Page 49 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

“I am. I’m just curious about you.”

“Yeah, I like barbecue.”

“What are your opinions on seventies rock?”

She stops just out of the way of foot traffic down the main festival thoroughfare. “Generally positive?”

“Have you ever tried kickboxing?”

Her incredulity seems to turn into amusement. “I’ve always wanted to give it a try but haven’t worked up the nerve. Are we speed dating now?”

“Something like that. How do you feel about tattoos?”

“I have one, but I might consider more.” She lifts her sweater sleeve to reveal a botanical tattoo on the inside of her forearm. It’s an ornate picture frame full of delicate, leafy plants I can’t possibly name surrounding something I can—a hammerhead shark. “I originally wanted to be a marine biologist, but environmental science was a better fit. So I chose something that incorporates both.”

I can’t help my laughter. My mother always talks about kismet, but I’ve never seen it in action like this.

Josie’s smile disappears, and she tugs her sleeve back down. “I like it.”

She walks away from me, her arms crossed tight around her. Crap. My timing with the laugh could have been better.

I jog to catch up to her and lightly touch her arm. “Wait. I wasn’t laughing at your tattoo. It’s just…do you believe in fate?”

Now she looks confused. She’s probably having second thoughts about Georgia’s set up scheme right about now. Good. She should be—because I have a much better person in mind for her.

“I’ve never thought about it. Why?”

“I would really like to introduce you to someone I think you share interests with. Is that okay with you?”

She frowns up at me. “I’m not comfortable leaving.”

“We don’t have to leave the Harvest Festival. I’d just like to introduce you to a new friend. That’s all. No expectations.”

“Okay.”

Her skepticism remains, and I’ve definitely ruined this date. That’s fine, too.

I lead her to the part of the market I’ve avoided. This is quite possibly a terrible idea, but too many signs are pointing this direction for me to ignore. Owen’s standing beneath a black Rumble Room awning, wearing a similarly branded black shirt, his arms crossed over his big chest while he talks with someone. Thankfully, the person walks away before we reach him.

He sees us coming, and for just a second, hurt and surprise light his eyes. Then he locks it down into something more detached. He gives a curt nod but clearly doesn’t expect us to stop at his booth. When we do, all he does is stare.

“Josie, I’d like you to meet my friend Owen. Owen, this is Josie.” I probably sound a little too proud of myself, but I don’t know how these things are supposed to go. No wonder Georgia doesn’t play it cool with people. I want to shout, “You two are perfect for each other!” like a crazy man.

He gives me a brief look, and I suspect I’m going to hear about this later. But he turns his attention to Josie and holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

His greeting is softer than he normally speaks, but I’m just grateful he’s speaking.

She slips her hand into his, and I swear she gasps. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking or Georgia’s romance books getting to me, but I’m pretty sure her little intake of breath isn’t entirely in the realm of normal.

“Hi.”

They shake hands in slow motion. This is either a great start or a bad one. I’m not the best judge there.

“Josie and I were just talking about backyard gardens, and I thought, ‘You know who knows a lot about backyard gardens? Owen.’”

Owen blinks hard, like he just realized he’s still shaking her hand and releases her.

“What did you just plant in your yard, Owen? Some kind of fern?” I am a lawyer carefully leading the defendant to incriminate himself.

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