Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

17. Miles

Chapter 17

Miles

I’m a terrible friend. I’m on a date with Owen’s crush at the urging of the woman I’m secretly in love with. Who does something like that?

It’s not a horrible afternoon. Josie’s on the shy side, but she’s engaging and conversation is reasonably smooth. I do, however, steer us clear of Rumble Room’s booth where Owen is trying to recruit new gym members. The last time I was at the festival, I came away bruised—I don’t think I’d be that lucky if it came down to it with Owen.

He’s fully aware of my feelings for Georgia, but flaunting my date in his face would test our friendship in dangerous ways.

“This really is the quintessential small town fall festival, isn’t it?” Josie hasn’t stopped smiling at everything.

We’re slowly strolling the aisles, stopping to check out interesting vendors or watch kids play some of the games. Incidentally, I’m also avoiding Arlo, who actually is in the dunk tank this week. Georgia will be thrilled she dodged that dip in cold water.

“Except for that.” She points at the boarded-up community center. They’ve added to the spooky aura, with more Keep Out signs and blacked-out windows.

“I guess it’s going to be a haunted house soon. You didn’t have anything like this back home?”

“Seattle had fall markets, but I was too obsessed with finishing my degree to enjoy it. This is Hallmark Channel cute.”

“How long have you been in Magnolia Ridge?”

She pushes her dark curly hair behind one ear. “Just about a year.”

“I didn’t realize it’s been that long.”

She lingers by a stall selling handmade scarfs and shawls. “I mostly holed up in my apartment for the first few months. But I realized I didn’t want to hide out forever and started doing more things in town.”

“Like the book clubs.” She’s in three of them at Dogeared, which is a lot for most people.

“God’s designated way for introverts to make friends.”

We dodge kids tossing balls at a collection of milk pails. I have no intention of getting in the line of fire.

“Is it working?”

“I think so. Georgia’s been inviting me out with some of the other women. I’ve joined in a few times, but her social battery has a lot more power than mine does.”

“That’s Georgia. When she’s got something in her head, there’s no stopping her. She can be a little overzealous, but her heart’s in the right place. She just wants the best for everyone.”

I wish she’d be as ready to fight for the best for herself, too, but she doesn’t respond well to nudges in that direction.

“On my own, I’d just be that weird plant lady who rescues dying ferns from home improvement garden centers. Now at least I have a few friends to say, ‘Do you really have room for another plant?’”

“You garden too? ”

“My backyard is my baby. My expensive, leafy, green baby.”

I stare at her. It couldn’t be as simple as this, could it?

She glances away, no doubt taking my obnoxious stare the wrong way.

“I know it’s weird,” she says softly.

“It’s not weird at all.” I match her pace, wanting to ask more but totally at a loss. I’ve never tried to be anybody’s wingman before. “Do you like barbecue?”

Her mouth twists, and her eyebrows tug down. “I thought Georgia said you’re a vegetarian.”

“I am. I’m just curious about you.”

“Yeah, I like barbecue.”

“What are your opinions on seventies rock?”

She stops just out of the way of foot traffic down the main festival thoroughfare. “Generally positive?”

“Have you ever tried kickboxing?”

Her incredulity seems to turn into amusement. “I’ve always wanted to give it a try but haven’t worked up the nerve. Are we speed dating now?”

“Something like that. How do you feel about tattoos?”

“I have one, but I might consider more.” She lifts her sweater sleeve to reveal a botanical tattoo on the inside of her forearm. It’s an ornate picture frame full of delicate, leafy plants I can’t possibly name surrounding something I can—a hammerhead shark. “I originally wanted to be a marine biologist, but environmental science was a better fit. So I chose something that incorporates both.”

I can’t help my laughter. My mother always talks about kismet, but I’ve never seen it in action like this.

Josie’s smile disappears, and she tugs her sleeve back down. “I like it.”

She walks away from me, her arms crossed tight around her. Crap. My timing with the laugh could have been better .

I jog to catch up to her and lightly touch her arm. “Wait. I wasn’t laughing at your tattoo. It’s just…do you believe in fate?”

Now she looks confused. She’s probably having second thoughts about Georgia’s set up scheme right about now. Good. She should be—because I have a much better person in mind for her.

“I’ve never thought about it. Why?”

“I would really like to introduce you to someone I think you share interests with. Is that okay with you?”

She frowns up at me. “I’m not comfortable leaving.”

“We don’t have to leave the Harvest Festival. I’d just like to introduce you to a new friend. That’s all. No expectations.”

“Okay.”

Her skepticism remains, and I’ve definitely ruined this date. That’s fine, too.

I lead her to the part of the market I’ve avoided. This is quite possibly a terrible idea, but too many signs are pointing this direction for me to ignore. Owen’s standing beneath a black Rumble Room awning, wearing a similarly branded black shirt, his arms crossed over his big chest while he talks with someone. Thankfully, the person walks away before we reach him.

He sees us coming, and for just a second, hurt and surprise light his eyes. Then he locks it down into something more detached. He gives a curt nod but clearly doesn’t expect us to stop at his booth. When we do, all he does is stare.

“Josie, I’d like you to meet my friend Owen. Owen, this is Josie.” I probably sound a little too proud of myself, but I don’t know how these things are supposed to go. No wonder Georgia doesn’t play it cool with people. I want to shout, “You two are perfect for each other!” like a crazy man.

He gives me a brief look, and I suspect I’m going to hear about this later. But he turns his attention to Josie and holds out a hand. “Nice to meet you. ”

His greeting is softer than he normally speaks, but I’m just grateful he’s speaking.

She slips her hand into his, and I swear she gasps. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking or Georgia’s romance books getting to me, but I’m pretty sure her little intake of breath isn’t entirely in the realm of normal.

“Hi.”

They shake hands in slow motion. This is either a great start or a bad one. I’m not the best judge there.

“Josie and I were just talking about backyard gardens, and I thought, ‘You know who knows a lot about backyard gardens? Owen.’”

Owen blinks hard, like he just realized he’s still shaking her hand and releases her.

“What did you just plant in your yard, Owen? Some kind of fern?” I am a lawyer carefully leading the defendant to incriminate himself.

“Silver cloak fern,” he says. “And some autumn ferns.”

“Autumn ferns are so pretty,” Josie says. “You must get a lot of shade in your yard.”

“There’s a big ash in one corner. I’ve got some clerodendrums back there. Of course, the blooms are gone, and they’ve just got seed pods now.” He winces as though maybe he’s revealed too much. For whatever reason, his gardening obsession isn’t something he often brings up.

“But the seed pods add interest.”

He settles into a smile, seemingly relieved she understands. “Exactly.”

“I’ve seen you at Dogeared.”

Pretty sure Josie hasn’t taken her eyes off of him since we came over here, but I’m good with that.

“I like books.” He cringes, and a touch of pink hits his cheeks beneath his beard .

It’s truly adorable to see this mountain of a man crumbling before my very eyes. I could be wrong, but I think Josie’s crumbling just as fast.

“I like books too.”

“Maybe we could talk about books sometime,” Owen says.

“And plants,” she adds with a smile.

“And hammerhead sharks,” I put in.

“They’re the coolest sharks,” they both say at the same time. Their surprised grins are mirror images, kindred spirits recognizing each other. Sparks might as well dance in their eyes like cartoon characters come to life.

Yup. Fate. Kismet. Whatever it is, they’ve been hit by it.

“Josie, I’ve had a lovely time. Do you mind if I head out?”

She turns to me like she just remembered I’m still here. “Oh, Miles. Should we finish our…?”

Guilt mars her features as though I didn’t just introduce them with the full intention of this happening. I couldn’t have predicted it would go so well, but I’m not disappointed to end our date early.

“Believe me, nothing would make me happier than for you two to stay and talk.”

Relief shines in her smile. “Okay. Thanks.”

I point to my friend. “Owen. We’ll talk later.”

He shoots me a look that speaks volumes. Thank you . I owe you one . Also, a bit of Help me , but he’ll sort it out.

I’m exceptionally pleased with myself as I leave them behind on my way back to Dogeared. I guess there’s something to Georgia’s matchmaking schemes after all.

“You set Josie up with Owen?”

Georgia’s high-pitched shriek indicates she’s less pleased with my attempt at matchmaking. She’s been glaring at me ever since I walked through Dogeared’s door earlier than expected, and my explanation clearly hasn’t helped things.

“I didn’t set them up. I just introduced them.” With the hope that they will work out a date all on their own, but still. Semantics.

I take a seat on the stool next to her behind the counter. This late in the afternoon, the pastry case is mostly empty, but the shop still smells like the apple fritters I made this morning.

“Did it hurt Josie’s feelings when you left?”

That’s my Georgia—always thinking about someone else.

“Trust me, she was more worried about hurting mine.”

Her lip juts out in a little frown. “It’s going that well over there?”

I dip my head closer to hers. “The result of good matchmaking.”

She crosses her arms and rolls her eyes, but she’s fighting a smile, too. “It’s like you don’t even want these dates to work out.”

“I plead guilty, Your Honor.”

“But you said you wanted to date.”

Seeing Owen blush and trip over himself but finally have a conversation with the woman he’s crushing on made up my mind. It’s time to take action with Georgia. No more pretending to be okay with her set ups.

I can be my own wingman.

I never take my eyes off her and speak with intention. “I do want to date.”

Her breathing stutters the way it did in my apartment when she was admiring my sweater. Her newfound awkwardness gives me hope she’s not completely unaffected by me. I won’t push her past where she’s comfortable, but I can encourage her. Just a little.

I extend one finger to loop beneath her pinky, where it rests on her leg. She sucks in a breath.

Maybe innocent hand touches that feel anything but innocent should go on my list of things I’ve learned from romance novels.

“What do we do now?” I ask low.

Her gaze drops to my mouth, making my stomach dip. My afternoon at the Harvest Festival was all about kismet, but it’s hard to believe my winning streak would continue like this.

“We should probably have a practice date,” she says to my lips. “So I can figure out where you’re going wrong.”

“It’s that bad, is it?”

Her gaze darts back up to mine. “Your date is probably giving her number to another guy as we speak.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Well, you definitely need some pointers. Think of it as remedial dating.”

I can’t help my grin. “Sign me up.”

I’m ready learn whatever she wants to teach me.