Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

1. Georgia

Chapter 1

Georgia

Some people are extra with a capital E. Over the top. Flashy. Do the absolute most.

Hi. It’s me.

My best friend, Miles, however, is not extra. He’s subtle with a lowercase s.

“What do you think?” I nudge him with my elbow. We’ve been staring at Dogeared Bookshop’s front window for two whole minutes now, taking it in. Soaking it up. Reveling, if you will.

Or possibly hating it. He hasn’t given me an indication yet.

Three shallow shelves fill the lower half of the window, and I spent the morning putting all of our most fall-feeling books front and center. I strung ropes of fake leaves along the window border, scattered red and white felt mushrooms around the books, strategically placed real miniature pumpkins, and sprinkled in pinecones I collected throughout town. It’s a cornucopia of fall-themed goodness fit for a little woodland family of squirrels to make a home in.

“It’s autumn on steroids,” he finally says in his trademarked deadpan .

“So you love it?”

He turns to me and his mouth quirks into a smile. “I can smell the apple cider from here.”

I breathe a little easier. I’ve been told that I go overboard on occasion. Well…most occasions. I can’t remember him ever complaining, but I still like to have his approval. “You could have said that a minute and a half ago.”

“I needed to appreciate it first.”

I kind of like that about Miles. He doesn’t give knee-jerk praise or empty words. He takes his time to decide what he thinks and isn’t easily swayed by everyone else’s opinions.

Still. I didn’t want to stuff all of those fall decorations back into my car and come up with something less festive and more blah. Magnolia Ridge, Texas is big enough to have some nice variety downtown, but small enough to keep that cozy, everyone-knows-everyone feel. Most shops take holiday decorating seriously and go all-in with their windows, but there’s always an outlier that declines to join in the fun.

I refuse to let Dogeared go down the path of boring windows.

Miles leads us back into the bookshop, where the scent of coffee and brown sugar swirls through the air. Dogeared is one-third café and bakery, two-thirds bookstore. And I fully adore all the thirds of this little shop.

He brushes invisible crumbs from one of the café tables before moving behind the front counter. We’ve got a small glass display case full of pastries to round out our offerings, and although we don’t have much of a selection of food, it never goes to waste.

“I always love your windows,” he says. “You’ve got a real talent for them. Everyone walking by will be impressed.”

“Don’t just sweet talk me. Give me a raise already.”

“Done. ”

Fun fact: Miles owns Dogeared, but he’s never made it weird. After five years working together, our boss-employee dynamic has shifted into more of a co-parenting BFFs-type thing. The shop is our baby, and we spoil it rotten.

It’s stuffed with cozy reading chairs, quiet spots where visitors can play board games, and a bright eating area. Oh, and lots and lots of books. Curated, of course, but there’s a little bit of everything.

When I first moved back to my hometown after college, Dogeared was the only place I applied to work. It wasn’t much more than a few rows of books back then, but Miles and I transformed it into a place where people feel at home. More often than not, I do my freelance book cover design right here in one of the comfy chairs while Miles dreams up his next novel.

Oh, fun fact number two: he’s also a writer.

“You have a better eye for visuals than anyone. You’ve got…pizzazz.” He wiggles his fingers in a goofy attempt at jazz hands.

I snort. “I love everything about that except pizzazz .”

“You’re the most pizzazz-y person I know.”

While I like to wear the brightest colors thrift store aisles have to offer—case in point: the orange, red, and yellow-striped sweater I’ve got on now—Miles leans toward a more muted style. He tends to dress in sepia tones, like he’s stuck in an old-timey photograph. He makes it work, though.

Between his messy dark hair, clean-shaven face, and the subdued cardigans and sport coats he likes to wear, he’s got a real “Cute Adjunct Professor” vibe going on. Basically, he’s everything you could ever want in a bookstore owner.

“Then I guess I’m ready to bring my pizzazz to the Harvest Festival. I’ve loaded up on the perfect sweaters for the occasion.”

If a fall sweater doesn’t blind you with faux foliage or have a giant pumpkin on it, I don’t want it .

“Thank you for agreeing to that.”

“Quit it with the gratitude. It’s going to be fun.” Miles answered the community’s call and signed Dogeared up for some volunteer positions during Magnolia Ridge’s Harvest Festival over the next two months. It’s really just the Saturday farmers market but with more fall flair and lots of games for kids. Which is probably what we’ll wind up manning, but I’m down for anything.

“Tell me about the sweaters.” He knows I live for my thrift shop runs.

I smile sweetly. “No spoilers.”

“You do have an outstanding eye for style.”

My older brother, Sam, gets right to the point and calls it overkill , but I’ll take the compliment.

“Speaking of my outstanding eye for style…” I put my hands on his laptop where it sits on the counter. “May I?”

He nods and shifts to give me room. “Of course.”

I open the laptop and pull up a new browser tab, quickly navigating to the Found & Freebies listing that’s been on my mind for the last twenty-four hours.

“Look at this beauty.” I click through the photos, sighing a little over each one. “A rotating bookshelf. And they’re just giving it away.”

He sweeps his fingers beneath mine to take control of the laptop’s trackpad, moving through the pictures again. “Is this for the shop or for your apartment?”

“I’d take it, but I was thinking I’d bring it here. It would fit perfectly in the back corner. Maybe we could fill it with our middle-grade books.”

“Are you going to paint it?”

A sound of disgust escapes me. “You think I’d keep a plain white anything ?”

He looks like he’s fighting amusement. A common expression for him. “Only under extreme duress.”

“I feel like that’s a yes on the bookshelf.”

He lets loose that adorable smile of his that he doesn’t reveal nearly often enough. “Yes. Sure. Get it.”

“You won’t regret it! And if you do, the bookshelf will magically find its way to my apartment.”

Commandeering his trackpad again, I close out the Found & Freebies tab, and his main browser window pops open. The picture that takes over the screen is a star field with Andromeda Awards written out in bold, futuristic text.

“Wait.” I grab his biceps and give his arm a little shake. “Did you…?”

Without waiting for an answer or even finishing the question, I click through to the award categories. There, under Rising Star is his name: Miles Forrester.

“Miles!” His eyebrows twitch at my shriek, but I plow on. “Why didn’t you tell me you were nominated?”

“I was getting around to it.”

Another fun fact about Miles: he’s humble to a superhuman degree. When people praise the café’s baker, he always says he’ll pass on the compliment even though he’s the one in the back every morning turning out pastries. I’m one of the few people in Magnolia Ridge who knows that he wrote the books in the Quantum Station series. Heck, most people don’t even know his first name, they just know him as “that bookstore guy.”

Which is a real travesty because Miles is probably the best person in this town. Including me, and I’m awesome.

“We shared our Wordle stats this morning! You fed me an apple danish! I spent an hour messing around in the window!” I’m probably going blue in the face, but I don’t care. This is huge news, and he just sat on it. I could never.

“I was…waiting for the right time?” His mouth tips into a cringey smile .

I plop myself onto the wooden stool beside him. “The right time is now. I need all the details.”

He lifts a shoulder. “There aren’t many details. I received an email yesterday. I’m nominated. That’s really it.”

“How can you be so calm?” I jostle his knees with mine as though I can jumpstart his enthusiasm. “This is monumental. Aren’t you excited about it?”

Another smile peeks out. “I might be in shock.”

Exactly what I mean about humility. He’s written two funny, engaging, plot-twisty science fiction bangers and is surprised at every success he has with them.

I put both my hands on his cheeks and give them a little tap. “You need to celebrate.”

His face tugs into a grin beneath my palms. “I did just find a new bookshelf for the store.”

I laugh at his dry humor. “Celebrate with something even more exciting than a free bookshelf.”

“Does that exist?”

“I’ll find you something.” Magnolia Ridge doesn’t have a wild nightlife scene, but Miles likes to keep things low-key anyway. Maybe dinner at his favorite Indian food place. A slice of pie. Holing up in his apartment and watching one of his odd comfort movies.

I’ve never known a guy so committed to the Muppets, but he’s got me hooked too.

“There’s going to be an awards ceremony,” he says oh-so casually.

“Awards ceremony?” Good thing nobody’s in the shop right now because I can’t stop shrieking. I spin back to his laptop and click on a couple of tabs until I land on the ceremony info. The Andromeda Awards are one of the biggest honors in science fiction and fantasy writing, and the pictures of past winners prove it. Men and women decked out in swanky clothes holding their crystal prizes aloft. “Ooh, they call it a gala . And it’s in Austin. Are you going? You have to go.”

Austin’s only about thirty minutes south of here. Not much of an excuse to avoid attending.

“Seems like I should.”

Those fancy award winners look pretty coupled up in the pics. Like an Oscars red carpet, but with genius writer nerds answering questions like “Where do you get your inspiration?”

“Are you going to take a date?”

He pauses as if his brain needs a second to reboot before he can answer.

“I know you’re not huge on dating, but this is a big night for you. You should have someone special by your side.”

He blinks his big hazel eyes at me. “I was going to ask you to go with me.”

He’s the absolute sweetest. But it’s a little embarrassing how much we’ve become each other’s default plus one. We spend so much time in the store together, whether working or doing our own thing, it’s stretched into our personal lives. I don’t really care about mine, but he at least deserves a shot at something more.

“As much as I’d love the excuse to wear a slinky dress, you need a romantic date for this.”

He makes a weird, strangled sound. “Slinky?”

I suck in a breath as the perfect solution sparks a little lightbulb over my head. “I’ll help you find a date.”

Miles coughs like something went down the wrong pipe. “You’ll…what?”

I can’t stop grinning as I pat him on the back.

“I’ll help you find a date. I’m the perfect wingwoman because I know you better than anyone, and I’m completely impartial.”