Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

22. Georgia

Chapter 22

Georgia

Have you ever seen a guy really whiff it in baseball? He’s at bat, he’s focused on the ball, and he throws everything he has behind his swing—only to miss the ball entirely and stumble to the side from all that wasted momentum?

That was me last night. I whiffed it with Miles. We were standing so close and he smelled so good, and he was leaning in to kiss me on my mouth , when…I panicked. What if he truly only thought of us as friends? What if he really was only practicing? I didn’t want to kiss him and think it meant something when it really didn’t.

But how do you just say that? “Um, hey, Miles, before we get down to it, is this a really-real kiss or just a friend kiss?” It’d seemed like a stroke of genius to follow Willa’s lead and call it a friend kiss before he could. I hadn’t expected him to skip it entirely.

I probably shouldn’t take relationship advice from eight-year-olds.

But that’s okay. It makes sense. We don’t need to kiss. We are friends .

And now, we’re friends who almost kissed but didn’t, sitting in Miles’s car as he drives us to my dad’s house.

I thought I could use his behavior when he showed up to gauge where we’re at. But he’s acting perfectly normal—a few smiles, a little teasing, nothing out of the ordinary. Which probably means he didn’t really care about the kiss that almost was. So it’s probably a good thing I whiffed it.

Doesn’t feel like a good thing, but I can’t be sad when I’m on my way to an eight-year-old’s birthday party.

“You really took my advice,” I say. There’s a huge gift bag spilling bright pink tissue paper in the back seat.

“I don’t want another note about gifts next year.”

“Fun fact: you’ll get the note anyway. Willa is very demanding.”

He chuckles softly. “As long as it’s not just me.”

“Turn left up here. It’s about a mile down this road.”

Miles makes a face I can’t read at this angle. “They live in Rivendell Acres?”

“You know it?”

His eyes flash my way but don’t reach me. “Yeah. I know it.”

“You sound like that’s a bad thing.”

We near the big gated community, and Miles points to two houses just outside the brick wall. “My mom and aunt live right there.”

It’s a testament to how little I talk about my dad and Ava that it took us this long to realize our parents are sort of neighbors.

“They must hate having that development right in their backyard.” While the two yards outside the wall are lush with old-growth trees and flower beds, most of the trees on the other side are barely over ten feet tall, absolutely dwarfed by the gigantic houses.

“Yes and no.” Miles winces and stops the car outside the automated gate. He turns to face me. “We do hate it. It’s not what we were hoping for when we sold the land. But we’re grateful for the comfort it’s afforded us.”

I suck in a slow breath as the puzzle pieces he laid down click together. “Your family used to own all this?”

“Back when it wasn’t all this.” He looks through the windshield at the fancy brick wall as if he can see the giant houses behind it. “Back when it was land my grandpa worked.”

“I had no idea.” I’ve always lightly hated my dad’s McMansion, but for my own selfish reasons. The house he bought for Ava more than doubled the size of the house Sam and I grew up in, with a pool in the backyard and walk-in closets in every bedroom. Its luxury is a stark contrast to the more average home we used to have.

I don’t want to care about those superficial things, but it’s one more reminder that he never viewed our two families the same way.

Also, it’s ugly as sin.

“Grandpa loved this land. Sometimes I think it’d break his heart to see this.” Miles turns to me again. “But he’d be glad his daughters and grandchildren are taken care of. We were more important to him than any field.”

I slip my hand around his and hold tight. “I’m so sorry.”

He squeezes my hand back but shakes his head. “I’m making this sound sadder than it is. It wasn’t sold out from under us—we made the decision. We just weren’t expecting this.”

“It’s pretty obnoxious, right?”

His mouth tugs into a small smile. “So hideous.”

“It’s got to be weird for your mom and aunt to live right next to this.”

“Occasionally, the residents petition to have the two houses knocked down to preserve the beauty of the development, but other than that, they don’t really interact.”

“That makes me want to punch that stupid wall. Or…toilet paper all the houses in there.” That would show those snobs.

“Don’t punch the wall.” Miles lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “You need your hands for art.”

It’s suddenly desperately hot in this car. My stomach flips and flutters like it doesn’t know what to do with itself. Meanwhile, I can’t take my eyes off his lips that just kissed me. Doesn’t matter that it was my hand—it was a kiss. He kissed me. It counts.

Maybe my screw up last night wasn’t irredeemable?

“But toilet papering is on the table?” I ask. Mostly to stop myself from begging him to kiss me again.

He flashes a grin. “The less I know, the better.”

He releases me, and I give him the code to lift the gate. I direct him to the heart of the development, and we pull up in front of a stucco and brick behemoth. Three-foot-high letters spell out Happy birthday Willa in the yard, with approximately five hundred pink-and-purple balloons tied in bunches along the walkway and by the door.

“Are we sure this is it?” he asks drily.

“I told you.”

We grab our gifts and head inside. I’ve never felt at home enough in their house to just walk in, but the fancy script sign on the door says we should. We’re immediately accosted by the brightest, sparkliest party decor in the history of ever. Clusters of balloons sway in bundles throughout the house. Parents mingle in the living room drinking elaborate cocktails. The gift table is already piled high with bags, boxes, and bows. We set ours on the floor next to it and explore further.

Their dining table has not one, not two, but three rainbow birthday cakes on it. There’s a tray of pink cupcakes just in case the hankering hits, and crystal vases full of gigantic lollipops. Pink urns hold huge pink-and-white peony blooms, while others display pale pink cake pops.

Miles takes in all the excess. “I’m getting a sugar rush just from breathing the air in here.”

“We’re not done yet.” I take his hand and lead him through the rest of the house, where more parents talk business over their drinks. I go through the French doors and into the backyard.

Pink unicorn floats fill the pool. Three pi?atas hang from the trees—a birthday crown that says “Willa,” a unicorn head, and a butterfly. A row of little girls in multi-colored fairy skirts are lined up to get their faces painted. The entire scene is excessively pink and ridiculous.

I spot my family beneath the covered porch and lead Miles their way. Grandpa sits in a padded wicker chair, and Sam and Harper are on a sofa next to him. Dad is talking to them with his back to us, but Sam spots me. Even from here, I can see his gaze drop to Miles’s hand in mine.

I let go when we close in on them. I can only deal with so much today.

I go straight to Grandpa and drop a kiss on his cheek. “How are you feeling?”

His eyes are a little watery these days, but they still sparkle. “As fine as always. Just basking in the glow of the pinkest birthday party I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hire mermaids to swim in the pool,” Sam says.

Dad looks at the inflatable floats gently bobbing over the surface. “We considered it but ultimately went with face painting and the fairy godmother.”

Sam and I share a look .

“Fairy godmother?” he asks Dad.

“She’s outfitting the girls with skirts and doing their hair in the den.”

That explains the surprising number of girls with elaborately curled hair today. I hadn’t considered it was part of the theme.

“You’re right. Much more practical than mermaids.”

“Good to see you, Miles.” Grandpa grins up at the man by my side.

“Thank you, sir. It’s not every day I get invited to a party like this.”

Grandpa chuckles. “No, I’d imagine not.”

“I know it seems like a lot.” The concession is a rare show of self-awareness by my father. “But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my baby girl.”

My smile feels off, but I’m sure Dad would never notice. He’s always been like this with Finn and Willa, as if parenting is something he just discovered twelve years ago, even though he’s got children who are thirty and twenty-eight.

“Colleagues told me the children you have later in life are something special,” he goes on. “I never knew how right they’d be.”

It kind of feels like he expects us to applaud that.

Miles shifts closer to rest one hand on my back. Comforting me. Supporting me. His warm hand just became the most important thing at this party.

“I guess I missed out on one of those special late-in-life babies.” Grandpa shoots a pointed look at my dad.

“Sam and Georgia know what I mean.” Dad glances to us to back him up.

“I don’t know if I do,” Sam says. “Could you dumb it down a little? ”

Dad scowls as if Sam is the one who’s out of line. “I’m going to check on Ava.”

He leaves us, pushing through the crowded back yard.

Sam tracks Dad’s progress into the house. “He’ll never get it, will he?”

“I expect he won’t,” Grandpa says. “It’s probably easier to keep his head in the sand and pretend he’s in the right than to accept how much he’s hurt you kids.”

Harper runs a hand over Sam’s back, and Miles moves his on mine. Soothing in a way I can appreciate but really don’t want to sink into right now.

“Okay, but is nobody going to talk about the fact that they at least considered hiring mermaids?” I say.

“I chose the wrong profession,” Harper says. “I could have swam around in other people’s pools wearing a bikini and a tail.”

Sam nuzzles closer to her. “We can still make it happen.”

“I take back everything I said about you and Ava being similar,” Miles says to me.

“Thank you.” I nod like a queen accepting a formal apology. “I’m over the top, but even I have limits.”

He grins. “To be fair, your limits are pretty high up there.”

I nudge him with my hip. “That’s what makes me fun.”

“I never argued that.”

It takes me at least thirty seconds to realize we’re staring at each other with goofy smiles on our faces. I snap out of it, but from the way the rest of my family is watching us, the damage has already been done.

Grandpa takes my hand and shakes it back and forth. “Are you keeping your promises?”

The air squeezes from my lungs. He narrows his eyes on me as if willing me to remember exactly what he’s talking about. Of course I know .

Is Miles the right man? Maybe the harder question: am I trying?

“I think I am.” It’s about as honest as I can be. I don’t know how to do this with Miles. I don’t know how to move past these fears that still sit right below the surface.

But I want to try.

“Good to hear it. Now,” he says, clapping his hands, “does anybody know if there’s any cake around here?”