Chapter 2
TWO
Ollie Jennings had always believed that books possessed a certain magic: the power to transport, to transform, to offer sanctuary from life’s storms. What he hadn’t counted on was their remarkable ability to absorb water.
So much water.
“That’s it. I’m building an ark,” he announced, wringing out his mop for what felt like the thousandth time that night.
Water splashed into the already-full bucket, some of it sloshing over the sides and rejoining its brethren on the hardwood floor.
He really hoped they’d been able to sop up the water before the floors were saturated to the point they needed to be replaced.
“Two of every book genre. The romance section can repopulate once we reach dry land.”
His best friend Jules looked up from where they were carefully blotting the edges of water-damaged paperbacks, their hair frizzing in the damp air. “If you start collecting animals, I’m quitting. I draw the line at cleaning up after metaphorical elephants.”
“Bold of you to assume I’d pick elephants.” Ollie pushed his glasses up with his forearm since his hands were occupied with the mop. They slid right back down his nose a moment later. “If I were going to collect any animal, it’d be otters. They’re basically water puppies. Very on-theme.”
Sam, the other member of their ride-or-die trio, snorted from her position atop a ladder, where she placed a fresh bucket to catch yet another leak that had just made itself known with a gut-wrenching drip onto a display of local history books.
Luckily, they’d been able to move those before too much damage was done.
“Pretty sure Noah didn’t get to pick and choose based on cuteness factor. ”
“Noah didn’t have to worry about Yelp reviews either,” Ollie pointed out, resuming his mopping with renewed determination. “One-star rating: boat smelled like wet lion. Would not recommend.”
The banter helped, but beneath the jokes, Ollie’s chest felt tight with worry.
Shelf Care Central wasn’t just a bookstore.
It was his family’s legacy, his parents’ retirement plan, and he’d been working hard on turning it into a place people wanted to hang out.
And right now, it was taking on water at an alarming rate.
The storm outside was still raging, rain pounding against the windows like it had a personal vendetta against literature.
But it wasn’t the rain itself causing the damage.
No, that honor belonged to an ancient washing machine in the apartment above the store, whose fill hose had chosen the middle of the downpour to spectacularly fail while the tenants were out.
The result was a cascade of water through the ceiling, transforming their carefully curated book haven into something resembling a literary swamp.
The young couple upstairs had called him in a panic just over an hour ago.
He’d thanked them and told them it would be okay, even as his brain screamed that this was a tragedy.
Then he’d called in the cavalry—Sam and Jules—who’d shown up in record time despite the weather, armed with mops and determination.
Jules’s boyfriend, Keaton, was on his way with industrial fans to help dry everything out.
“How’s the poetry corner looking?” Ollie called to Jules, trying to keep his voice light despite the heaviness settling in his stomach.
They grimaced, holding up a paperback whose pages had warped into artistic waves. “Let’s just say Frost would appreciate the irony of water damage.”
“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in flood,” Sam quipped, descending the ladder with careful steps. “Not exactly how the poem goes, but it feels appropriate.”
Ollie’s phone buzzed in his pocket for the third time in twenty minutes.
He knew without looking that it would be his parents.
They’d been beside themselves when he’d called to break the news, and only his most convincing promises had kept them from immediately driving back in the middle of the night.
Maybe he should have waited to call them.
This was the first vacation they’d taken in years, and he wanted them to enjoy the week with his aunt.
“I should take this,” he said, propping the mop against a bookshelf and wiping his hands on his already-damp jeans. “Keep bailing, sailors.”
He stepped into the small office at the back of the store, closing the door behind him before answering. “Hey, Mom. Everything’s fine. We’re just—”
“Oliver James Jennings, don’t you dare tell me everything’s fine when I can hear in your voice that it’s not.” His mother’s concern carried clearly through the phone, warm and worried in equal measure. “Your dad and I are packing now. We can be there in two hours.”
Ollie sank into the desk chair, suddenly aware of his waning adrenaline. The exhaustion hit him all at once, a wave more powerful than anything currently pouring through their ceiling. He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses, leaving smudges on the lenses that he’d regret later.
“Mom, seriously, there’s no need. The water’s still coming in, but we’ve got most of the inventory covered.
Jules and Sam are here helping. I called Jules as soon as I discovered the leak.
They came straight over to help me put plastic over everything, and Keaton’s on his way to the shop right now to get fans. ”
“But the books—”
“Are mostly okay,” he assured her, stretching the truth only slightly. “We got the plastic over the rare stuff and special editions before the water reached them. It’s mainly the suspense and thrillers that are taking the hit right now.”
A pause, then his father’s voice joined the call. “Son, we can come back. The store is our responsibility too.”
Ollie closed his eyes briefly, a complicated mix of love and frustration washing through him. “Dad, you and Mom have been planning this week with Aunt Barb for months. I’ve got this covered. I promise.”
“The insurance company—” his mother began.
“I’ll call them first thing in the morning.
I texted Megan to let her know what’s going on, and she’s going to open the bakery for me.
I’ve already taken photos of everything.
” Ollie ran a hand through his damp curls, leaving them sticking up at odd angles.
In an ideal world, he wouldn’t have to have a part-time job, but until the bookstore was solvent, that wasn’t an option.
“Seriously, enjoy your break. There’s literally nothing you can do right now that we aren’t already doing. ”
The silence on the other end told him they weren’t convinced, but after a moment, his father sighed. “You’ll call if anything changes? Anything at all?”
“The second anything happens, good or bad, you’ll be the first to know,” Ollie promised. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Promise. Love you too.”
After a few more reassurances, he finally ended the call, letting his head fall back against the wall.
For just a moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of it all: the water damage, the inevitable repair costs, the precarious state of the bookstore’s finances even before this disaster struck.
The constant juggling act between his shifts at Sweet & Simple Bakery and the hours he poured into Shelf Care Central, trying to keep the bookstore afloat.
“We can fix this,” he whispered to the empty office, the words half prayer, half determination. “We have to.”
His throat tightened unexpectedly. The bookstore wasn’t just a business.
It was the place where he’d learned to read, where he’d hidden during his awkward teenage years, where he’d decided—after a brief, unsuccessful attempt at city living—that Maple Hill was where he belonged.
It was home in a way that transcended the actual building, and the thought of losing it made his chest ache with a pain far sharper than mere exhaustion.
The steady hum of industrial fans greeted Ollie as soon as he pushed through the door the following morning. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and he groaned, shielding his eyes from the unexpected brightness. Even once they’d quit working for the night, Ollie hadn’t been able to relax.
Every muscle in his body ached from last night’s marathon cleanup session.
Once they’d stopped the waterfalls seeping through the ceiling and cleaned up the pools of water, there’d been little more they could do.
Keaton had set up dehumidifiers and industrial fans before telling everyone to get some sleep.
A soft knock at the door pulled him back to the present. Jules poked their head in, their expression a mixture of sympathy and urgency. “Finn is here.”
Ollie blinked, and the fog of exhaustion shattered. “Seriously? I thought Keaton was coming over?”
He was not prepared to deal with the hot office manager from Anderson Homeworks this morning.
Before the opening night of Jules’s first art exhibit a few months ago, he’d only known Finn O’Riley as the sexy single dad who used to come in with his daughter to pick out books on Sunday mornings.
But that night, he’d learned Finn was also an avid reader, and the two of them had talked about the validity of erotic romance as a genre while their friends were busy entertaining everyone else who’d joined them from dinner.
That was the night Ollie’s admiration had turned into a full-blown crush.
Jules shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “He had an appointment at the bank first thing this morning that he couldn’t get out of, but he didn’t want you freaking out all day. Just thought you should know before you go out there looking like a librarian having an existential crisis.”
“That’s my everyday aesthetic,” Ollie protested, but he took a moment to tuck in his shirt and run a hand through his hopelessly rumpled hair. “How bad is it?”
“The ceiling or your hair? Because both are concerning.”
Ollie made a face at them. “You’re fired.”