Page 45 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

I guess I’m not the only one who can’t tell Georgia no when she’s grinning away at him. Owen’s mouth drops open, and it takes him a second, but he turns his attention to me. “You should go for it.”

Iknowhow he feels about her. He doesn’t want me to date her. This is tearing him up inside, even if nothing on his stoic face reveals it.

“This is a very bad idea. Josie’s not for me. She should be with someone like?—”

“No,” Owen interrupts. “You should give it a try. Like Georgia said, she’s a great woman. Smart. Well read. Any guy would be lucky to have the chance to be with her.”

“Aww.” Georgia turns back to me. “So can I call her and confirm?”

I look to Owen, pleading for him to…I don’t know what. Declare his undying love for Josie. Distract Georgia with a fake a heart attack. Something. He just nods once. Resolute. Resigned.

“Do it, Georgia,” he says. “Miles needs to get out of his own way for a change.”

“Yes! Exactly. You won’t regret this, Miles.” She darts into the back room, presumably to set up my date.

With my good friend’s crush.

“I won’t do this,” I say to him low enough Georgia won’t hear. The number of secret conversations I’ve had in this store lately is insane. “I can’t go on a date with the woman you’re interested in.”

He winces but shakes it off like he’s in the ring. “It’s not like I’ve ever talked to her. No harm, no foul.”

“It’s a foul to me. You’re my friend. I don’t want to do this to you.”

He shakes his head, throwing off my refusal. “It never would have worked out between us. What would we even have in common?”

“You know how I feel about…” I toss a hand toward the back room.

“I know. But she’s right. Josie’s a genius scientist. She deserves the best.”

The fact that he thinks for a minute that’s not him is hard to witness. “Owen, I can’t?—”

“It’s all set up!” Georgia emerges from the back room, a victorious grin across her face. “You’re going to the Harvest Festival tomorrow. I thought more low-key would be good this time. Keep the pressure off and give you a chance to talk. Arlo can dodge the apples this week, or whatever they give him to do. And I’ll be here. Silently cheering you on.”

She pumps her fists, miming acheerleader’s chant.

“I’ve got to head out,” Owen says. “Good luck tomorrow.”

His morose look and Georgia’s happy one press in against me on both sides. I’ve written my characters into worse situations than this. I just have to find a way to writemyselfout.

Chapter 16

Georgia

I’m such a good friend. I not only set Miles up with a woman who’s absolutely perfect for him in every way, now I’m helping him pick out what he’s going to wear for his date. Because we’re friends.

Even if, for a minute there during book club, I thought about abandoning the whole project. For a brief, agonizing moment, I considered keeping him to myself and not setting him up with anyone at all. But how selfish would that be? I made a promise to my best friend—and even if he’s somewhat hesitant, it’s clear he’s interested in having a relationship. I can’t just back out on it because I’m feelingways. Ways I can’t quite define and don’t want to look at too closely.

Instead of examining my feelings about Miles, I’m examining his collection of books in his living room. Well, collection is the wrong word.Hoardis more like it. He’s got a wall of bookshelves stuffed floor to ceiling with classics and contemporaries, hardbacks and paperbacks, new and very well used.

His apartment smells of this delicious mix of paperback books, flour, and coffee. It’s like the bookstore, but with an undercurrent that’s all Miles—something crisp and green. It’sprobably just a really nice soap, but romances have addled my brain, and all I can think about is wet clover and sun-warmed mint.

Most of his books fall into the science fiction and fantasy categories, but he’s got a few here and there in other genres. I smile over a couple of my rom-com recommendations tucked away among the grittier works. Action figures from his favorite movies dot the shelves like they’re doing their own exploring, and he’s got a few mementos on display. A ticket stub from a truly terrible movie we saw together in the spring. A Hot Wheels version of the Muppets Electric Mayhem bus I gave him for Christmas. A couple of Rubik’s cubes he’s determined to figure out how to do.

A framed print of a cover I illustrated last year is propped on one shelf. I pick it up to get a better view of the couple—they’re both holding books and gazing at each other like they just figured something out. It was supposed to be their “aha” moment. The author really loved it.

“Why this one?” I call. Miles is in his bedroom sorting through clothing options. He’s grudgingly providing a fashion show for me, but I’m about five minutes away from going through his closet myself.

He joins me in the living room wearing a gray thermal henley and gray jeans. The shirt’s not quite fitted to his lean frame, but it fits him well, casual without being “graphic tee” casual. I walk closer and run both my hands from his shoulders down his arms, loving the softness of his shirt and admiring the way it fits.

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