Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

13. Georgia

Chapter 13

Georgia

Of all the things I’m confident wielding, an electric drill is not on the list. I like paintbrushes and tablet pencils, not things with motors that could seriously injure a person if used incorrectly.

I’m almost guaranteed to use it incorrectly.

“This feels like a mistake,” I say, keeping my trigger finger at an angle so I can’t accidentally turn the thing on.

Grandpa just chuckles. “You can do it, Georgie. Just go slowly and hit the places we marked.”

He’s sitting in a camp chair in the carport at my apartment complex. It’s a pretty warm day, but he’s still bundled in a flannel shirt and puffy coat. I thought Sam was going to come by to help us do all the hard parts on the bike bookmobile today, but Grandpa had other plans. He thinks I should do it.

This must be where I get my unfounded optimism.

We’re gradually converting the wooden storage box on the adult tricycle into a cute little book display, complete with two rows of shelves and hinged doors on top and front for access. Sam already installed the bookshelves, and I painted the inside white and the outside the same hunter green as Dogeared’s interior. But now we have to put all the doors on .

I move the dangerous-looking drill bit closer to the mark, but then pull it away again. “I don’t want to ruin the wood. Are you sure you can’t do it?”

“Oh, I’m much too feeble for that.”

Hmm. Also a bit of a liar. He’s remarkably spry for eighty-seven, and I know he could handle this project himself if he wanted to. “I think you’re feeble when it’s convenient.”

“That’s right, and it’s convenient for me now.” He makes himself more comfortable in the chair, and I get the message. He has no intention of moving. “You won’t learn if you don’t try.”

I keep my grumbling to myself and turn back to the wood. Apparently, using a drill is an important life skill or something. I’ve gotten by pretty well these last twenty-eight years without it, but Grandpa’s determined.

Finally, I put the drill to the wood and give it a go. It’s…not that bad. I start and stop about as much as I did back when he taught me to drive a stick shift, but I get the holes made.

I start installing the hinges I bought, but with a normal handheld screwdriver. Not everything needs to be electric and supercharged today.

“See?” he says, gloating the same way he does after an epic backgammon battle. “It’s not so bad when you get out of your own way and let yourself try.”

That takes me straight back to my conversation with Miles at the Harvest Festival. You can’t succeed if you don’t try. I know this on a logical level, but on the heart level? It’s all gibberish.

“That lesson’s true of a lot of things,” Grandpa adds.

“Do I have to learn how to use the power saw next?” I might give up the project entirely if he insisted on that.

“I’m thinking more like relationships.”

There’s way too much understanding in his eyes, so I refocus on the pretty brass hardware. I liked it better when he used his meddling to help Sam get back together with Harper. It’s a little too much when he aims it my way. Like when you’re relaxing at the beach, but then somebody’s watch reflects the sun in your eyes and you’re temporarily blinded.

“Are you going to teach me how to date boys, Grandpa?” I put a lilt of teasing into my question.

“Somebody needs to.”

“Grandpa!”

He, of course, stares back at me with no shame. “You and Sam didn’t have the best examples, Georgie. You might have learned some lessons your parents didn’t mean to teach you.”

I don’t have anything to say to that. I tighten the next screw and hope he moves on to some other deficiency of mine. Time management. Organization. Planning for the future. He’s got a wide selection to choose from.

As usual, he doesn’t need me to engage him to keep talking when he’s got a bee in his bonnet.

“But don’t let their bad examples stop you from ever trying for yourself. You wouldn’t make the same mistakes they did.”

Mistake feels like such a small word for what they did. Dad cheated on Mom and had a whole baby on the way by the time he told her about it. Then Mom convinced him to keep it quiet for five more months so Sam and I could finish out the school year as a happy family. A big, deluded, happy family.

Who does any of that to people they’re supposed to love?

“I’m not not trying. It’s just not my top priority.” It’s not even a priority, but I doubt Grandpa would be happy to hear that little addition.

“I see. So if the right man came along, you’d give it a try with him?”

I snort. “I spend all my time in the bookstore, but sure. If the right man comes along, I’ll give it a try.”

Kind of a hypocritical thing to say, since I’ve had several guys ask for my number while I’m on the clock. I think it’s the customer service sphere of attraction—if you have a job where you have to smile and talk politely to men, some percentage of them will assume you’re interested even if all you’ve done is hand them a book and a cup of coffee.

But obviously, none of those guys were “ the right man.” So it doesn’t matter.

“Promise?”

I look up at him, ready to make a joke about my favorite imaginary special ops guy coming to life, but he’s totally serious. I don’t often see a lot of similarities between him and my dad, but right now, their intensity sure runs a bold line through the family tree.

“I promise.”

He nods. “Good. Then let’s get all this put away, and you can take me back over to the Village.”

I survey the tiny amount of progress we made today. “But I didn’t even get a whole door on.”

“Now that you know how to use the drill, you’ll go a lot quicker.”

“Yeah, but I thought…” We’ve kind of turned our workdays into Grandpa-Georgia time, with takeout and hours of conversation. He’s never opted out early like this. “You really want to go back already? Are you feeling okay?”

He smiles down at me, running a hand over his thin, gray hair. “There’s something special going on over there, and I plumb forgot about it. You can come with me. How about that?”

Sure. Hanging out with my grandpa at his retirement complex is a great way to spend my evening. But at least I’m unlikely to meet a man who’ll tempt me to live up to the ill-advised promise I made him. So there’s that.

It doesn’t take me long to lock the bike and tools away in my storage unit. Nothing’s very far away in Magnolia Ridge, and we’re in Fiesta Village’s parking lot in no time.

“Come on,” he says, waving me inside the big building. “It’s in the activities room.”

I follow him in, sure we’re about to walk in on a Big Band music listening session or something similarly focused on life in the fifties, but the room is bustling. It’s an odd mix of elderly men and women bundled up in scarves and sweaters talking and laughing with a group of surprisingly young men. They’re spreading out at tables in twos and fours with an assortment of board games sprinkled among them.

I knew the Village had a regular game night, but I’ve never seen the young men part of the equation.

Then I spot Miles across the room. He’s leaning on one hand over a table where two gray-haired women are listening intently to whatever he’s saying. He gives them one of his small smiles as he talks, and from the way they’re gazing at him, I can tell from here they’re charmed.

He looks up and his gaze locks with mine as if he knew exactly where to find me. His small smile goes supernova, lighting up the whole room. My stomach turns gooey, and all I can think about is when I was with him in Dogeared’s back room a few days ago.

I touched him. A lot. But that’s normal, right? I’m sure plenty of friends touch each other’s hair.

And lips. Probably.

Grandpa pats me on the back. “Don’t forget about your promise.”

He walks away to join one of the younger men with a cribbage board and deck of cards on his table.

Miles excuses himself from the ladies he’s with, but I’m still standing in the doorway like a dork. He starts to cross the room, but before he can reach me, Owen steps in front of me .

“Are you joining us tonight, Georgia?” The Rumble Room instructor is decked out in a flannel, concealing his tattoos and muscles. It gives him a distinct loner lumberjack vibe.

Miles joins us with a downcast mouth, like he’s been caught doing something he didn’t want anyone to see. The slight black eye and bruise across his right cheek only add to the impression something here isn’t on the up and up.

“Oh, um…sure. What exactly is going on?” I mean, it seems obvious. It’s just that Fiesta Village doesn’t normally have this resident-to-attractive-young-man ratio.

“The team over at All Aboard has started volunteering here for game night.” Miles’s explanation comes out a little too fast. He looks to Owen as if searching for back up. “A few of us over at Rumble Room and other shops on Center got in on it, too.”

“That’s really cool.” I even spot Arlo setting up Battleship in the corner with one of the residents. “But why didn’t you tell me about it?”

My own grandpa lives here. Seems like I’d be an obvious choice for a project like this.

His eyebrows lift, and his mouth drops open as if they’re searching for answers in different places. “I just…it’s a new thing. It’s only been a few weeks. I’m sorry. I should have invited you right away.”

I’m not hurt I wasn’t invited to game night, just confused. I was kind of under the impression Miles involved me in everything in his life. Clearly, he keeps some things to himself.

“Harper would love it too. She’s crazy about games.”

He looks weirdly relieved. “I’ll have to mention it to her.”

“This is really great of All Aboard to do this for the residents. I’ve never seen the activities room this full.” They have a rotating list of games and events here to keep things interesting for the residents, but there’s not usually quite this much enthusiasm for them .

“Whoever put it together has a good heart.” Owen stares hard at Miles.

“Yeah, well…it’s a good cause,” he says.

Miles is acting weird, but I can’t quite put my finger on how exactly. The bizarre secret, for sure. But I don’t understand the guilty vibes, either. Before I can come up with a good guess, one of the ladies from his table joins us.

“Miles?” she says. “We’re ready to play.”

“Of course.” He looks to me. “I hope you’ll join in for a while. Excuse me.”

They return to their table, all set for a round of Scrabble. The ladies will be lucky if Miles doesn’t absolutely dominate the game.

Owen steps closer to me. He’s huge and doesn’t give off the friendliest aura, but he’s basically a big teddy bear. A grouchy one sometimes, but it’s all bark.

“I don’t know why he said that,” he says low. “Miles came up with the idea. He’s the one who invited the rest of us to join.”

“He did?” I watch Miles across the room, chatting with the women as they pull tiles. “He doesn’t even have anybody who lives here.”

“No.” Owen’s like me—his grandma’s a resident. I think that’s her over at a Parcheesi table. “But he cares about the people here. More than he wants to admit.”

He stares at me for ten whole seconds before he nods and slips away to join his grandma. After another minute of standing around like a dummy, I follow suit and take up an empty seat at a table getting ready to play Rummikub. I pull my tiles, still sneaking peeks at Miles like an amateur stalker.

Maybe I should have played Clue—I could sure use one right about now.