Chapter 4
FOUR
Ollie arrived at Shelf Care Central before the construction crew was scheduled to appear.
The early hour left his eyes gritty with exhaustion, but sleep had proven elusive—his mind too full of leaking ceilings, insurance deductibles, and the memory of a certain contractor’s almost-smile.
This was proving to be the longest week in history.
The bookstore was eerily quiet, the usual creaks and sighs of the old building amplified in the pre-dawn stillness. Ollie flipped on the lights, wincing as they illuminated the evidence of Monday’s disaster.
“Morning, friends,” he murmured to the books as he made his way toward the small kitchenette in the back. Talking to books was perfectly normal behavior, he’d decided long ago. They were better listeners than most people, anyway.
He’d worn his lucky cardigan today—a faded blue affair with leather elbow patches that had seen him through college finals, his first job interview, and the grand reopening of the family bookstore under its new name.
The cardigan had absorbed coffee stains, ink smudges, and tears over the years, becoming less a piece of clothing and more a security blanket disguised as adult attire.
Ollie needed all the luck he could get today.
The coffee maker gurgled to life. If he was going to face a day of construction chaos on three hours of sleep, caffeine would be his primary ally.
While the coffee brewed, he unpacked the pastries he’d picked up from Sweet & Simple on his way in—Megan, the owner of the bakery, was opening this week, so he could focus on the bookstore.
He felt bad leaving her in a lurch, but she understood the challenges of navigating a crisis at a small business.
When he’d tried apologizing for not being able to help her through the morning rush, she’d pressed a box of day-old treats into his hands, refusing payment with a firm, “For fortification. You look like you need it more than we do.”
The gesture had nearly undone him. It was the small kindnesses that always threatened his composure more than the big disasters. When he was finally able to get back to business as usual, he’d find a way to repay her by more than just using her as his source for morning treats for his customers.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled it out, nearly dropping it in his haste to check the caller ID.
“Mom,” he answered, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued arranging pastries on a plate. “It’s not even seven. Why are you awake?”
“I could ask you the same question,” his mother replied, her voice warm with concern. “Are you at the store already?”
“No, I’m actually parasailing off the coast of Fiji. The reception is remarkable.”
“Oliver.”
Ollie sighed, abandoning the donuts to lean against the counter. “Yes, I’m at the store. The construction crew starts today, and I wanted to get things ready.”
“How bad is it in the daylight?”
He glanced toward the main floor, where morning sun was beginning to filter through the windows, highlighting dust motes dancing in the beams. “It’s…
manageable. The fans helped. The standing water is gone, and we saved the majority of the inventory.
” He paused, then added with forced lightness, “The ceiling’s still determined to join the floor, but I’ve explained that their relationship is doomed from the start.
Too different. Ceiling’s always looking down on floor, you know how it is. ”
His mother’s soft laugh was worth the terrible joke. “And the insurance?”
“The adjuster said everything should be covered.” Ollie ran a hand through his already chaotic curls, making them stand up even more dramatically. “I’ve documented everything. Took about eight hundred photos. Created a spreadsheet. I’m basically an insurance professional now.”
“And the construction company? You said you called the Anderson boy to come out?”
“Yeah, and he had someone here first thing Tuesday morning.” Ollie poured the coffee, hoping his mother couldn’t somehow sense the slight quickening of his pulse at the thought of Finn. “They’re starting work this morning. Should take about two weeks, working in sections so we can stay open.”
“That’s good. And the project manager…are they experienced with this kind of repair?”
Ollie’s mind flashed to Finn’s steady hands, the confident way he’d assessed the damage, the surprising gentleness in his suggestion that Ollie rest. “Yeah, Finn seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Finn?” His mother’s tone shifted subtly, a note of interest creeping in. “He’s the single dad who used to come in with his little girl, right?”
“Don’t start,” Ollie warned, though there was no heat in it. His mom missed nothing, and it figured she’d remember how attentive Ollie had been whenever Finn brought Brooklyn in when she was younger. “He’s just the contractor. Very professional. Very…contractor-y.”
“Contractor-y isn’t a word, sweetheart.”
“It is now. I help run a bookstore. I can make up words. It’s a perk of the job.”
His mother laughed again, the sound easing some of the tension in Ollie’s shoulders. “Fine, I’ll stop fishing. Your father and I will be home tomorrow evening. Are you sure you don’t need us to come back today?”
“Positive. Enjoy Aunt Marge’s cooking and her seventeen cats.
I’ve got this covered.” Ollie plucked a donut with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles out of the box.
They were his favorite, but he only ate them when he was alone because most people thought they were for kids.
They were so wrong. “The construction guys will be here soon. I should go.”
“Okay, love. Call if you need anything. And, Ollie? Try to eat something besides carbs today.”
“No promises,” he replied, eyeing his breakfast. “Love you, Mom.”
After hanging up, Ollie carried his coffee to the front of the store, surveying the space with a critical eye.
He’d rearranged the display tables yesterday to create a clear path for the construction crew, but now he second-guessed the configuration.
Would they need more room? Less? Should he move the new releases display away from the window, or would that make the store look too empty from the street?
He set down his coffee and began shifting a table six inches to the left, then changed his mind and moved it back. Then shifted it again.
“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, pushing his glasses up. “They’re professionals. They can work around a table.”
Still, he spent the next forty-five minutes arranging and rearranging, a physical manifestation of the anxiety swirling inside him.
The bookstore’s finances had been precarious even before a washing machine decided to rain destruction from above.
His parents hadn’t said anything, but Ollie knew they were worried—about the store, about their retirement, about his future.
By seven-thirty, he’d worked himself into such a state that when his phone chimed with a text, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
It was from Jules.
Deep breaths. Don’t rearrange the entire store on your own. Finn will be impressed by your book knowledge, not your furniture placement skills.
Ollie snorted.
How did you know I was rearranging things?
Because I know you.
Busted.
Ollie smiled ruefully.
You’re supposed to be my friend, not my conscience.
I can be both. Now stop obsessing and drink more coffee. You’ll need it.
They weren’t wrong. Ollie drained his now-lukewarm cup and headed back for a refill, checking the time as he went. Twenty minutes until the crew arrived. Twenty minutes to get his nerves under control and project an air of competent bookstore owner rather than barely contained panic.
He was on his third cup of coffee and second nervous circuit of the store when someone rang the doorbell at the front of the store precisely at eight a.m. Ollie spun around so quickly he nearly sloshed coffee over his lucky cardigan.
Finn stood in the doorway, the sun at his back casting him in silhouette for a moment before he stepped inside.
He wore work boots, jeans, and a simple gray Henley under an open flannel shirt, a more casual look than the button-down from yesterday, but no less put-together.
Behind him was a younger man with similar features, carrying a toolbox and wearing a grin that suggested he found life generally amusing.
“Morning,” Finn said, his voice low and steady. “Hope we’re not too early.”
“Early? No! Perfect timing. Right on time. Exactly on time, actually, which is impressive. Very punctual. I like punctuality. It’s a good quality.
In people. And trains.” Ollie clamped his mouth shut, horrified at the stream of consciousness that had just escaped.
Three cups of coffee and minimal sleep were clearly a dangerous combination.
The younger man’s grin widened as he set down his toolbox. “I’m Brendan,” he said, extending a hand. “The less punctual, more charming brother. Luckily, the timekeeper will help make sure I’m here on time.”
“Ollie,” he replied, shaking Brendan’s hand. “The caffeinated, slightly manic bookstore owner.”
“So I noticed,” Brendan said cheerfully, earning a sharp look from Finn.
“We’re going to head back so I can show Brendan what needs to be done first,” Finn said, all business.
“The rest of the crew will be here shortly to help with the demolition. We’ll start in the back corner as discussed, so you can keep the front section operational.
But we need to get anything that’s water-damaged out of here to avoid a hydra of problems down the road. ”
“Great. Perfect. Yes.” Ollie nodded too enthusiastically. “I’ve moved some things around to create space. And there’s coffee! And pastries. In the back. If you want. Not required, obviously. Just…available.”
Finn’s expression softened slightly. “Coffee would be great. Black—”