God, he wanted to.

Pulling together all his strength, he turned them again, and before he could think—or overthink—he tucked Rocco into the snowbank and kissed him.

The desire to do it was a fire in his blood, but doing it once, their lips finally meeting, didn’t do anything to extinguish the need.

Instead, it flared hot and sweet between them, Rocco groaning as he pushed up into the kiss, his hands on Taylor’s back, trying to pull him in closer.

He’d imagined it might be good. After all, they were young and attracted, and it had been awhile for both of them—a long while for Taylor, though he was under no delusions that Rocco’s dry spell equaled his own.

Not when Rocco looked like he did.

He’d have a long list of men panting after him, and Taylor was just one in that line, but then, who was kissing him now? Kissing him so good that Rocco was making these hot, little desperate noises in the back of his throat.

But the kiss was so much better than anything his weak imagination could conjure up.

Taylor’s fingers delved into his hair, deepening the kiss, his tongue brushing Rocco’s, and he swore he heard his brain functions ticking off one after one .

Before this moment, he’d wanted exactly this, but he’d known it wasn’t a very good idea. But now it only seemed like the best goddamned idea he’d ever had.

Rocco rolled them back, and the rest of the blood in Taylor’s brain evacuated, heading down south, as he lay that perfect, compact, surprisingly strong body on top of his own. Sure, there were what felt like dozens of layers between them—coats and sweaters and jeans—but Taylor felt flayed naked.

Naked .

Oh yeah. That was what he wanted. To be naked and to gaze up, worshipping Rocco’s no doubt gorgeously naked form above him.

He didn’t thrust his hard cock against Rocco’s ass, but it was a near thing.

He wanted . . .he wanted so goddamn badly, but it wasn’t just the pulse of insistent desire that pulled him out of his fog and off Rocco’s mouth, but the way the ice around his heart was undeniably melting.

Taylor wrenched his mouth off Rocco’s, and a second later, Rocco slid off him and shot him a look that said a thousand things.

Why did you do that?

Did you know it would feel like that?

How are we not going to do that again?

Do you want to do that again ?

It occurred to Taylor, then, that not only had he kissed him when he’d said he wouldn’t, when they’d discussed not complicating their faux relationship this way, despite their attraction, that he’d not once been tempted to say goat cheese .

Shit.

“What the heck was that?” Rocco asked.

That underlying frustration in his voice might exist because Taylor had kissed him even though they’d established they wouldn’t. Or it might be because he’d stopped and he wanted to keep going.

Yes. That. Lean over. Kiss him again. Let it carry you both away.

But Taylor pulled himself together.

“What was that ?” he retorted, tossing a little bit of snow in Rocco’s direction.

“I was just trying to pull you out of your head,” Rocco said.

He heard what Rocco wasn’t saying. I wasn’t the one who kissed you.

“I . . .I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Taylor lifted himself to his feet and held out a hand to help Rocco up.

Rocco shot it a vaguely suspicious look, but took it eventually, brushing off his jeans when he stood.

And yeah , the snow hadn’t affected Rocco’s situation below the belt either.

Taylor didn’t know whether he should be flattered or horrified .

“You should have stopped me,” he said, because apparently his brain-to-mouth filter was dead, gone, buried, truly burnt to a crisp by the heat in Rocco’s lips.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Rocco muttered.

“I should have stopped myself,” Taylor said, apologetically.

“That was just you getting carried away by the . . .uh . . .holiday spirit then,” Rocco said, and Taylor could acknowledge that the careful edge in Rocco’s tone was both deserved and also absolutely terrible.

He’d done this. Taken way more than he’d ever intended to, and possibly ruined this good thing between them.

“Uh, sure,” Taylor said. “That sounds reasonable.”

He didn’t want to tell Rocco about Michael. He’d already told him about his mom, yes, but Michael was different. Michael was humiliating, a cautionary tale that anyone with even a brain cell of common sense would have seen coming a mile away. Rocco never would’ve gotten ensnared and then dropped by Michael. He’d have seen right through him. Unlike Taylor, who’d really believed that, with him, things would be different.

Spoiler alert: not only had they not been different, they’d actually been worse. Taylor’s mom hadn’t wanted to leave him—she’d wanted to live, fiercely, not just for her own future, but for Taylor’s.

Michael hadn’t given a shit about Taylor or his future .

He wasn’t ever going to be hurt like that again. Not even if he was sure Rocco wouldn’t treat him the same.

“It’s alright,” Rocco said. “I get it. We did get carried away. It was probably inevitable, and honestly, it’s fine.”

But Taylor wasn’t sure it was fine. Maybe he should say something about Michael. Not the whole embarrassing story, but enough of it that Rocco understood.

“I . . .I’m not in a place to have a relationship right now. A . . .uh . . . real relationship,” he clarified. “At least for now, I have to put my career first. This town first. I didn’t always, and I almost fucked it all up. I can’t do that again. Can’t take that risk.”

He heard what he was really saying and was desperately hoping that Rocco didn’t hear it, too.

I’m afraid.

Rocco’s gaze narrowed. “But you can fake it for your career, huh?”

Taylor didn’t want to bring up that this whole ridiculous scheme had been Rocco’s idea. Rocco had ensnared both of them in it. Yes, Taylor had agreed, but . . .well. He could have stopped it at any time. He could have touched Rocco less. Could have distanced himself when he felt they were growing too close. Definitely not kissed him just because he wanted to so goddamn bad he didn’t think he could resist one second longer.

“Yeah,” Taylor said quietly. “And that’s kind of shitty, isn’t it? For both of us. ”

Rocco sighed and gave Taylor a soft smile. “Yeah. Maybe. It hasn’t been easy for me either. Sometimes I think maybe we should just call it off, but then I see how it’s working. How Marlene came in twice this week. How I have a guy writing a book in my coffee shop, like I’m helping him do that, even a little bit, and that’s amazing. And that Steve guy? A complete asshole. You can’t let him get that job, Taylor. You just can’t.”

“I know,” Taylor said. He also knew if he was around Rocco, he’d want to kiss him again. That much was a guarantee.

And there was a part of him, tiny and buried, a hard kernel of desperation that hoped Rocco felt the same way.

“Maybe we should just . . .I don’t know . . .take a little bit of space. Not see each other for a few days. Get some perspective.” Rocco didn’t quite look him in the eye when he said it, but that was okay. This was hard. Taylor was certainly struggling with it.

Hard enough he’d been sure Rocco would say, no, it’s all over , and Taylor had been so sure he’d agree. But he hadn’t, and Taylor discovered he didn’t have the fortitude to force the issue.

It was working.

It’s more than that, an annoying voice in his head reminded him. You don’t want to give him up.

But he would.

He’d have to, eventually.

Someday, they’d have to shift things back into a friends-only zone. In public and in private .

“Yeah,” Taylor agreed. “We could do that. We . . .uh . . .pretty much convinced everyone we were dating, so I don’t see why we can’t take a few days off.”

“Yeah,” Rocco said wryly, “we were real convincing.”

Taylor could only laugh then. “I guess we were.”

“Full points for authenticity. Ten out of ten. No notes.” Rocco was smiling again, and he looked him right in the eye when he said it. Taylor let out the breath he’d been holding.

“And neither of us even thought goat cheese.”

“Hey, I could have.”

But they both knew he hadn’t. Taylor shouldn’t make him admit it, but there was a part of him, deep down and buried, that wanted to hear the truth.

That Rocco hadn’t been tempted to say it either.

“Did you, really?”

Rocco sighed and smacked Taylor in the arm. “Damn you, no . I would say we could just hook up and call it good, but I know how that would turn out.”

He didn’t need to say it would be only a slippery slope to more , because Taylor already knew it was true.

Someday, you’re gonna want it more than you’re afraid.

Someday.

“Well, at least we’re on equal footing,” Taylor said.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Rocco wondered.

Taylor didn’t know. But it didn’t make him feel better, either.