Page 10 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

“I’m being polite.”

“I can honestly say I’ve never noticed a woman’s elbows.”

“You should pay more attention,” I tease. “Elbows are sexy.”

He moves to try to see mine, but I swing them awkwardly behind my back. Now I’m pushing out my chest—not that it makes much of a difference for me. But at least he can’t see my un-sexy elbows.

“Someone shorter than you is a given, since you are a giant,” I go on, still standing like a frozen chicken.

He’s six-four and slender, which can make him seem even taller than he is.

He’s also remarkably silent.

“Come on, you have to give me something to work with.”

He levels me a flat look. “It’d be a shame if you had to give up the cause.”

“Younger? Older?” I gasp. “Are you a gray hair chaser? Should I look for available ladies at Grandpa’s retirement complex?”

That at least earns a laugh. “Might be inappropriate.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, waiting for him to throw me a crumb.

“I don’t really care about all that,” he finally says. “It’s a person’s heart I like.”

Aww. How is this man single?

“You’re seriously the best man there ever was. And I am going to find someone who’s absolutely perfect for you.”

His half-smile makes me think he doesn’t believe me, but I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to see him happily matched up for his awards ceremony, or my name isn’t Georgia Donnelly.

Chapter 4

Miles

Georgia ends her shift singing a made-up song about dates, magic, and galas. Honestly, it kind of blurs together. The sultry wink she gives me as she nudges the door with her hip to leave stays vivid in my mind, though.

I’m a lunatic for letting her set me up. An absolute madman. But telling her the truth feels crazier.

Eventually, I close up Dogeared for the night and head out. New ideas for my next book have been simmering all day, and I’d like to hunker down on my couch with my laptop and a marginally healthy dinner so I can let them loose. But tonight, I have other responsibilities, and head in the opposite direction from my apartment.

It’s still weird driving out to my mom’s house. You’d think I’d get used to the changes, but they never quite sit right. Every time I come out here, I turn into an old man complaining about how things aren’t what they used to be.Youths.

Ten years ago, my mom and aunt sold my grandparents’ acreage on the south end of Magnolia Ridge, where green, sprawling farms dominate the landscape. It was tough to give up the land they’d loved for so long, but withmy grandparents gone, we had to be realistic. None of the rest of us would ever farm it. I don’t have that gene, and my cousins in Houston certainly don’t either.

My mom and Aunt Cece each kept two acres for themselves and sold off the rest. We genuinely thought a rancher or a farmer would pick up the torch and keep the land just as it was. Maybe add a new barn.

Turns out we’d all been a little naive.

Today, that former farmland is Rivendell Acres, an upscale gated community featuring huge houses on tiny cement lots. Ironic that it’s named for one of the most beautiful and pristine lands in Middle Earth.

I have to be grateful for the development—the sale of the land provided for my mom and me, and aunt and cousins. I wouldn’t have been able to open Dogeared and dedicate myself to writing books without my share of the money.

But I’ve never seen anything uglier.

At Mom’s house, the old elm trees blot out the wall and the McMansions, and I can breathe again. Inside, I forget it all when the scent of baked peaches envelops me. It’s both deeply comforting and highly irritating.

“I thought you were going to wait for me.” I cross the living room into the kitchen where Mom is setting the golden-brown pie out to cool. I arrived right on time to catch her red-handed.

---