Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

7. Miles

Chapter 7

Miles

A battle raged in the café’s small kitchen this morning. Rival pirates searching for the same lost spaceship pursued each other over a dead planet, unaware of the intrepid adventurer already looting the ship’s riches below.

All imaginary, of course.

I never expected baking would be such a good brainstorming activity. There’s something about the routine of mixing ingredients and rolling out dough that flips a switch in my creative brain. In my body, I’m pouring icing over scones, but in my mind, I’m creating something entirely different.

After I put the last tray of baked goods in Dogeared’s display case, I grab my phone so I can dictate the chaos in my brain before I forget it. Tonight, I’ll add the transcript to the loose outline of the book I’m working on. Eventually, I’ll actually start writing, but I like to let the ideas percolate for a long while before I get words on the page.

I stifle a yawn as I unlock the front door and flip the sign to Open . Since Hannah quit, I’ve been in the store full time most days—baking by five and closing up at six. I need to hire someone new to fill in the gaps, but with everything going on in my writing world, dealing with interviews is low on my priority list.

Customers file through all morning. With our minimal selection and small dining area, we’re not a hotspot for the morning rush. We have our regulars, though. Mostly other bookworms and a few people too impatient to wait in a larger coffee shop’s line.

My aunt Cece waltzes in just before nine. She greets the couple in the café—it never ceases to amaze me how many people she knows—before wandering over to me.

“Miles, you’re looking dapper, as always.”

I glance down at my jeans and sport coat combo. Fashion has never been my thing, but I’ve found a few pieces that work for me.

Or…I think they do. It’s not like I consult anyone. Maybe I should.

I run my palms over my pale blue button-down. “How are you, Cece?”

“Just awful. I’m halfway through a regency romance one of the book club gals recommended, and everything’s fallen apart.” She sighs like a heroine in a period drama. “I need a palate cleanse before I can go on and find out how they resolve it. Maybe some Stephen King?”

I have to laugh at her chaotic Tbr. Most people have specific results they want to get out of reading and gravitate to certain genres that deliver it. Not Cece. She can swing from a dry non-fiction to an intense thriller to the funniest rom-com without flinching. She’s the purest bookworm: she just loves reading .

“You know where to find the horror.”

Waving a hand over her shoulder, she sashays down an aisle. She returns a few minutes later with a paperback of one of King’s short story collections .

“Good choice. Those are some of his most frightening stories, in my opinion. I try not to think about them in the dark.”

“I’ll be prepared to be scared. And I’ll take one of your vanilla scones, please.”

I bag up a scone and the book and hand them to her. “On the house.”

She manages to look shocked, even though we have this conversation every time she comes into the store. “You’ll do no such thing, Miles Elliott. When I’m in here, I’m not your aunt. I’m a paying customer.”

I fight back a smile and take the cash she pushes my way. “As you wish.”

I well realize I’m in business here, but it’s uncomfortable to charge friends and family. It’s lucky I don’t have many of either, or the bank would have foreclosed already.

“Lydia told me you agreed to the Kissing Corn Maze. It will mean so much to the Cortez family.”

“I couldn’t say no to that.”

She smiles sweetly, fully understanding why. “And you never know. You might get picked by someone special in that corn maze.”

I make a vague sound. I have zero expectations of finding my love match in a cornfield.

“She also told me about your nomination. Are you enjoying your moment in the sun?”

“I’d hardly call it that.” Other than an uptick in conversations with my agent, it hasn’t affected me in a tangible way yet. “I’m pleased, though.”

I’m happy about the nomination. I just don’t want to get my hopes up.

“Where are your books, anyway?” She cranes her neck to look around the shop, even though she knows exactly where my books are. Right where they belong, in the science fiction category. “They should be on a special display.”

“Georgia says the same thing.”

“As usual, Georgia’s right. You need a big banner overhead that reads Local Author. ”

Georgia already ordered one. It’s in the back room, rolled up next to our coffee supply. She put it out once, with a whole display of just my books, but the showiness of it sat so wrong in my gut, I’d had to stuff it all away.

“Better yet, let’s get you a pin that says Ask me about my book .” She steps behind the counter until we’re practically toe to toe. Stretching, she runs her fingers through my messy hair. “You’re overdue for a trim. You know I’ll always make space for you in my chair.”

“It hasn’t been on my mind lately.”

“My ladies all miss you over there.”

I just bet. Every time I visit Cece’s salon, Hair and Now, I’m shocked at how bold the older ladies in Magnolia Ridge can be. They’re not quiet in their open admiration of men, whether locals or celebrities, and they don’t get shy just because I’m around to listen in. Their commentary is incredibly…vivid.

“I’ll set something up before the awards ceremony.”

“Mm hmm.” She sighs. “It’s unfair for you to have such thick, gorgeous hair when I would commit so many crimes for locks like this. Genes are a fickle thing.”

I don’t think genes have much to do with Cece’s current hair, but I would never say such a thing. She’s too skilled with scissors for me to risk it.

Behind her, Georgia sweeps into the bookstore. She wears a bright yellow sweater with geometric stripes in brown and red, looking the very definition of fall cozy. Her wavy blond hair hangs loose over her shoulders, and she pushes the tangles away from her face. When she sees me, her smile lights up, hitting me in the chest like a thunderbolt.

She’s sunshine and adrenaline and a warm hug on your worst day. She’s a star chart mapping my way home. She’s?—

Aunt Cece makes a tiny sound of satisfaction, watching me too closely.

If the ladies at Hair and Now are bad gossips, my mom and her sister are their queens.

I wipe the dopey expression off my face and greet Georgia like a normal person. A normal, non-desperately in love person. Or as close as I can manage.

Honestly, it’s not that close.

“Good morning.” Georgia’s cheeriness is a long-awaited sunbeam peeking through the clouds. “How are you, Cece?”

“If I had a tail, it’d be wagging.” She rounds the counter, moving closer to Georgia. “I was just telling Miles we should make him a pin so everyone will know he’s a famous author.”

I shake my head at that. My books might be doing moderately well, but I’m not famous .

“I was thinking about making him wear a shirt with his face and book cover on it.” Georgia’s grin is a solar flare. “And he’d have to walk all through town, talking to everyone he meets.”

I do my best to scowl at her. I’m not sure I’m physically capable. “Why not make me wear a crown, too?”

Her eyes practically throw sparks. “I know where to order all three.”

Aunt Cece’s laughter rings out. “You’re in good hands with her, Miles. Come visit me sometime.”

“I will.” I wave as she walks out the door.

Georgia stalks closer, smiling like she has big plans for me. Unfortunately, I doubt they’re the kind of plans I so rarely let myself imagine for us. The kind where we’re alone in the shop, and she corners me in the stacks, leaning up on tiptoes to reach me. Her lips part, and…

Having a vivid imagination can be a curse.

In real life, she gets right up in my space, closer than a boss-employee relationship warrants, but nobody in the store is paying attention to us.

“I found contestant number one.”

I didn’t think “whispering triumphantly” was a thing, but she made it happen.

My heart sinks a touch. Just a small dip in my ribcage. In spite of her unaccountable excitement to pair me up, I’d still hoped it wouldn’t come to anything. We could go to the awards together and cut out the middleman. Middle women .

“Are we really going to call them that?” I say. “Contestants?”

“I found potential life partner number one.”

I frown. “Go back to contestant.”

She settles on one of the wooden stools, resting her red sneakers on the foot bar. “Don’t you want to hear about her?”

“I feel like I’m about to either way.”

“So perceptive. Okay, her name is Kara. She’s an admin I met at yoga class.”

She pauses. I wait. Her eyebrows tip up. She wants a reaction shot from that?

“Yoga class. Got it.”

“She’s a vegetarian, loves Firefly , and she’s super cute. Twenty-nine, no children or pets, but she’s open to both with the right person. Recently ended a long-term relationship, but she’s ready to move on.”

The amount of information she has about this woman mildly horrifies me. “Just how long did you two talk about this?”

“A few minutes.”

“And you got all that? ”

A little line furrows her brow. “Sure. Don’t guys talk about stuff like that?”

“Not remotely.” I’ve known Owen two years and have no idea if he’s a cat person or a dog person, his preferences on children, or even his exact age. Thirty-something sounds about right.

“Well, she’s fabulous. I’m going to text her to meet you at Bella Italia Friday night for a casual dinner.” She’s already got her phone out, her thumbs tapping away.

My stomach twists over on itself, but I focus on my plan. Endure a couple of dates that so sadly don’t work out, and then I’ll be free to go to the gala with Georgia.

“Dinner feels excessive for a first meeting, don’t you think?”

She runs a hand over my shoulder. “Just relax and be yourself. She’s sure to love you.”

If only it were that easy.

“But I’m sad that you have no faith in me,” she adds.

“What do you mean? I agreed to it.”

“Not that. This.” She pulls a piece of paper from her purse and holds it up like she’s presenting Exhibit A .

It’s a bright orange flyer with Kissing Corn Maze written across the top. Eight male faces stare back at me, including my own.

“Where did you get this?” Are they all over town? I didn’t think Mackay Farm would actually advertise the bachelors. But I guess you need to see what your motivation is before you willingly run through a corn maze to find it.

“Margaret Mackay stopped me at the grocery store this morning. She said we should put it in our front window. So…” She grabs some tape from behind the counter and moves to do exactly that.

“Maybe it’d be better back here behind the counter.” Someplace out of anyone’s direct line of sight. In a drawer would do .

“Nope. It’s going right here in the corner of the window. It’ll go perfect with our fall display.”

“Great.” The last thing I want is people coming in and thinking I might actually want to talk about this.

“Seriously, though.” She returns the tape and centers herself right in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me you volunteered for this? It’s a great idea. I mean, for you. I don’t mix well with cornfields.”

She gives a big, fake shudder.

“I didn’t so much volunteer as I got thrown into the ring. It was Mom and Cece’s idea. And it’s for the Cortez girl’s recovery.”

Georgia’s expression turns soft. “Oh, right.”

She lightly runs a hand along my sleeve. Obviously, she understands why the cause means a lot to me.

“You’re a good guy for doing this. The chance for a date with you is going to bring in so much money.”

“That’s not a thing I ever thought I’d hear.”

“And I’m sure Kara will understand.”

“Who’s Kara?”

She grips my hand and giggles. “Your first setup, you goof.”

“Right. It’s hard to keep track of my dating opportunities these days.”

“I bet. You’re a real hot commodity. A bookshop owner, a writer, a guy who’d sacrifice his ego to help someone else out. You’re every bookish girl’s dream man.”

I don’t care about being every bookish girl’s dream—I just want to be hers.