Chapter 24
Rowan
AIN’T NO SUNSHINE BY BILL WITHERS
Something’s off with Finn, and I can feel it.
He’s been quieter the last few days, still sweet, still him, but distracted.
His eyes go somewhere far away when he thinks I’m not looking, like he’s trying to solve a math problem he can't seem to figure out.
I'm beginning to wonder if he's second-guessing us being together.
And the thought of that guts me. It's like something you were once holding in your hand, suddenly falling, and you're grasping to catch it before it falls and shatters.
Only, I feel like I can't catch it, and the crash is inevitable.
When I asked if everything was okay this morning, he smiled that soft smile and said, “Just work, baby.” Which is code for absolutely not okay.
Kind of like when I'm mad and he asks me if I'm mad and I tell him that I'm fine.
Everyone knows that when a woman tells you she's fine, she's definitely not fine.
And Finn is the most chill person on the planet.
And right now, he's not chill at all. He seems anxious. So, yeah. Not okay.
So now I’m standing behind the counter at the bookstore, reorganizing the “Local Authors” shelf, which is mostly just Donna's books, trying not to let the worry consume me.
Willa’s restocking novelty cups near the register, humming to herself, when the door swings open and the bell chimes. And in walks the reason my stomach immediately drops. Mayor Sammy.
He’s wearing his usual too-shiny smile and too-fancy of a tailored suit, trailed by two men in equally expensive suits. He nods like he’s some old-fashioned gentleman, and says, “Ladies.”
“Mayor,” Willa says, voice tight as she glances my way.
They stroll in like they own the place, heading toward the little seating nook by the front windows. One of the men with him points out toward the street, murmuring about “visibility” and “widening the frontage.”
“—part of the redevelopment plan,” I hear Sammy say, low and smug as his eyes meet mine and he winks and continues to talk. “First, we’ll start buying out leases. Then we’ll use eminent domain, if it comes to that. But it won’t.”
My hands freeze on the stack of books I’m holding. What the hell are they talking about? And why do they seem like they want us to overhear it?
Willa meets my eyes over the counter, and we don’t move or breathe and we nod to each other and continue to listen and work.
The developers nod, as if this is all perfectly fine—like they’re discussing paint colors and not casually dropping that they might destroy our entire businesses.
“Won’t be long now,” Sammy adds, smiling like a villain in a romcom who doesn’t know he’s about to be taken down. “We’ve got the right people on board already.”
They walk through to my side of the store and point out things. And then they leave. The bell jingles behind them, and for a full ten seconds, it’s dead silent except for the clock ticking above the door.
Finally, Willa says, “What the actual hell was that?”
I blink, still processing. “What are they even talking about?”
“I don't know, but I don't like it.” Her voice goes sharp. “They’re planning something big.”
I grab my phone. “I’m calling Ivy.”
Within minutes, Ivy’s on speakerphone, the sound of kids and chaos in the background. “They said what?”
“Widening the street. Buying out leases. Eminent domain,” I repeat, pacing behind the counter. “And they said they’ve got people on board already.”
Ivy swears under her breath. “This is exactly the kind of crap Sammy would pull. Mom and Donna say he’s been trying to ‘modernize’ the town for years.”
Willa folds her arms. “We can’t just sit here. We need to find out what’s going on.”
I nod, heart hammering. “I’ll talk to Finn tonight and see if he’s heard anything.”
"I'll talk to Remy," Ivy promises. "I'm hosting a butterfly birthday party at the farm right now. It's starting soon. I'll let you know what Remy says later."
We hang up and sit in shock. Willa helps a few customers and I head over to my shop with a steaming mug of tea and an anxious heart.
That night, I find Finn at his house, in the garage, sawdust in his hair and worry lines across his forehead as he bends down, cutting trim pieces.
I'm relieved to see him, but nervous because I have felt him withdrawing, and I don't understand what's going on. It feels like nothing is going right.
“Hey,” he says softly, wiping his hands on his pants and leaning in to kiss me. “You okay, baby?”
“No.” I take a deep breath. “Sammy came into the shop today with developers. They were looking at Willa's and my shop and talking about how they’re widening the street. They mentioned something about eminent domain. And that they’ve got people on board already.”
The color drains from his face. All that warmth that he usually has is gone in an instant.
“Finn,” I whisper, my voice trembling before I can steady it. “Do you know what’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His jaw works, tight and restless, like he’s chewing on words he doesn’t want to say. The silence stretches, heavy enough to make my chest ache.
“Row…” His voice is low, rough. “I need to tell you something.”
My pulse stutters. “Okay,” I breathe.
He shakes his head, eyes closing for a beat. “But I can’t.”
The floor drops out from under me. “What do you mean?” My stomach twists, a sick rush of dread rising in my throat. “Can’t tell me or won’t tell me? Because those are two very different things, Finn.”
He finally looks at me, and that’s when I know that whatever it is, it’s bad.
He runs a hand through his hair. “I met with Sammy a few days ago. He wanted to talk about a construction project. I thought it was a city bid, you know, like regular contract work. I didn’t know what he was planning until after I signed an NDA. I swear I didn’t—”
“You signed what? I’m sorry, why would you even meet with him in the first place, Finn?
” The words come out small at first, like my brain refuses to process them.
“I don’t understand.” He opens his mouth, but I’m already shaking my head.
“You signed a deal with him?” My voice cracks down the middle, raw and trembling.
“With Sammy? The man who’s been trying to tear down my business and now he’s messing with Ivy?
The man who made Mom cry in a town council meeting a few months ago? ”
“Not a deal. Just—” He takes a step toward me, hands out, eyes wide and pleading. “I didn’t know, Row. I swear to God, I didn’t know what he was planning. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you or your family, you know that.”
“You already did.” The words hit harder than I meant them to, maybe because they’re true.
And God, it hurts. More than Jessica ever did.
Because this is Finn. My Finn. The person who’s supposed to know me, see me, choose me.
He knew what Sammy had been doing with every threat to my business, every petty sabotage, every time Ivy came home shaken, every time Mom wiped her eyes and pretended the town-council meeting “wasn’t that bad.
” He knew all of it. And the fact that he still sat down with that man…
that he listened, talked, considered signing anything…
and didn’t tell me? That tells me he knew it was wrong. He knew, and he did it anyway.
My chest tightens, not with anger, though there’s plenty of that, but with something sharper, pettier, deeper.
A kind of hollow ache that feels like the floor under our friendship just gave out.
Because if your best friend can look at the person hurting your family and still choose to be in a room with him, behind your back, then maybe you never meant as much to them as you thought you did.
He flinches, as if I just drove the air out of his lungs. His shoulders tense, breath catching halfway out. For a second, he looks like he might say something, but nothing comes.
Silence fills the room, thick and merciless. I can hear everything—the faint tick of the clock on the garage wall, the hum of the refrigerator he keeps out there for all his drinks. All these tiny sounds of everyday life keep going while mine stops cold.
He says my name, this time softer. “Rowan…”
It breaks something in me, and I can’t look at him. Can’t breathe past the lump in my throat. The words I want to say, like how much this hurts, how much I love him, how much I wish he hadn't made a deal with the devil, get stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth.
So, I stand there, silent, while the world keeps moving without me. All I can see is him,—this man I trusted with everything—covered in sawdust and regret, when all I needed was for him to not work with people who are actively trying to tear me and my family down.
Just like Jessica. I can’t trust anyone anymore.
The workshop feels smaller by the second and I need to leave.
I blink hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling, but one slips free anyway. He sees it and takes another step, like instinct won’t let him stay away.
“Don’t,” I whisper, voice breaking. “Please don’t.”
He stops cold. And for the first time since I've known him, he looks completely lost.
“Finn, you’re supposed to be on our side,” I say quietly. “And worse, you won't even tell me.”
“I’m not helping him. I’m trying to undo it.”
“I can’t do this right now.” My throat burns as I shake my head with disgust. “I can’t even look at you.”
“Rowan—”
“Please.” My voice shakes. “Give me space.”
He stands there for a second, like maybe he’s going to argue, then nods once, slow and broken. “Okay.”
The door shuts behind me, and the sound rattles me. I practically jog to my shop, unlocking the door and shutting it. I hit the lock and bury my face in my hands, trying not to cry.