Room to Dream (The Fixer Upper #3)

Chapter 1

ONE

Finn O’Riley’s phone buzzed from somewhere under the stack of invoices he’d been sorting for the past hour. The papers nearly tumbled to the floor in his haste to answer before his daughter’s call went to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Dad. Mom called.” Brooklyn’s voice carried that familiar blend of annoyance and hurt she’d perfected over the years.

“While I was in math because why would she bother calling when I can actually answer the phone without getting in trouble? She says she wants to talk about winter break, but her phone went straight to voicemail when I tried calling back.”

Finn pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his tone even.

He worked hard to never say anything negative about his ex-wife in front of Brooklyn, but times like this made it difficult to find anything charitable to say.

He knew damned well she’d called while Brooklyn wasn’t available on purpose. “Did she say anything else?”

“Just that she’s looking forward to seeing me and hopes we can go on a girls’ trip, as if it’s a regular occurrence for us to spend time together.

I guess I’ll find out whenever she remembers to call again.

” A pause, then, “Oh, and I’m at Isabel’s.

Marcus said he could drive me home, but I told him you wouldn’t mind picking me up whenever you’re done working. ”

The bitterness in her tone stung, but not as much as it would if he didn’t know she and Isabel would have been hanging out even if he were sitting at home doing nothing.

He tried to remember she was a typical teen and that not every hint of attitude was actually directed at him.

“That’s not a problem at all. I’ll be there around eight, okay? ”

“Yeah. We’re working on our science project. And before you ask, yes, we’re actually working.” That last part came with a sigh, but the edge in her voice softened.

“I never doubted you,” Finn said, hoping she’d hear the smile in his voice.

“Liar,” she said, but she sounded like she was smiling too. “See you soon.”

He was telling the truth. Brooklyn was almost too focused on her grades. Sometimes, he wished she’d let go and be a normal teenager, but she was determined to get college scholarships. Who was he to argue with that? “Love you, Brooklyn.”

“Love you too.”

Finn stared at the phone after the call ended, thumb rubbing idle circles over the case.

He hated how practiced they’d both become at sounding fine.

At fifteen, Brooklyn shouldn’t have to pretend her mother’s halfhearted attempts at parenting didn’t hurt.

And he shouldn’t have to swallow the urge to call Holly and tell her to either show up properly or back out of their lives before she caused even more emotional damage.

Someone approaching from behind pulled him from his thoughts. Keaton, already halfway into his jacket, stood there with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still here? You know you can finish those tomorrow, right?”

Finn shrugged, gesturing to the nearly completed bank report on his screen. “Brooklyn’s at Isabel’s. Figured I’d knock this out while it’s quiet. Otherwise, I’ll be in here before dawn tomorrow to make sure you have everything you need for your meeting with Davies.”

The local business banker was a notorious hardass.

With as reluctant as he was to sign off on loans, one might think it was his personal money he was parting with.

Anderson Homeworks was growing quickly, almost too quickly for its current staffing.

They needed to buy new trucks and equipment and hire more employees if they were going to continue their expansion.

“You work too much.” Keaton grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Just make sure you get out of here early enough to spend some time with your kid.”

“I will. Night, Keaton.”

“Don’t stay too late,” Keaton called over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him.

There’d been a time when Finn was the one reminding Keaton to step away from work, but ever since he’d started dating Jules, he’d gotten much better at clocking out.

Even if home for him was just a short walk to the second floor of the Anderson Homeworks building.

While they hadn’t even been together a year yet, Finn knew Keaton was already on the hunt for a place for the two of them with a small garden out back for Jules.

The sweetness of it all made Finn’s teeth ache.

Finn closed out the last spreadsheet, double-checking the totals before saving. There was a certain satisfaction in wrapping up the numbers, knowing Keaton had all the details he would need for tomorrow’s meeting. He leaned back, rolling his shoulders, and let the quiet settle around him.

The work was done. Mostly. But he didn’t reach for his bag right away.

Instead, he opened a document he kept in a password-protected folder.

He read over the last paragraph he’d written, tweaking a phrase here, tightening a sentence there.

It wasn’t much—just a scene where his protagonist, Eli, finally admitted his feelings to the man he’d been circling for five chapters.

Eli’s fingers trembled against Wyatt’s wrist. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this since the moment you walked into that bar,” he confessed, voice rough with desire. “I just never thought you’d let me.”

Finn adjusted the dialogue, making it more raw, more honest. Under the pen name Rhett Wilder, he’d published eight novels that had developed a modest but devoted following.

His readers had no idea that the steamy scenes they devoured were written by a single father who balanced spreadsheets by day and explored the complexities of desire by night.

His characters gave him the freedom to explore a side of himself he’d never shown anyone, not even his closest friends.

He lingered, adding a line about the way Wyatt’s breath hitched, deleting two sentences that felt clinical, filling the space with the kind of hope and heated anticipation he only allowed himself on nights like this.

His characters could have what he couldn’t—passionate embraces, whispered confessions, the freedom to want without worrying about school schedules and mortgage payments.

“I’ve been yours since day one,” Wyatt murmured, turning his hand to lace their fingers together. “You just needed to see it.”

Eventually, Finn glanced at the clock. Time to go.

He closed the document, saving it without rereading, and turned his attention to the clutter on his desk.

He almost missed the sticky note wedged beneath his keyboard—a scrawl about Eli and Wyatt’s first sexual encounter, words that felt too raw to look at for long.

He folded it, tucking it into his wallet, and shook his head.

He was usually much more careful about leaving anything related to his side projects where someone at work might find them.

The Fitzgerald house was loud with laughter when he pulled up. Marcus answered the door, coffee mug in hand. “You’re just in time. The girls are about to blow up my kitchen with their experiment.”

Finn grinned, stepping inside. “Should I be worried?”

“Only if you value your eyebrows,” Marcus deadpanned. “The kitchen’s not actually in danger. Want coffee?”

“Always.”

Later tonight, he’d regret accepting the offer, but he needed the company of someone who understood what his life was like.

His other friends tried to be supportive, but they were far too eager to tell him what an idiot Holly was, how much she was missing out on.

Finn knew all that. Sometimes, he just needed to be around someone who understood how unhelpful those comments were.

Finn followed him to the kitchen, where Brooklyn and Isabel were hunched over a glass tank full of wires and plants.

“Dad, check this out.” Brooklyn waved him over. “It’s a self-sustaining ecosystem with automated sensors. We’re presenting it for the science fair.”

“Impressive,” Finn said, genuinely. “You two built this?”

Isabel nodded. “Mr. Wilson said we might actually have a shot at regionals.”

Brooklyn shrugged, but her eyes shone. “It’s not that big a deal. But it’s cool.”

“Are you kidding? Be proud of what you’ve accomplished. Both of you.”

Finn gave Brooklyn’s shoulder a gentle squeeze on his way past. He knew better than to try for a hug or a kiss on the forehead these days. She was far too old for that now.

Marcus handed Finn a mug, then leaned against the counter. “You’ve got a great kid, Finn. She’s a good influence on Isabel.”

Finn met Brooklyn’s eyes, catching the flicker of pride she tried to hide. “Thanks, Marcus. I think they’re good for each other.”

The girls started cleaning up, debating the best way to store their project so they could finish it another day.

Finn sipped his coffee, letting normalcy settle around him.

The warmth of the mug against his palms was grounding.

He watched Brooklyn gesture animatedly as she insisted her storage idea was best, her expressions so much like his own that it sometimes startled him.

“So, Brooklyn mentioned Holly called?” Marcus asked quietly, his voice pitched just low enough to stay between them. “She didn’t seem too excited about the idea of going out of town with her mom.”

Finn’s jaw tightened, that familiar knot forming in his chest—part frustration, part bone-deep weariness.

“Yeah. Brooklyn missed the call. She’s trying not to care, but—” He trailed off, glancing at his daughter.

The careful way she held her shoulders told him everything her words wouldn’t.

Seven years of this dance had taught him to read the signs.

“I’ve never met someone who can try too hard and not put in the effort all at once. ”

Marcus nodded. “It’s tough.”