Chapter 4 #2
“I remember,” Ollie finished, then immediately wanted to sink through the floor. “I mean, like you mentioned in your email. Black coffee. Right. This way.”
He led them toward the kitchenette, acutely aware of Brendan’s amused glance between him and Finn. The younger O’Riley had an air of mischief about him that both charmed and terrified Ollie in his current state of sleep-deprived vulnerability.
In the small break room, Ollie’s hands trembled slightly from caffeine overload and nerves as he poured Finn’s coffee. He handed a mug to him, their fingers brushing briefly in the exchange.
“Thanks,” Finn said quietly, his eyes meeting Ollie’s for a moment before dropping to his mug.
“These look amazing,” Brendan commented, helping himself to a pastry. “From Sweet & Simple?”
Ollie nodded, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah, I work there part-time. Morning shifts, usually. Megan gave me these to fuel the repair efforts.”
“You work two jobs?” Finn asked, something like surprise in his tone.
“Three, if you count being the town’s most eligible disaster a job,” Ollie quipped, the joke slipping out before his filter could catch it.
“But yes, bookstore and bakery. The glamorous life of a small business owner in the age of and Starbucks. I mean, not that I own the bookstore. It’s my parents’, but they’ve relied more heavily on me to keep the doors open over the past few years.
Someday, it’ll be mine if I can find a way to stand against the online overlords. ”
Finn’s brow furrowed slightly, but before he could respond, Brendan jumped in.
“Speaking of disasters, Finn here is a master at fixing them. You’re in good hands.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Though he’s more spreadsheets than small talk, fair warning.”
“Brendan,” Finn said, a note of warning in his voice.
“What? It’s a compliment. You’re the most organized person I know.” Brendan took a large bite of danish, continuing through it, “He has a spreadsheet that tracks the shelf life of every item in his pantry and sends him alerts when something’s about to expire.”
Ollie’s lips twitched despite his nerves. “Really? That’s either brilliantly methodical or slightly obsessive.”
“It’s practical,” Finn muttered, but there was the ghost of that almost-smile again, playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Practical would be taking a peek in the pantry before you go shopping and hoping for the best, which is my method,” Ollie countered. “Spreadsheets in general cross into a special realm of organization that both intimidates and fascinates me.”
Brendan laughed, nearly choking on his pastry. “I like him,” he declared to Finn. “Can we keep him?”
“We’re here to fix his ceiling, not adopt him. He’s not a puppy at the shelter,” Finn replied, but the tension in his shoulders had eased slightly. He turned to Ollie. “We should go over the plan for today before the rest of the crew arrives.”
The next half hour was spent walking through the repair strategy, with Finn explaining each phase in detail.
Despite his initial nervousness, Ollie relaxed as Finn spoke.
There was something reassuring about the man’s methodical approach, the careful way he planned to minimize disruption to the store’s operations.
“We’ll need to move these shelves,” Finn said, gesturing to a section near the damaged area. “And relocate the books temporarily.”
“I can help with that,” Ollie offered immediately. “This is the one area in life where I have my shit together. I’ve got a system. Well, several systems, depending on the genre. But I can adapt.”
“I’m sure you can,” Finn said, something like amusement flickering in his eyes. “But you really don’t need to do the heavy lifting.”
“I’d still like to help,” Ollie insisted. “These books are my responsibility. Some of them are irreplaceable.”
Finn studied him for a moment, then nodded. “All right. You can handle the book relocation. But we’ll take care of the shelves.”
“Deal,” Ollie agreed, relieved. “Though I’m stronger than I look. All that restocking builds surprisingly specific muscles.”
“I bet it does,” Brendan murmured, earning another sharp look from Finn.
The rest of the crew arrived shortly after, and the work began in earnest. Plastic sheeting was put up to contain the dust, and Ollie set to work emptying the affected shelves.
He packed books into temporary storage boxes, pausing now and then to handle particularly delicate volumes with extra care.
Mid-morning, Brendan’s phone rang, and he stepped outside to take the call after telling the other person they were working with to take a quick break, leaving Ollie and Finn alone among the partially emptied shelves.
A moment of silence stretched between them, not quite uncomfortable but charged with an awareness that hadn’t been there when the others were present.
“More coffee?” Ollie offered, gesturing toward the break room.
Finn hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
They moved to the kitchenette, where Ollie busied himself with the coffee maker, grateful for the familiar task to occupy his hands.
“So,” he said, determined to break the silence, “is your face always that serious, or is it just your professional boss-guy expression?”
Finn looked up, surprise evident in his raised eyebrows. “My face?”
“Yes, that thing on the front of your head with the eyes and nose and mouth,” Ollie clarified, handing him a fresh mug of coffee.
He wanted to crawl into a hole, but now that his internal thoughts had escaped into the world, he had no choice but to roll with it.
“It has this…intensity. Like you’re decoding ancient hieroglyphics while simultaneously plotting the perfect chess endgame. ”
A small crease appeared between Finn’s brows, as if he’d never considered his own expression before. “I’m focused. Believe it or not, that’s considered a strength to employers.”
“Focused is good,” Ollie assured him, leaning against the counter. “Focused gets things done. I’m more of a chaotic energy person myself, as you may have noticed.”
That earned him the ghost of a smile. “I noticed.”
“See? That right there—that almost-smile. It’s like watching the sun try to break through thunder clouds.” Ollie mimicked the expression, exaggerating the restraint. “Very mysterious. Makes a person wonder what a full smile from Finn O’Riley might look like.”
Finn’s eyes widened slightly, and a flush of color touched his cheekbones. “I smile,” he protested mildly.
“Anecdotal evidence suggests otherwise,” Ollie teased, emboldened by the hint of color in Finn’s face. “But I’ll keep watching for empirical proof.”
Finn shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders had eased further. “You’re very…”
“Caffeinated? Sleep-deprived? Borderline hysterical about the state and fate of my parents’ business? All accurate.”
“I was going to say direct,” Finn finished, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Ah. That too.” Ollie pushed his glasses up. “Side effect of being a socially awkward, hyperlexic kid who spent too much time in the bookstore with adults. My parents despaired of ever taking me around polite company.”
They carried their coffee back to the front of the store, pausing near the literature section where tall shelves created a small alcove of relative privacy. Ollie perched on a step stool while Finn leaned against a bookshelf, his posture fully relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived.
“So,” Ollie said, cradling his mug between both hands, “what does the super-serious Finn O’Riley read when he’s not rescuing drowning bookstores?”
There. That was a reasonable question. What Ollie really wanted to know was if Finn actually read the steamy romance books they’d talked about the night of Jules’s gallery opening, or if it was a fluke that he’d known the book Ollie was obsessed with that night.
But for some reason, asking outright felt like crossing a line.
A lot of men weren’t comfortable admitting they enjoyed reading romance, and Ollie didn’t want to put Finn in an uneasy position if any of his coworkers overheard them talking.
Finn seemed caught off guard by the question, his coffee mug pausing halfway to his lips. “Read?”
“Yes, that’s what you do with those rectangles filled with pages and words.” Ollie gestured around them. “I remember you used to bring your daughter in on Saturdays, and you weren’t just buying books for her. So, what’s your reading pleasure?”
“I know what books are,” Finn said, a defensive note in his voice that made Ollie instantly regret his teasing tone. “I don’t have much time for reading.”
Okay, so apparently they were pretending their previous conversation hadn’t happened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“No, it’s fine.” Finn set his mug down on a nearby shelf. “I like historical fiction. And some biographies.”
“Respectable choices.” Ollie nodded approvingly. “Any particular period for the historical fiction?”
“Civil War era, mostly.” Finn seemed to relax slightly, on more comfortable ground. “I like the attention to detail, the research that goes into making the past feel immediate and real.”
“The best historical fiction makes you forget you’re reading about history at all,” Ollie agreed. “It just becomes people living their lives, facing their challenges. The period details are the backdrop, not the story.”
Finn looked at him with something like surprise. “Exactly.”
Encouraged, Ollie continued, “What about other genres? Mystery? Science fiction? Romance?”