Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

8. Georgia

Chapter 8

Georgia

Does happiness normally make a person queasy?

Tonight’s the night. In about an hour, Miles will meet up with Kara at Bella Italia. They’ll chat, hit it off, she’ll realize he’s the hidden gem of Magnolia Ridge, and they’ll set up date number two. They’ll be happy. I want Miles to be happy.

So why does my stomach feel like I just ate bad tofu?

Maybe it’s my brother and his wife. I came to their place so I wouldn’t go to the restaurant to watch Miles on his date—which I would only do for science and not regular stalker-y reasons. I was so, so tempted. But ultimately, I decided even scientific stalking is too much, so here I am on Sam’s couch.

Watching him cuddle up to his wife in their kitchen while they cook dinner.

And kiss her like his life depends on making her sigh “just one more time.”

And trace his hands over her like he’s desperate to reacquaint himself with the shape of her body.

I probably shouldn’t have turned up unannounced on a reunion day.

Sam works as an outdoor guide and is often away leading multi-day hikes and adventures and I don’t know what else. He just got home after four days in the central Texas wilderness. He’s been married to Harper for a year now, but they’re obviously still in the honeymoon, “can’t keep their hands to themselves” stage.

It’s cute. And super, super awkward for any and all witnesses.

“Can you guys tone it down just a touch?” I call. “My innocent eyes can’t handle the show.”

Sam laughs but doesn’t release Harper. “Your innocent eyes have seen worse.”

True. He was still living with me when they first started dating again. I walked in on them making out so many times, I started coughing like mad every time I walked into the living room just to give them fair warning. I used it so much, my fake cough did real damage to my throat.

I’m glad he’s so in love, but he’s my brother. I don’t need to see any of the details of that love.

Harper slips out of his arms and waves me closer. “Come in here and keep me company.”

Sam nuzzles against her ear. “I’ll keep you company.”

She playfully pushes him away. “Focus on buttering the bread.”

“I’ll butter your bread.”

“Ugh, no,” I cut in. “Food euphemisms will spoil my appetite.”

I sit down at their table. I’d help them in the kitchen, but we’ve already found out it’s too small for three cooks. Next time, they can come to my place, and I’ll cook for them. Probably while they make out on my couch, but such is life.

“I’ll try to behave.” Sam winks at Harper. Any effort he puts toward that goal has a very short time limit.

“I saw your latest cover reveal,” Harper says to me. “That circus carousel is adorable. It must have taken forever.”

“That was a fun one. I’m excited to read the book, even if I think carousels are kind of creepy.”

Some scary books stick with you forever.

Sam looks at me over his shoulder while he follows instructions and butters thick slices of bread. “I thought it was scarecrows.”

“Shush. I can be afraid of two things.”

“Are you adding more covers to your monthly schedule?” Harper asks.

I lift my shoulders and let them slump again. “Not yet.”

“Don’t you still have a wait list?”

“I don’t like to think about it.” Calendars and planners exhaust me. I have to have them to keep on top of my business, but every time I open one, I get a tiny headache behind my eyes. I like the creative part of my job. The actual planning side? Not so much.

“How far out are you booked?”

“A year and a half.”

“On part-time work?” Sam says. “I still don’t get why you won’t commit to illustrating full time. I thought you were going to do it months ago.”

The long wait list stresses me out but relying solely on my art to survive stresses me out more. How long will it last? How long before I hate it, just because it’s my job?

“Trends change. If my clients decide readers aren’t into my stuff anymore, my work could dry up, and then I’d be totally out of work. I refuse to go to Dad and ask for a job.”

He’s constantly telling Sam and me we could come work for him at his financial consulting firm. I can’t think of anything that would turn my soul into a shriveled husk quicker .

“I’m not one to judge, but your business strategy confuses me.”

“It doesn’t feel stable enough. Right?” Harper comes to my rescue, putting my jumbled career worries into one nice, neat sentence.

I’m not sensible about tons of things, but I’m trying to be about this. I need some security here. Following my dreams and hoping my art will sustain me full time and long term? Not especially secure.

“Exactly. And I love making covers, but I don’t want to give up working at the bookstore. I need to interact with humans sometimes.” As focused as I get on illustrating, I could easily become that person who only leaves her cave once a week to gather food and supplies. “And anyway, Miles would crumple without me.”

Sam nods. “Truth.”

“I’m even helping him find a girlfriend.” Feels like a thing I should say, since his date will start any minute now. Not that I’ve been peeking at my phone to double check the time or anything.

Both of them stop their dinner prep and turn to face me.

“You’re doing what?” Sam asks.

“Finding him a girlfriend. Well, helping him find a date first. The girlfriend part will come on its own.”

He can be as humble as he wants, but I know he’s awesome. Kara doesn’t stand a chance.

Sam shares a look with Harper. Then he turns to me, staring blankly. “You…are setting your best friend up…on dates?”

“Yes. He’s out on the first one right now.”

That queasiness rises again in my stomach, but I shove it away. Sam and Harper aren’t even putting on a disgusting show of togetherness. Aside from the mutual staring-at-me thing.

“You’re doing this…why? ”

“It takes him forever to get to know someone well enough to ask them out. I’m just helping him along.” Perfectly normal and reasonable. “I’m his wingwoman.”

I really need a little pair of wings to clip onto my shirt like they give kids on a plane. Official Wingwoman .

Sam gestures with the butter knife. “You don’t feel that’s a…conflict of interest?”

“Why are you putting so many pauses in your questions? And why would it be a conflict of interest?”

He sets the bread on the table and stares down at me where I’m sitting. “Georgia, you’re a smart, talented woman. You are not one of the too-stupid-to-live heroines in a bad rom-com. You know the answer to this. Are you sure you’re not interested in the position for yourself?”

“Sam, come on. You know I’m holding out for one of my book boyfriends to come to life.”

He gives me a look like he’s ultra-disappointed in me. “That’s not more reasonable.”

Harper perks up, though. “Which one?”

She sets down plates of roasted vegetables and chicken. They cooked them separately to accommodate me, which I appreciate. At Dad and Ava’s, I have to pick the meat out of my meals like an irritable child.

“One of the ‘former military turned private security’ guys. They’re strong, dedicated, protective, older, and quietly capable.”

I adore this small-town series. Every single one of the guys is the dreamiest, sweetest, fluffiest cinnamon roll—wrapped in a muscular, take-charge package. Thank you, U.S. Army.

“Don’t forget fictional,” Sam says.

“That’s the best part.”

Harper sits down next to him across from me. “I’m behind on that series. ”

I looped her into my romance book group a couple of years ago. It’s pretty vibrant now, even if we mostly sit around and fan ourselves over the heroes. We rotate through different tropes every month. Right now, we’re on older brother’s best friend.

“Catch up. The next book is about a quiet grump nobody knows very well who’s secretly in love with the sassy heroine.”

Sam groans. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Harper lightly smacks him. “It’s romantic.”

“I’m not disputing that. I know a thing or two about being secretly in love.” He goes in for a kiss.

“Exactly,” I say before their quick peck can get out of hand. “And since I set you two up, you shouldn’t scoff about me setting up Miles.”

Sam whips his head around to me. “You don’t get credit for us.”

“My work was important.”

“I came back to town specifically to see Harper again.”

“Rude.” I know it’s true, though. He loves me and the rest of our family, but I can’t pretend it was anything but the hope of reuniting with his high school love that brought him back to Texas.

“If anyone gets credit for helping Harper and me along, it’s Grandpa.” Sam smiles softly at Harper. “His constant updates about you brought all the hopes I’d been pushing down back to the surface. I had to come see you again.”

Harper works as a physical therapist at the retirement complex where Grandpa lives. Sam worked there, too, when he first came back, and according to Grandpa’s stories, watched her like a lovesick puppy before he found his courage to ask for a second chance at love.

Which actually proves my point—waiting for romance book scenarios is totally realistic and normal.

“Okay, but my part helped things along too,” I add. “I was skilled at dropping special bits of gossip about you whenever Harper came into Dogeared. Getting you two together on the Christmas wagon ride just sealed the deal.”

Sam frowns, but Harper nods. “It really did. Seeing you with Finn and Willa was a turning point for me.”

I splay a hand at her. “See? I’m an excellent matchmaker. Just call me Emma.”

Harper gives me a pitying look, like I’m sweet but also a teensy bit pathetic. “You know who Emma winds up with in the end, right?”

I refuse to take anyone’s hints. Miles is across town on a date of my devising as we speak. My upset stomach is from my brother and sister-in-law and their PDA-fest, not my best friend out with a cute, remarkable woman who won’t be able to help falling for him.

“I’d take Mr. Knightley, too,” I tell her. “Kind, compassionate, humble, and down to earth.”

And one hundred percent imaginary.