Cinnamon Roll Set Up (Cinnamon Rolls and Pumpkin Spice)

30. Georgia

Chapter 30

Georgia

I barely sleep. When I wake up—way too early, I might add—I finish painting the finally non-squeaking rotating bookcase on my balcony. Then, when it’s late enough my neighbors won’t get mad at me for using power tools, I finish putting the hinges and doors on the bike bookmobile. I even paint Dogeared’s logo on the wooden box.

I think too much. Try not to think. Go back to agonizing over every little thing. Every word I can remember that Miles said last night. Everything I can think of that he’s said to me in the last two years . Maybe worse, I try to remember everything I’ve said to him.

Two years is a lot of time to scroll through. Good days. Bad days. Embarrassing sick days. Triumphant business days. Days when I hugged him an obnoxiously long time. Days when I could have been nicer. Days I was just me . And apparently every single one of those days…Miles loved me.

Does not compute.

My phone rings, and my very hopeful lizard brain expects to find Miles’s name on the screen. But it’s my dad .

Sure. Why not? Might as well round out my morning with some criticism.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Georgia.” Weird pause as though I called him. “How are you?”

Not good, Dad. I am not good. But the cause is not something I want to share with him.

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I’m…uncertain. I’ve been thinking about what Miles said at Willa’s party.”

I genuinely can’t believe it. Of all the surprises I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours, this might be the biggest. Miles loving me almost makes sense because he’s always had a capacity for love. Dad pondering whether or not he made a mistake? Unprecedented.

“And your grandfather pointed out some things.”

Lord, give me strength. My father can’t apologize to save his life.

“I may have been unfair to you, Georgia. I had Ava show me some of the covers you’ve done, and some of the comments people make about them online. Exuberant praise, to be precise. I didn’t know the extent of what you do.”

I’m kind of surprised Ava came out swinging in my corner, too. She’s more likely to worship Dad than go up against him. It’s nice of her, though.

“Your work is unusual,” he goes on. “It’s difficult for me to encourage that because I want you to be successful.”

Once again, he’s pitting success opposite my art as if they’re two unrelated concepts. “I am successful, Dad. I’m making a good living on my art and working at a store that I love. That’s success to me. And if you can’t see that?—”

“I will try.”

I need to mark this day down on my calendar. It’s the closest thing to an “I’m sorry I was wrong” I’ve had from him in…ever. “Are you feeling all right?”

The slightest chuckle. “I am not as wholly unfeeling as it may seem. I want what’s best for all my children.”

“Then try to see the same in Sam’s career, too. He’s good at what he does, even though he’s not in an office crunching numbers.”

He makes another sound, and I suspect that’s enough negotiating for him today. “I will try.”

Try is apparently all I’m going to get. That’s a lot for him. It’s not nearly enough, but for him it’s significant.

“Thank you.”

“Ava wants me to be sure you know you’re invited for Thanksgiving.”

We’ve almost got a month to go, but I won’t forget. Holidays, at least, keep a spot on my mental calendar. “I know.”

“And Miles is invited, too. If you want.”

Even Dad and Ava are getting in on the Miles and Georgia train. And now I’m back to feeling sad and confused.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll let him know.”

We hang up, and I kind of stare at the wall for a while. Miles . He’s always the answer. I just can’t figure out the right question.

I can’t do this alone. It’s time to call for backup.

Georgia : Can I come over? I’m spiraling

Sam : Get over here

When I walk through his apartment door, I head straight across the living room and fall face-first onto his couch.

“That’s dramatic.” He sits down on the coffee table and nudges me with his knee. “What’s going on?”

I turn my face sideways so I’m not talking into the couch cushion. “Miles is in love with me.”

“Everybody knows that.”

I get up on my elbows. “You do not.”

“Dude, I saw it the night you pretended he was sick, and Harper and I brought the littles to Dogeared. It was all over his face.”

“What was?” I read over thirty of Miles’s love letters to me, and I’m still fishing for confirmation of what’s in them. I’m a mess.

Sam nudges me harder. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you. He watched you like you were a Christmas angel fluttering around in his store. The usual lovesick stuff.”

“You never told me that.”

He flashes this small, sympathetic smile. “You were so oblivious. I figured knowing wouldn’t help anything.”

I flop back down. “I know now.”

“You’re dating, right? I thought that loving you would be a thing you would encourage.”

“Not like this. Not where he’s loved me for two years and I had no idea. Not where he thinks I’m—” All the ways he finished that sentence in his letters flood my brain.

Amazing.

Glorious.

Hilarious.

Perfect.

So many more.

“Not where he cares about me this much,” I finish weakly.

“So, you just wanted a fling.”

“No!” I sit up so I can glare at Sam properly. He’s goading me, but I fall for it like I always do. “I don’t want a fling or anything casual. But it’s just…”

I don’t know how to explain. Sorting out my feelings is like staring at a mountain and having to move it piece by piece. Where to start?

“A little too real right now?” he offers.

I can’t seem to swallow properly. All I can do is nod and clutch at one of the throw pillows on the couch.

“Do you love him? Because a lot of what I have to say depends on your answer to that.”

I flop backwards across the couch, pressing the throw pillow over my face. It hurts to breathe.

“Is that ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t want to say?’”

I move the pillow just enough to speak. “I don’t want to say.”

Saying the words will make it all too real. Can’t he see I’m already freaking out just thinking the words?

He sighs. “Maybe I should call Harper.”

“She already gave me her pep talk. I know what she’ll tell me.”

“Which is?”

I put the pillow back over my face. “I don’t want to say.”

He takes the pillow away and tosses it on the floor. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

Against my will, my gaze finds his. We’re teenagers again, and Mom and Dad are telling us they’re divorcing. That actually, they stopped loving each other a long time ago. That, you know what? Maybe they never really loved each other at all. That the last six months of our lives together were a lie. At minimum.

My heart is in my throat, and it’s hard to swallow. But Sam understands.

“It’s so much more to lose,” I whisper. And because spiralers are gonna spiral, tears start streaming down my face and into my hair. “It’s too much. That kind of love…everything he said in his letters…it will hurt so much worse when it’s gone. ”

“Oh, George. Come here.” Sam helps me up and sits down next to me. He hugs me hard, squeezing out more sobs than I thought I had in me. I rest my head on his shoulder and cry it out.

It was so long ago. I can’t still be messed up over my parents splitting up. But I can, and I am.

“Georgia.” His soft, tender voice just makes me cry harder. “That kind of love, the kind you don’t want to lose? That’s the only kind you should ever want. Because that means you’ll both fight for it. Right?”

I nod, a little bit in awe that he can be so frantic sometimes, bouncing from one activity to the next, and yet be so logical and wise sometimes, too. I do not wish to tell him that at this juncture. But it’s true.

“It might shock you to know that I’m not a perfect husband.”

A strangled laugh bubbles out of me. I still sometimes can’t believe this goofball is a husband in the first place. Perfect was never on the table.

“I make mistakes with Harper. Say the wrong thing or say nothing when I should open up. Do something selfish or thoughtless. But I always work on fixing it because I know she’s the one I want. Today, tomorrow, forever. I’ll never stop coming back and fighting for her. For us.”

I haven’t cried so hard since that teen romance movie where both the main characters die of cancer.

“It’s scary to trust that you’ll both keep fighting for each other. But you have to take that leap sometime.” He shifts to look into my weepy eyes. “Would you catch him if he needed you?”

I sob even harder. “Yes.”

Because the feeling filling me up and wringing me out isn’t just fear. It’s love. I love Miles Forrester so much the realization is barreling through me like a monster truck. And I think maybe I’ve loved him a lot longer than I ever suspected.

How long has Miles been the person I want to talk to every day? The one I go to with my worries? My celebrations? How long has he been the person whose opinion I seek out first? The person whose gentle affirmations and encouragement mean more than anyone else’s? How long has he been the first thought in my head when I wake up and the last when I go to bed at night?

Years .

“I think I need to go talk to him,” I finally say.

Even though the thought of doing that, of admitting anything absolutely terrifies me…the thought of not having Miles in my life anymore is worse. And I don’t just want our friendship. I want it all.

“Sounds like a good idea. But first—what’s this about letters?”

I shake my head. I read through them too many times to count last night, and went to sleep hugging them to my chest like they’re my emotional support letters. It felt wrong to leave them when I came here, but I don’t want to share them with anyone either. I left them underneath my pillow as if they needed protecting. Or just needed to stay tucked safe in my bed.

“I can’t tell you. But they’re…something special.”

He nods. “Sounds like Miles is ‘romance book hero’ material to me.”

I’ve been so ridiculous. I couldn’t see what I had all along.

“He’s better.”