Page 44 of Flake It Til You Make It

“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 wearebecoming friends. And I shared whyI’mdoing 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 wasasking. 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, itstillhurt. 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 beenmomentary.

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. Maybetooused 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 whoyouare,” 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.”

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