Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

11. Miles

Chapter 11

Miles

If that’s how things went at the apple bobbing stall, I hate to think what happened to the people running the horseshoe toss.

“It’s not too bad.” Georgia pulls the small bag of ice off my face and immediately winces at whatever she sees underneath.

“Very reassuring.”

As soon as our volunteer time ended, we walked back to Dogeared, and she made an ice pack for me. She’s been fussing over me in the back room, alternately telling me everything’s fine and making sad little sounds whenever she peeks at the results of the apple beatdown.

If I wanted a way to prove to Georgia I can live up to her former military romance book heroes, getting assaulted by fruit wasn’t it.

“At least it didn’t hit your nose.” She’s said as much half a dozen times now. I think it’s the only upside she can spin.

“Yes. My eyes are expendable, but my nose—that would have been a tragedy.”

Frankly, I don’t care much about either. I’m sitting on a barstool in Dogeared’s small kitchen with Georgia standing between my knees. She’s leaning in close so she can tend to my bruise, her face inches away from mine as she inspects me. She gently runs her fingers over my skin, one hand holding herself steady at my shoulder.

I would take a thousand apples to the face for more of this closeness with her.

“I guess you need your eyes, too.” She presses the ice over my right eye and cheek again. It stings, but more from the cold than the bruise. “But your nose is perfect. I’d hate for you to break it.”

“My nose is perfect?” It’s a weird compliment to fixate on, but praise from Georgia hits different. I snatch up every one and hoard them like Gollum obsessing over the One Ring.

“It’s got an ideal slope to it.” She slowly runs a fingertip from the bridge of my nose down to the tip. She gently taps the end, all but saying boop . “I should know—I draw a lot of noses.”

“I’ve never been told I have an ideal slope before.” I haven’t thought about the shape of my nose since middle school. It’s…average? All I really want is for her to touch me again, even if it has to be on the nose.

She nods, gently holding the ice to my face. “I’ve used your nose as inspiration on some of my covers. Every hero with a straight, strong nose? That’s yours.”

I’ve suspected as much—not about the nose, but about her sources of inspiration. It’s why I had a print made for the cover of one of her books. The couple looks exactly like the two of us. She’s never said a word that it might actually be us, but when I look at it, that’s all I can see.

“Anything else?” Barely a whisper because I can’t manage more. It’s taking a shocking amount of energy not to touch her in return, pull her to my chest, and hold her close.

“Eyebrows, sometimes.”

She traces each of them with the same soft touch, making my chest constrict from want. Normally, I would put eyebrows at the bottom of the erogenous zone barrel. But this is Georgia—every touch is top of the line with her.

“How about my hair?”

She laughs, her breath ghosting across my skin. “Oh, yeah. You’ve got the best hair. Very inspirational.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, messing it up more than it already was. I have to force myself not to close my eyes and lean into her hand like a touch-starved kitten. Each sweep of her fingers sends shockwaves through my body and down my limbs.

I want more. I crave it. This is a dangerous game, but I’m not ready to take my wins and fold.

“Mouth?” My suggestion is gasoline on a blazing wildfire. She’ll either fan those flames…or douse them.

Her gaze drops there and holds. The muscles in her gorgeous throat work as she swallows. “Once. Just the hint of it.”

When her fingertip grazes over my lips, I think I might be dead. I’m definitely not breathing. Then again, my heart is pounding fast enough to be a bigger medical concern than my injured face.

We’ve touched hundreds of times before. We hug. Snuggle. Hold hands. But that always has an air of innocence over it, like she’s pasted the “friendly” label on those touches, and they barely even register to her as a point of connection.

But this…this is something new. This is curiosity and exploration. This is a borderline sensual touch that she’s initiating like she can’t help herself. This is standing on the edge of a cliff, trying to decide if we’re ready to jump into the water below. Even if I’m not sure she’s entirely aware of what she’s doing.

She certainly doesn’t know what she’s doing to me .

Her finger stills on my lips. It would take nothing at all to kiss her fingertip and change the dynamic between us. Possibly change everything. But I need her to be clear about what she wants. I’ll give her anything she needs. Including limitless space to make up her mind.

Right now, there’s barely a breath of space between us.

Her gaze darts up to lock with mine. There’s a question written there. I just can’t be certain what it is.

“Do you…” she breathes.

I wait for the rest, ready to answer her truthfully, whatever she asks.

Then she blinks. And blinks again. The hazy look in her eyes disappears as if she just woke up, and she steps out from between my legs. She exhales an embarrassed laugh, smiling her not-quite-real customer service smile.

My pounding heart falls.

“What were you going to ask?” I have to say the words, even if I already know she won’t tell me.

Her hesitation confirms it.

“I…was going to ask if you think that’s enough ice for now. I’m pretty sure you’re only supposed to do it fifteen minutes at a time. We don’t want to freeze your face off.”

“I can live without my face.”

She pulls the ice pack away from my cheek, smiling sadly at what she sees there. “I think it’s keeping the bruising down.”

“That’s something.” Deep down, I’m disappointed, but I refuse to sound like I am. My sky-high hopes and dreams aren’t her fault or her responsibility.

“Hey, boss?” Arlo leans past the back curtain.

I turn to him. “Yeah?”

Georgia takes a single step farther away from me. I should be grateful things worked out how they did. I wouldn’t have wanted Arlo to interrupt…whatever might have happened between us otherwise.

For the record, I am not grateful .

“The receipts aren’t printing. I tried restarting the thing, but it’s not working.”

I shift to get off the barstool, but Georgia puts a hand on my shoulder and presses me back down. “I’ll take care of it. You rest for a bit.”

“Thanks.” I’m hardly injured in any way that requires rest or medical care, but I do need a minute to myself back here.

I take the ice pack she offers, and she disappears out front behind Arlo.

The ice won’t do any good for the parts of me that are truly bruised, but I give it a go anyway. I put the pack right over my foolish, hopeful heart.