Page 35 of Flake It Til You Make It

So low that nobodyelse 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.

Chapter 6

Taylor wasn’t going tomake the mistake again.

The next morning, he sent Rocco a text.Some of us single folks are getting together for Thanksgiving at Rudolph’s. Potluck dinner. They’re providing the turkey and mashed potatoes and gravy. If you’re at a loose end, you’re free to come with me. Like a date. Or not, if you don’t want to call it that.

Rocco had texted back almost immediately.

That would be great. I was not looking forward to crashing Rebecca’s mom’s dinner.

If you have plans already . . .Taylor hoped that he’d say thatno, he really hadn’t wanted to go to Rebecca’smom’s dinner.

No. Please. You’re saving me. Really. Her mom doesn’t get that I’m really not interested in her younger sister.

Ouch. Taylor chuckled out loud, in spite of himself, leaning back in his chair and ignoring the part of his brain that kept screaming that this was exactly why he’d not texted Rocco after their date.

Because he’d enjoyed him way too much, and he couldn’tgoat cheeseout of this now.

But that didn’t change that it had been a little shitty tonotcall or text. He should’ve, just to make sure they were still on, and to confirm when their next date was.

LOL. Well, maybe she’ll believe you now. I’ll swing by Jolly Java and pick you up around 1ish.Taylor didn’t say it wasn’t a date, or that it was. Frankly at this point, they could get there together and leave together, and the whole town would naturally assume this was just another date.

Sounds good. It’s a potluck?

Yep. Any side dish.

What are you bringing?Rocco wanted to know.

That’s a really good question. Not sure yet. Maybe a salad. I can do a salad.Taylor was never going to be a great cook. Or even a passable one. But at least he could buy lettuce at the store and chop vegetables.

Hey, if we’re coming together, we could always bring just one dish—I’m going to makea big lasagna, and that should be good enough. Or you could always throw some bagged salad in a bowl?

How about both? And how about I help you?

Taylor didn’t know why he’d suggested it—okay,lie, he knew exactly why he’d suggested it. Because when Rocco had walked in last night, he’d realized just how miserable he’d been making himself bynottalking to him.

Rocco could be a friend. He could keep him in the friend zone . . . right?

And friends could make lasagna together.

You’d want to do that?

Of course. You’re not a burden to hang out with. The opposite, actually.

Maybe that was being a little too truthful, but after how upset Rocco had looked the other day, he wasn’t going to hide the way he felt.

Okay, hemostlywasn’t going to hide how he felt.

And if he could fit those feelings into a friendly, platonic-shaped box, that would be even better.

Ditto. Come over about eleven, then.

See you then.

Taylor tossed his phone onto his desk as the mayor walked in.

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