Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

9. Miles

Chapter 9

Miles

I’m an author—I know how to create conflict. I constantly write my characters into uncomfortable, sometimes tortuous situations, all in the name of entertainment.

But in real life, here in this restaurant? I’m less skilled at drumming up conflict.

Honestly, I’m not trying very hard. Despite what I said to Owen about planning to sabotage my own dates, it’s not as easy as I’d thought it might be. I can’t just be mean to Kara. I don’t have it in me. She’s cute, funny, and nice to the waitstaff.

She’s also obsessed with celebrity gossip.

“Have you heard the latest about Vance Vickers?” She leans forward over her pasta, ready to spill the juicy details. Dinner conversation has jumped from one rumor to the next, a steady stream of names I can’t remember and events I’d rather not contemplate.

“I don’t think so.” The action movie star has been the subject of some tabloid story or another for the last twenty years. It would be hard to keep up even if I wanted to. Which, for the record, I don’t.

She launches into the rumored cause of his recent divorce, adding salacious speculation about who he might be dating now. Apparently, bets are on his much-younger nanny. It would be fitting, since Kara says that’s how he met his most recent ex-wife.

It’s enough to turn me off the pasta.

“If I could talk to these celebrity wives, I’d tell them to hire the oldest, crankiest nannies they can find,” she goes on. “Mrs. Doubtfire it up. But they don’t always cheat with the nannies. Sometimes it’s the costars. Did you hear about…”

And she launches into a story about two actors who are very much married to other people but supposedly took their on-screen romance off-screen when they were filming overseas.

This is why I have limited apps on my phone. I want curated information only. I’d regress all the way to a flip phone if I didn’t need to keep up with Georgia’s texting habits.

“Of course, they haven’t admitted they had an affair, but all signs point to yes.” Kara smiles as she takes a sip of her soda. “It could have just been PR for the movie, but how disappointing would that be?”

“So disappointing for them to be faithful to their partners,” I deadpan.

“I know, right? Be more interesting.”

I honestly can’t tell if this is a joke or a legitimate plea for more tantalizing gossip.

“Georgia said you two met at yoga class.” I can only hear about so much infidelity before I break. “Do you do yoga often?”

She seems unfazed by the subject change, so that’s good. Or bad, since I’m supposed to find a way to tank this date.

“I go at least once a week. Anjelica Desmond says it’s the best exercise for longevity and heart health. Do you follow her lifestyle vlog?”

Conflict, Miles. Just be honest and tell her you would never take life advice from an actress-turned-influencer with zero health or psychological training, and questionable motivations and morals. Easy.

“I don’t really keep up with celebrities.”

So close.

Kara purses her lips and reaches into her handbag. Wait. Was that it? Is she done with our date? All I needed to do was admit I’m not interested in the daily lives of people I don’t know and will never meet? I could have started with that and saved my ears some truly traumatizing information.

She pulls out her phone and calls something up, turning it around to me. “This is where I get all my news.”

She scrolls through a neon green site filled with dozens of links to celebrity sightings, fashion statements, and relationship statuses. It’s a dizzying array of intrusive articles and baseless rumors, covered in photos of people caught off guard and at their worst.

And Georgia wonders why I don’t want people to know I wrote the Quantum Station series. I’m not egotistical enough to think actual paparazzi would care about me, but small towns can make anyone’s life harder than it needs to be.

In Magnolia Ridge, this would probably look like all the ladies in Hair and Now discussing my personal life in excruciating detail, but that would be more than enough for me.

Kara holds her hand out. “Give me your phone, and I’ll put the app on it for you. You’ll never miss a thing!”

I lean deeper into the plush booth, protecting my phone that’s safe in the back pocket of my jeans. “Thanks, but I don’t need the app.”

My phone’s lock screen is a picture of Georgia and me the day we painted Dogeared. We’re tired and sweaty but proud of our work and grinning like happy lunatics. As much as I would like to start a little conflict, showing Kara that could get messy.

She opens and closes her fingers. “ Come on. It’s fun.”

“I don’t have enough memory for a new app.” Fudging the truth a little, but who knows how big those files are?

“What’s clogging up your phone?”

“Duolingo. I’m learning Klingon.”

She laughs. “You’re funny.”

I wasn’t trying to be. It’s an interesting exercise that helps me create alien languages in my own books.

The waiter comes to clear our table, and I take care of the bill. Kara just smiles at me while I scramble for something to say that will wrap this date up with a period instead of an ellipsis.

“I’m really glad Georgia set this up,” she says. “I haven’t been out since I broke up with Billy. If not for you, I probably would have just sat at home tonight watching cringey celebrity videos.”

“How are those different from regular celebrity videos?”

She laughs again. “You know, like when they sing something really emotional, and they’ve just got no voice.”

“Oh. Or when they create separate social media accounts for their pets.”

Her laughter dries up. “You think that’s cringe?”

“Kind of. Documenting their pets’ daily lives as though they need their animals to be famous too? That counts, doesn’t it?”

Kara’s mouth flattens into a hard line. “Did Georgia tell you about Mr. Pickles?”

Mr. Pickles? I’ve lost the plot here. If he’s a celebrity, I’ve never heard of him, but that’s not saying much. “I don’t know who that is.”

But as her face twists, I figure it out. I wanted conflict, right? I think I just got it. The knot in my gut isn’t very satisfying, though.

“I’ll have you know, Mr. Pickles has a very popular Instagram account.” She sits up straighter. “More than you, Mr. Doesn’t Have Social Media. ”

“Kara, I didn’t realize?—”

“He has thousands of followers.”

Thousands? “That many people follow a random cat?”

“ Dog, ” she says through gritted teeth.

“Right. Dog. I’m sure he’s a…very interesting subject.”

“And it’s not cringe to post pictures of your dog with captions of celebrity quotes.”

I go completely still. Must not move a muscle. Otherwise, I will break into laughter that just might result in a punch to the nose. But come on? Celebrity quotes with her dog?

Kara tilts her chin up. “Thank you for dinner, Miles, but I don’t really see this going anywhere between us.”

I nod, willing myself not to imagine photos of her dog alongside quotes from Vance Vickers about the importance of hiring the right nanny. “I understand.”

She slides out of the booth and escapes into the night. Once she’s gone, I exhale out all my tension. Not really the way I’d wanted that to go, but I can’t be sorry about the end result.

I’ll probably have an unflattering story go around town about me, but I’m one step closer to going to the Andromeda Awards with Georgia.