Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

29. Georgia

Chapter 29

Georgia

If the awards ceremony was a dream come true for Miles, right now we’re living out my dream. We’re in his apartment, snuggling on his couch. My legs are in his lap, and one of his hands gently traces over my calves where they’re exposed by the slit in my dress. The lights are low, and we’ve been saying goodnight for at least half an hour.

Oh, and? He’s wearing his glasses.

Basically, it’s everything I’d hoped. Sure, we’re still in fancy clothes instead of my gray sweatpants fever dream, but the awkward way my bodice pokes me in the armpit at this angle helps remind me it’s not all in my head.

“Can we change Dogeared’s website to say Owned by award-winning author Miles Forrester? ” I ask.

He grazes his fingers over one of my kneecaps. “Too showy.”

“Can I get you a plaque for the front desk that says Ask me about my major award ?”

He fights a smile. “That makes it sound like I won a leg lamp. But also, I wouldn’t want anyone to ask.”

“Can I get a custom bumper sticker for you that says My award is in my other car ? ”

He pulls me closer so I’m nearly on top of him. “We’re going to keep the award quiet and be very subtle and casual about it.”

I tap a finger to my chin. “That doesn’t sound like me.”

He runs the tip of his nose over my ear until I shiver. “No. It doesn’t.”

“I never doubted you would win it.”

“I know. Thank you for always believing in me.”

I rest my head against his, careful not to skew his glasses. “You don’t have to thank me for that. You believe in me just as much.”

“I do. And I was thinking tonight that I should prove it by finally firing you.”

I let my head fall to his shoulder, collapsing against him. “I guess there’s a reason your award doesn’t say World’s Most Romantic Man .”

“Georgia.” He shifts me so we can see each other again. I do not appreciate looking into his eyes when he’s being this sincere. “You needed the job at the bookshop when you first started out, but you don’t need that safety net anymore. If illustration is your dream, you should embrace it.”

I cup his face in my hands and gaze into his stupidly attractive hazel eyes. “Miles. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say any of that.”

“But, Georgia?—”

I stop him with a kiss. “We have more fun things on the schedule for tonight.”

His mouth tries to look unhappy, but his eyes are all heat. “What kind of fun things?”

“Like…” I kiss him again. “Figuring out where we should we put your award.”

“That’s not fun. But I like the ‘we.’ I want all the ‘we.’”

I sit up straighter, despite his hands on my waist, holding me to him. “Should we put it in the bookshop? ”

He makes a sound in the back of his throat. Indistinct but a definite no.

“It doesn’t go here on your coffee table.” I slip out of his grasp and stand, gesturing at the chunky award. The crystal is out of place with the video game controller and stack of library books.

He stretches one hand out to me. “Come back. We’re in the middle of something.”

I grab the hefty award and stalk around his living room, searching for the best spot. “Maybe on your bookshelves?”

I set it on one of the shelves, but it disappears against the colorful books and movie memorabilia. The curse of a see-through prize, I suppose, but there’s got to be a good place for it.

“Georgia. Please.”

Miles sounds so pained, I turn to look at him.

“I need to kiss you,” he says. “Just once. Softly. Before I die saving my crew from an exploding nebula.”

Cruel of him to remember what I said and quote it back to me like that. “If you had any throw pillows, I’d chuck them at you.”

“Exactly why I don’t own any.”

“It was a really good idea though, wasn’t it?”

He nods. “I considered using it, but I didn’t want to have to add you in the acknowledgements.”

I make a face at him and go back to my hunt. “I think some actress keeps her Oscar in her bathroom. Want to do that?”

“Not even a little.”

“Yeah. Sounds kind of unsanitary. How about on your desk?”

I stand in front of it, but there’s not really space for the award anywhere. It’s messier than it was the last time I saw it. Like he’s much too busy exploring the worlds in his creative brain when he’s sitting here to ever clean off his desk.

“Why do you have so many pencils?” They’re all over the desk and cubbies. One has rolled onto the floor by his chair.

“I’m in the brainstorming phase. I need to be able to write down ideas any time.”

That explains the ones I saw next to a notebook on his kitchen counter.

“Well, this is a mess.”

“You should see my nightstand. Sometimes I have to write a line or two in the middle of the night.”

I’m not going to think about him sitting up in bed scribbling away right now, thanks. I’m trying to focus and failing pretty miserably. He keeps tossing curveballs at me.

“It should go up here on the desk shelf, so it can remind you just how awesome you are when you’re writing.” I gather up the loose pencils from the desk and put the crystal award in its place of honor.

Miles Forrester, Rising Star . It’s even got a shooting star etched deep in the glass. I love it.

I turn to him and wave the handful of pencils.

“Just throw them in a drawer somewhere. Then please come back to the couch.”

Oh boy, will I ever.

I open the drawer beneath his laptop, expecting to find a treasure trove of pencils waiting to be sharpened, but instead I find a sheaf of papers. The top one begins, “Dear Georgia.” They’re letters. I fan them out a little, and the others are addressed similarly, all to me.

“Miles?”

“Not…that drawer.” He stands and moves nearer but doesn’t quite close the distance.

“What are these?” I haven’t touched the letters again. I’m just standing here with a handful of pencils, staring at them .

“They’re, um…” He exhales, and I meet his gaze.

He looks…sad? Unsure? Why can’t I read him right now? My heart squeezes.

“Is it something bad?” I don’t even know what the “bad” could be. I just know I don’t often see Miles like this. He’s had so many little secrets lately. What else could he be keeping from me?

“Georgia, no. They’re letters I’ve been writing to you. When my feelings overwhelm me, I sit down and write them out.”

“Your feelings?” Why am I so lost right now? I hate this confusion clouding my thoughts.

He inhales long and deep. “I love you.”

“I—” I almost give in to the urge to tell him I love him, too. It’s an automatic reflex, like someone tapped my heart with a tiny mallet and the words sprang right to my tongue. I can’t say them, though. It’s too much, too soon. Isn’t it? “You mean…”

I let that prompt hang between us. Because maybe he means it in a friendly way?

“I mean I am in love with you. Hopelessly.”

My heart races so hard it hurts. “But we just started seeing each other differently a few weeks ago.”

Miles shakes his head slowly. “I’ve seen you that way for a long time.”

The squeezing in my chest grows tighter. My heart is a pencil in a merciless grip, and it’s about to snap in two under the pressure. “How long?”

“Two years.” He says it almost in apology. Is he sorry it’s such a huge amount of time? For not telling me sooner? Or is he sorry that he finally has?

“Years.” I barely breathe the word. I can’t fathom it.

“I never meant to deceive you, Georgia. But I couldn’t tell you how I felt when you didn’t give any indication you felt the same way.”

I stare at the letters. I don’t try to read the top one, but the word love jumps out at me anyway. There are so many pages in that drawer, the letters practically spill out of it. I can’t imagine him writing these, pouring out his heart…to me? He’s got that kind of love and affection for me?

“I thought we were just having fun.” Even as I say it, I know it’s wrong. Miles would never have that kind of fun. He’d never play with someone’s emotions. This was never just about flirting or kissing…but I don’t know if I’m ready for more. I’ve been so careful to avoid even the most superficial dating relationship for ages now, I can’t just dive into love.

“It’s not just fun for me.”

His soft voice burrows into my heart. I want to turn around and comfort him, but I don’t know what to say. I can’t comfort myself right now. How could I comfort him? I’m not even sure what I’d be comforting either of us from, let alone the right way to ease it.

“I want something real and lasting with you, Georgia. If you don’t want that, I won’t bring this up again.”

That’s good. A very Darcy move. But it’s also bad. Could he just…never mention his feelings for me again? Maybe he could—if he’s gone this long hiding them, he could probably box them up again if I asked. The question is, do I want him to?

“I…I don’t…” I can’t think straight. My heart is a mess. It was wild enough realizing Miles and I could be kissing friends a couple of weeks ago—I can’t sort out emotions this big on the spot.

“It’s okay.” He moves closer to pull the stack of letters from the drawer. “You can take them. Read them or don’t, whatever you’re comfortable with. Just come find me when you’ve had a chance to think about it.”

“Miles.” I don’t even know what I’m asking of him, I just know I need clarity.

He gently takes my shoulders and gazes down at me. Then he presses an achingly soft kiss to my forehead. “Whatever you want, I’ll understand.”

I don’t deserve him. Maybe I never have.