Page 40 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

He does sometimes when his eyes need a break from his contacts or after he’s had a migraine. His black plastic frames are a rare sight, and it’s throwing me completely off. There’s something about him in his glasses that conjures up images of him relaxing at home after a long day, totally at ease and himself. Like the Miles Forrester equivalent of gray sweatpants.

No. I should not picture Miles in gray sweatpants and glasses. But I definitely already am.

He turns and catches me ogling him. His eyebrows hitch up in a silentWhat?but I obviously can’t tell him I’m thinking about him hanging out in his apartment in sweatpants and an old, soft T-shirt, glasses on, hair a mess, while we read together on his couch, my legs crossed over his.

The cozy image fills my stomach with merciless butterflies.

His eyebrows dart higher, reminding me I’m still ogling. While making direct eye contact, which is the creepiest form of ogling. I shake it off and go back to rearranging Dogeared’s seating to accommodate our book club.

We host a couple of groups each week, everything from mystery to self-help to fantasy. Miles participates in the science fiction group, but I guarantee Owen is the only one who knows he’s actuallywrittensci-fi books. His humility drives me crazy. Sometimes I want to barge into the group and shout his praise, yelling at everyone to buy his books and stand in awe of his fantastic mind. Or else.

I’ve resisted the temptation, but we’re on a ticking clock. One day, I will explode.

The chime over the door rings, but it’s not one of the book club members. Ava and Willa walk in. Well, Ava walks. Willa does more of a ballet move across the floor. She’s wearing a sparkly tutu, and she’s got something bright purple in her hands as she dances over to me.

She shoves a purple thing my way. “You’re coming to my birthday party, right Georgia?”

I take the invitation from her. It looks like she wrote it herself on construction paper, which I adore. It’s going in my special drawer of random cute stuff the littles have given me. “Of course, munchkin.”

Ava smiles over us from the doorway. “I told her you wouldn’t miss it, but she insisted you get an official invitation.”

Willa dances her way to Miles and holds a second purple paper out to him. “Will you come, too?”

He stares down at her, seeming genuinely surprised to be included. He is too adorable for words.

“You want me at your party?”

Her head bobs in a vigorous nod. “But you can’t do the piñata. Mama says that’s just for kids, and you’re an adult.”

“Do I get to do the piñata?” I ask. Ava finds the most elaborate ones I’ve ever seen. Finn’s was the Millennium Falcon last year. And while I would never steal the glory of breaking open the piñata, I’m not above indulging in the delicious treats hidden inside.

Willa laughs. “Of course, silly. You’re a kid like me.”

I smirk at Miles. “I’m still a kid.”

“But you can’t do the dress up party because you’re too big for the dresses.”

Kind of takes the wind out of my sails.

“Do I get to do the dress up?” Miles asks.

Willa bursts out laughing. “No way.”

“No piñata and no dress up, I see.” He glances my way, clearly asking for permission.

Doesn’t he know he always has it? The littles adore him. I smile back, telegraphing myyes.

“It will be an honor to celebrate your birthday.” He gives a little bow, which sends Willa into fresh delight.

Ava rounds her up, and they say their goodbyes, leaving right as Harper and her sister Eliza walk inside.

Most of the rest of the group wanders in for the evening meeting. Participation fluctuates, but we’ve got a good mix of women roughly my age, and older women like Miles’s mom and aunt Cece. We’ve even got a man in our group. The combination always makes for interesting conversation about the books…assuming we get around to that.

Bailey walks in with a covered tray. She’s one of Dogeared’s more voracious regulars and claims the paperbacks she buys are “trophies” of her favorite books she’s devoured on her e-reader.

She lifts the lid off the tray to reveal plump cookies. “Apple ciderwhoopee pies.”

The golden-brown cream-filled treats are already calling my name. “These look incredible.”

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