Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

23. Georgia

Chapter 23

Georgia

The party is a rousing success, as they always are. Willa and her friends get transformed into fairies, they play a few games in the yard, and make friendship bracelets at a craft station. As promised, Willa lets me try to smash the heck out of the pi?atas, but I catch nothing but air.

That doesn’t stop me from stuffing candies into my pockets for later.

I am uncomfortably full from eating two generous slices of rainbow cake. Most of the guests have left, leaving the house especially cavernous without all the tipsy parents wandering around. Sam and Harper left to take Grandpa back to Fiesta Village a few minutes ago, and now I’m lounging in the family room while Miles lets Finn show him his demolition game upstairs.

It’s almost peaceful. Until Dad joins me. He sits down on a couch across from me.

“Ava always throws a good party.”

I nod. “Kids had fun.” Understatement of the year, but we all witnessed their berserk reactions.

“How are things going with your design work? ”

Two sentences of conversation before he circled around to my job. Is that a record?

“It’s going really well. I’m happy with it.”

I love making covers, and I take on just enough that when I add it to my hours at the bookstore, I’m making a living wage. Even better than average, if I’m being honest.

“Sometimes I regret how I failed you.”

Dad looks…apologetic? Sincere? It’s not a look I see on him often. Maybe he actually took Grandpa’s comments to heart.

“Thank you,” I say softly.

“I didn’t do a good enough job of teaching you to be ambitious and plan for the future. And now look.” He tosses a hand my way. “You’re stringing together part-time jobs making art nobody’s going to see, and thinking you’ve made it to the top working retail.”

I freeze, letting all that wash past me like water sliding off a downy duck. He really had me going there for a minute. A thread of anger with myself stitches through me for ever thinking he might apologize for being a disinterested father. For blowing up our family. For never caring how his affection for his four children is grossly imbalanced.

“I wish I’d taught you better. I want to be proud of you, Georgia.”

It’s like he’s pleading with me to do something worthy of him. I’m halfway formulating a response I’ll most likely regret when I spot Miles in the entryway. From the stormy look on his face, he heard most of that fun conversation.

He crosses the room and holds a hand out to me. “Georgia, I think it’s time for us to leave.”

I let him pull me up. “See you later, Dad.”

“Thanks for coming to celebrate Willa,” Dad says. “You, too, Miles. I hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“Yeah, thank you. I had a nice time.” Miles takes a few long strides across the living room, his hand almost too tight around mine, but he stops. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then turns back to my father. “Actually, that’s a lie. I didn’t have a nice time.”

Dad looks up at him like he can’t conceive of such a thing. They didn’t shell out a ton of money for people to not have a nice time.

“The party was great, the cakes amazing if a few too many, but I’m glad Willa enjoyed herself. All of that was nice. But this?” he says, gesturing between Dad and me. “Hearing the way you disregard Georgia? That wasn’t nice.”

Dad’s mouth twists into a sour frown. “I’m not sure that’s your place.”

“No. It’s yours. You’re her father. You should be in her corner, not talking down to her and wishing she was somebody else. She’s an incredible woman exactly how she is.”

Dad’s glaring as if he’d like to kick Miles out of the house, but he also seems to be speechless.

“I won’t defend her working at Dogeared. I agree, she could do better. Any day. But thinking nobody sees her art? Do you have any idea what she actually does?”

Dad frowns harder.

“Her illustrated covers are some of the most sought-after in her genre right now. Do you want to know why? Because authors know that when they put her colorful, evocative art on their covers, they’ll sell more books. Because readers love them. She’s got a wait list over a year long.”

Dad’s eyebrows twitch at that. I guess he really didn’t know.

“And you can’t bother to be proud of her?” Miles takes another step toward the door but turns back again. “Actually, I will say something about her working at Dogeared. I’m lucky to have her on my team. Everyone loves her. We have customers who come in just to talk to her about books she recommended. People who know that if they’re having a bad day, they can come into our shop, and Georgia’s right there with a smile and an encouraging word. She’s singlehandedly turned my somewhat bleak early version of a bookstore into a thriving place people feel connected to. She is vital to its success. And I’m proud as hell of her. You should be, too.”

It wasn’t a growl, but man . I am swooning hard.

With that, Miles leads us out the front door, one hand still gripping mine. We make it past all the balloons and the gigantic yard sign, finally rounding the corner to where we had to park a few hours ago. He stops at his car and gets out his keys, clicking the door unlocked.

I’m still warming myself in his praise when he turns a look on me so full of regret, my joy wavers.

“Did I just make things better or worse?”

He seriously doesn’t realize how much his support means to me? I don’t even care anymore that my dad doesn’t feel those things about me, but to know that Miles does? That he’ll stand up for me and talk me up and encourage me? That he always sees the best in me, even when I feel one lane short of a full highway?

Harper’s words echo around in my head: he’s my champion .

I throw my arms around him and hold on tight. “So much better,” I say against his chest.

He secures me to him and rests his chin on top of my head, nuzzling in. Miles’s hugs are always perfect, but this one feels significant. I’ve never felt so cared for as I do in this moment—like no matter what else happens, he has me.

We stay like this for a long time, neither of us caring that we’re putting on a hugging show for the McMansion residents. Miles runs one hand over my back, calming me as if he’s spreading good endorphins into my skin. I soak it up.

After a while, I tilt my chin to gaze up, up, up into his eyes. The affection shining there leaves me breathless. It’s overwhelming, like I can’t possibly hold this much tenderness inside me.

This is not the look of one friend comforting another. This is more.

This is everything.

Eliza’s advice comes back to me, too: Just do .

“Miles,” I whisper. “Will you kiss me?”

He takes a deep, slow breath. “As friends?”

He puts no judgment in his tone. No sarcasm. No pressure. He’s asking me what I want.

I could still pretend practice kissing is a thing friends do. Avoid admitting the truth and stay in this safe zone where I’m not risking anything. But that’s not what I want to do.

“Not as friends.”

His fingertips dance along my hairline, smoothing strokes from my temples to my jaw. His gaze roams over my face, warming my skin like a caress. His focus finally lands on my mouth. I am nothing but nerve endings lit up to spell one word: Miles .

He bends down and brushes his lips to the corner of my mouth, right where he kissed me last night. Then the other side. Now one cheekbone followed by the other. My eyebrows. The tip of my nose. Each kiss is an achingly soft touch, unraveling me piece by piece as he cherishes every part of my face.

Except my lips. I don’t know if this is a reward or a punishment, but he’s saving the best for last. By the time he pauses his slow journey, I’m a tangle of longing and can barely open my eyes. All I can do is twist my fists into his shirt and pull him closer.

He presses a gentle kiss to my lips, then draws back.

Is that it? Confused, I open my eyes again and am startled by the wall of fire staring back at me. He’s watching me like a starving man looking at his last meal. Like he wants to devour me and only a thin thread of control is holding him back.

“Miles.” It’s plea and demand, praise and rebuke. And he fully answers the call.

He kisses me, and it’s like he’s a new man. Or maybe he’s finally showing me the man he always has been. He slides his fingers into my hair, tilting my head to a better angle as I open up to him. A soft groan rattles out of him as we taste each other, and I know he’s as lost as I am.

I’ve been living vicariously through romance book kisses for years, but this is better than any words on a page. I’ve never had a kiss feel so right. Like we were always meant for this. For each other.

Did I seriously think this man needed kissing practice? He expertly slows our frenzied kiss to something languid, torturing me with achingly soft touches. One hand comes to the small of my back, locking me in place against him.

This is my Miles. We’ve been friends so long, I thought I knew everything about him. But in this moment, he’s a mystery again. I want nothing more than to investigate, research, and uncover all the sides of him I haven’t seen yet. There is so much left of him to explore, and I want to know it all.

Starting with: how do I get him to groan again?

The very loud, very annoyed sound of a throat clearing reminds us that we’re not, in fact, alone in the world. We’re standing on the street in a community where they have a gate specifically to keep these kinds of shenanigans out. Probably. I don’t know exactly why they need the gate.

We release each other and turn to see a man standing on a walkway in front of the house behind us. I don’t know him, but he seems like a man who’s very familiar with passing judgment on people .

“Sorry,” I call, wrapping one arm around Miles’s waist. “We’re with the Donnelly party around the corner.”

It’s petty, but I don’t mind dinging Dad’s reputation just a touch.

The man grumbles but must think he made his point because he walks back into his house.

I turn back to Miles. While I would love to continue making out like fools and figuring out this new side of our relationship, I also wouldn’t put it past my dad’s neighbors to call the cops on us for indecent behavior or something.

“What do we do now?” I ask. It’s a little too open-ended, but I’ll take any answer.

“I want to do some matchmaking of my own.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and thumbs around for a minute.

His eyes sparkle at me, and a buzzing sound comes from my purse.

I fish my phone out of my bag. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.”

Miles : Will you go to the gala with me?

Georgia : What took you so long?