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Oh. “Don’t worry about me. Someday, AI will advance so much I’ll be able to order one of my special ops guys right off the pages of my favorite book.”
He frowns harder. “I’m against AI for most uses, but especially that.”
“Do you have a better solution for turning fiction into reality?”
“Does it have to be fiction?”
We’re just joking around, but he sounds so serious, I go completely still. Sam likes to give me a hard time about my book boyfriend obsession, but this is something different. Like Miles genuinely wants to know if pretend is all I want.
Pretend is all I’ve ever let myself have.
“What if he’s not a special ops guy?” he asks softly. My gaze drops to his mouth so I won’t miss a word. “What if he’s not out of the pages of a book? What if he’s?—”
“Hey, mister!”
I jolt so hard I almost fall off my hay bale. My heart’s racing so fast, you’d think Miles and I were caught doing something naughty in front of the kids. But like I told Willa, we’re just friends, and friends don’t do that.
I don’t think.
We turn to see an older boy leaning over one of the barrels with both arms inside while some of the other kids watch him warily. “My apple’s stuck.”
Miles tilts his head, examining the situation. “Stuck how?”
“I don’t know, but it won’t come out. Can you help me?”
He stands and leans over the barrel, obviously trying to figure out what the problem is. “I don’t see?—”
The boy does something with his hands under the water, and suddenly an apple launches out of the barrel into the air.
And hits Miles square in the face.
Chapter 11
Miles
If that’s how things went at the apple bobbing stall, I hate to think what happened to the people running the horseshoe toss.
“It’s not too bad.” Georgia pulls the small bag of ice off my face and immediately winces at whatever she sees underneath.
“Very reassuring.”
As soon as our volunteer time ended, we walked back to Dogeared, and she made an ice pack for me. She’s been fussing over me in the back room, alternately telling me everything’s fine and making sad little sounds whenever she peeks at the results of the apple beatdown.
If I wanted a way to prove to Georgia I can live up to her former military romance book heroes, getting assaulted by fruit wasn’t it.
“At least it didn’t hit your nose.” She’s said as much half a dozen times now. I think it’s the only upside she can spin.
“Yes. My eyes are expendable, but my nose—that would have been a tragedy.”
Frankly, I don’t care much about either. I’m sitting on a barstool in Dogeared’s small kitchen with Georgia standing between my knees. She’s leaning in close so she can tendto my bruise, her face inches away from mine as she inspects me. She gently runs her fingers over my skin, one hand holding herself steady at my shoulder.
I would take a thousand apples to the face for more of this closeness with her.
“I guess you need your eyes, too.” She presses the ice over my right eye and cheek again. It stings, but more from the cold than the bruise. “But your nose is perfect. I’d hate for you to break it.”
“My nose is perfect?” It’s a weird compliment to fixate on, but praise from Georgia hits different. I snatch up every one and hoard them like Gollum obsessing over the One Ring.
“It’s got an ideal slope to it.” She slowly runs a fingertip from the bridge of my nose down to the tip. She gently taps the end, all but sayingboop. “I should know—I draw a lot of noses.”
