Page 88 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

Miles: They recommend sitting reverently with your hands folded in your lap

Georgia: I doubt it. I saw the pictures from last year

Georgia: Those writers know how to party

Georgia: Can I at least kiss you until it gets really uncomfortable for everyone in the audience, and they throw us out?

Miles: Go with that one

Chapter 28

Miles

I’m in a literal ballroom filled with some of my writing heroes, here to find out if I’ve won a prestigious award in my genre, and all I can think about is that dress Georgia’s wearing.Slinky dress.If my eyes have left her for five full minutes tonight, they owe me an apology.

The butterscotch-colored dress hugs her upper body, with little flutter sleeves that hang off her bare shoulders. The gauzy material drapes over her legs all the way to the floor, both concealing and enticing, with a slit that…well, I’m trying not to think about the slit too much. It’s got a high back, with another slit here that cuts straight down between her shoulder blades. Every glimpse of that strip of skin on her back drives me crazy.

She catches me watching her. I haven’t been subtle, so it’s happened a lot.

“What?”

I lean closer. “I’m just committing this moment to memory.”

“It’s not my usual style.” She lightly pulls at the material at her hip, making the skirt sway. “I thought about throwing my chunky sweater with bats sewn all over it on top to make sure you’d recognize me.”

“You’d still look fantastic in the bat sweater. It’s not just the dress. It’s you.”

Do I know what she’s done with her hair, partially braided away from her face while the rest hangs loose over her bare shoulders? No. Could I explain exactly what’s different about her makeup tonight? Probably not. But she glows like a harvest goddess at my side.

I don’t know how I got this lucky.

She puts her hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. “We’re here to celebrate you.”

“That’s not what I’m celebrating tonight.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but her smile says she’s pleased.

It’s technically cocktail hour, but since I don’t drink and Georgia rarely does, we’re awkwardly standing around empty-handed. I’m not good at approaching people I don’t know in a crowded room, and even worse at it when those people have written some of my favorite books.

“Is there anyone you want to meet?” Georgia asks.

“Yes…but no. As a fan, absolutely. I could approach that man there, whose series got me through college. Or that woman over there with the big crowd around her? Her books have lived rent-free in my head since middle school. But to walk up to them as a peer?” I shake my head, an unfortunate lump lodged in my throat. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

I fully realize I’m up for an award tonight, but that doesn’t help me shake the sense I don’t belong here.

Georgia runs a hand along my suit sleeve, comforting my mini freak out. “But youaretheir peer. I understand that you’ve been a fan of their books since before you started writing, but you have fans now, too. A lot more than just Booker and Dean.”

She’s not wrong. I still don’t want to move from this exact spot.

And apparently, I won’t have to. A man walks up to us with his hand out, a big smile on his face.

“Miles Forrester,” he says as we shake hands. I’m legitimately unsure who he is, but he carries himself as if I should know. He doesn’t offer his name, either. “Up for the Rising Star.First awards ceremony?”

“Does it show?”

“You’ve got that wide-eyed look about you. You’ll get used to it. We all write our books the same way—drunk and on a deadline.” He laughs at his joke and then throws back the last of the liquor in his glass.

“I like your Aster books. Interested to see how you wrap things up. Good luck tonight.”

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