Page 27 of Flake It Til You Make It

“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 theentiretyof 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 wasoutsidethe 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. Theworstpart 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 beenthathonest. 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 restaurantthey 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.

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