Chapter 6
SIX
Ollie stared at the ceiling, watching shadows chase across the plaster. His phone read two thirty-seven a.m., but sleep remained stubbornly out of reach. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw mold spreading across wooden beams, insurance forms multiplying, and his parents’ disappointed faces.
What if I can’t fix this?
What if this is the end of everything I’ve been trying to save?
He’d been fielding calls all day—his parents, the insurance company, even Keaton checking in. Each conversation left him hollower than the last, the weight of responsibility pressing against his chest until breathing felt like an act of defiance.
Rolling onto his side, Ollie grabbed his phone.
The screen’s glow illuminated his small bedroom, casting everything in harsh blue light.
He opened his messages, thumbs hovering over the group chat with Jules and Sam.
He’d feel bad texting them so late if he didn’t know both of them had closed at Brew & Barrel tonight.
He’d been thinking a lot about what Finn said.
Maybe it was selfish, but he wanted to prove to his parents that the bookstore wasn’t a lost cause.
Find a way to come up with the money for the deductible without draining their savings even more.
Yes, times were tough for independent bookstores, but there were also new ones popping up all the time.
Maybe what they needed was for Ollie to force them to see that change wasn’t bad, that their business model was the issue, not the business itself.
Hey, anyone up for an emergency bookstore brainstorm tomorrow? he typed, then immediately deleted. Too casual. Too fake.
I need help. I can’t do this alone.
Too needy.
Delete.
The store is officially fucked. Mold everywhere. Insurance is dragging its feet. I don’t know what to do.
His thumb hovered over the send button. The words felt like surrender, an admission of weakness he’d spent years avoiding. Ollie was the helper, the optimist, the one who lifted others up. He wasn’t supposed to be the one drowning.
But he was.
With a shaky exhale, he pressed send, then dropped the phone onto the mattress like it had burned him.
The quiet ping of replies came almost immediately, but he couldn’t bring himself to look just yet.
The relief of reaching out mingled with shame, creating a cocktail of emotions that tightened his throat.
“Get it together, Ollie,” he whispered to the empty room. But for once, he wasn’t sure he could.
His phone pinged, drawing his attention back to the screen.
Jules: We’re here. Always. You know that, right?
Sam: Dude, why didn’t you call one of us? I would’ve brought whiskey and questionable advice.
Ollie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard. The lump in his throat made it hard to swallow.
Jules: Sweet & Simple tomorrow morning? 9 a.m.? We’ll figure this out together.
Sam: I’ll bring Maya. Library girl has connections, and she’s good at the whole “organizing community support” thing.
The rapid-fire responses loosened something in Ollie’s chest. He took a shaky breath and typed back.
Ollie: You guys are the best. 9 a.m. works. I’ll try to look less like a disaster by then.
Sam: Don’t bother. We like you disaster-adjacent.
Jules: Try to get some sleep, ok? Tomorrow, we make a plan.
Ollie: I’ll try. Thank you. Seriously.
Sam: That’s what we’re here for. Now go the fuck to sleep.
A reluctant smile tugged at Ollie’s lips as he set the phone down on his nightstand. The weight on his chest hadn’t disappeared, but it felt lighter, more bearable. He closed his eyes, exhaustion finally winning out over anxiety as he drifted into sleep.
“You look like you wrestled a tornado and lost,” Sam announced as Ollie slumped into the corner booth at Sweet & Simple the next morning. “Twice.”
“Thanks. That’s exactly the ego boost I needed today.” Ollie managed a weak smile as he accepted the extra-large coffee Jules slid toward him. “Welcome to Defcon Bookstore, where today’s special is ‘Everything Is Fine’ with a side of ‘Oh God, Oh God, We’re All Going to Die.’”
Maya, who worked at the library and rounded out their impromptu crisis meeting, reached across the table to squeeze his hand. “We’re going to figure out a way to turn things around. Tell us what’s going on, other than the ceiling thing, which is a temporary problem.”
Ollie took a fortifying sip of coffee. “I don’t even know where to start,” he admitted, running a hand through his already chaotic curls.
“There’s apparently mold everywhere in the ceiling, and they haven’t even checked anything behind the walls.
The remediation alone is going to cost a fortune, and that has to be done before we even get to the actual repairs.
Insurance is being…well, insurance. And my parents—” His voice caught.
“They’re talking about selling. For real this time.
I have to get everything out of the store, and once they see it as nothing but a shell of its former glory, I’m afraid they’ll say it’s not worth setting up again. ”
“Shit,” Jules said softly.
“Pretty much.” Ollie attempted another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve spent the past five years trying to breathe life back into that store, and now it’s literally falling apart around me.”
“What do you need?” Sam asked, her usual snark replaced by quiet determination. “Like, right now, what would help the most?”
The directness of the question caught Ollie off guard. He’d expected sympathy, maybe some halfhearted suggestions. But Sam’s steady gaze demanded honesty.
“I don’t know,” he said, surprising himself with the admission. “I’m scared. I feel like I’m failing everyone—my parents, the community, myself. I’ve always had a plan, a way to fix things, but this…” He gestured vaguely. “This feels too big.”
“So we make it smaller,” Jules said, leaning forward. “Break it down. What are the immediate problems?”
“Money,” Ollie replied without hesitation.
“The insurance will eventually come through—maybe—but we need funds now to keep the doors open while everything gets sorted. Not only that, but when my dad bought the policy, they talked him into some bullshit where he doesn’t have a set deductible.
It was probably a good deal for him back then, but between the work they’ve put into restoring the building and the fact that there aren’t as many empty commercial buildings downtown now, the deductible is outrageous since it’s based on a percentage of the valuation. ”
Maya nodded thoughtfully. “What about a community fundraiser? Maple Hill rallies around its own.”
“A GoFundMe?” Sam suggested. “Or maybe special events—author readings, book clubs with a cover charge?”
“A read-in,” Maya offered. “People sponsor readers, like a marathon but with books. Eventually, you could have them at the store, but until then, we can see if Megan would host it here or if another business would be willing to help. I saw something online the other day about how silent book clubs are becoming a thing. This would take that to the next level.”
“Only if there’s wine,” Sam added with a smirk. “Nothing says ‘save our bookstore’ like slightly drunk poetry readings.”
Despite everything, Ollie felt a laugh bubble up. “That’s actually not the worst idea. We could partner with Brew & Barrel. If I can’t convince business owners it’d be mutually beneficial, I’m screwed. We can’t do anything at the bookstore until the mold is dealt with.”
“I don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” Jules reassured him. “Everyone loves you. And like you said, it’s not like they won’t get anything out of the arrangement. It could be good for everyone.”
“I guess you have a point there.” Ollie still hated the idea of asking anyone for help.
The ideas flowed faster now, each suggestion building on the last. Jules pulled out their tablet, sketching a quick logo for “Shelf Care: The Community Edition.” Sam started a list of local businesses they could approach for donations despite Ollie’s protests that it wasn’t fair to ask other businesses to support his.
Maya offered to coordinate with the library for cross-promotion.
“Speaking of community support,” Jules said, a mischievous glint in their eye, “Finn’s been spending a lot of time at the store. Disaster or destiny, Ollie? I know damned well he’s not there because it’s standard protocol for Keaton’s projects.”
Heat crept up Ollie’s neck. “He’s just doing his job.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam’s expression was knowing. “Is staring at you like you hung the moon part of the standard contractor package? Because I might need to renovate my apartment if they have any hot straight guys there.”
“He doesn’t—” Ollie began, then stopped, remembering the gentle pressure of Finn’s hand on his arm, the quiet understanding in his eyes. “It’s complicated. And he is a hot straight guy.”
“The best things are never easy,” Maya said softly. “But according to his brother, he might not be as straight as you think.”
Jules nudged Ollie’s foot under the table. “Seriously. He’s a great guy. Solid. And he clearly cares about what happens to you and the store,” they amended quickly.
“Even if you were right about that and if he’s into guys, it’s horrible timing,” Ollie protested weakly. “The bookstore has to come first.”
“Bullshit,” Sam said cheerfully. “You’re not allowed to use the crisis as an excuse to avoid connection. That’s, like, the opposite of what you need.”
“Sam’s right,” Jules added, their voice gentler. “And you’re not allowed to burn yourself out trying to save everything on your own. We’ll hold the buckets with you, Ollie. That’s what family does.”
The simple statement hit Ollie with unexpected force. He blinked rapidly, fighting the sting behind his eyes. “I don’t deserve you guys.”
“Probably not,” Sam agreed with a grin, “but you’re stuck with us anyway.”