Chapter 9
NINE
Finn ran his hand along the new molding, checking for imperfections. The bookstore renovation was finally complete—the construction mess gone, replaced by the smell of books mixing with fresh paint and leftover coffee from the celebration.
“Stop inspecting your brother’s work,” Ollie called from across the room, where he was collecting empty cups left behind by the volunteers who’d helped restock the shelves. “I can see you looking for flaws that don’t exist.”
“Force of habit,” Finn admitted, turning away from the molding. “Brendan says I’d find something to fix in the Sistine Chapel.”
“And he’d be right.” Ollie’s smile was tired but genuine, his glasses slightly askew as he dumped the cups into a recycling bin. “I think Michelangelo himself would’ve been intimidated by your attention to detail.”
The easy banter between them felt natural now, comfortable in a way that made Finn’s chest tighten with something dangerously close to longing.
Over the past weeks, as they’d worked side by side to restore the bookstore, the careful distance he’d maintained had eroded, leaving him vulnerable in ways he hadn’t been in years.
Rain pattered against the windows, streaking the glass and blurring the streetlights outside into hazy orbs.
The weather had driven away the last lingering customers, leaving just the two of them in the warm cocoon of the bookstore.
Finn was acutely aware of how alone they were—how private this moment felt, suspended between the frantic activity of the day and whatever came next.
“I still can’t believe we pulled this off,” Ollie said, collapsing onto the small sofa in the reading nook. “Three weeks ago, I was staring at a hole in my ceiling and contemplating a career change to professional hermit.”
Finn smiled, gathering his tools from where they’d been scattered during the final touch-ups. “The hermit life is overrated. Poor Wi-Fi, terrible takeout options.”
“You speak from experience?” Ollie teased, stretching his arms above his head. The motion lifted the hem of his shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that Finn absolutely did not notice. Or at least, tried very hard not to notice.
“Let’s just say the first year after Holly left, I didn’t exactly embrace social opportunities,” Finn admitted, the confession slipping out easier than it once would have. “Brooklyn and work were my entire world.”
“And now?” Ollie’s voice had softened, the question hanging between them with unmistakable weight.
Finn looked up, meeting Ollie’s gaze across the room. “Now, I’m here.”
The simple statement felt more revealing than he’d intended. He busied himself with packing his remaining tools, aware of Ollie watching him with those perceptive eyes that seemed to see past every defense.
“Well, I’m glad,” Ollie said finally. “That you’re here, I mean. Not just for the ceiling or the fundraising ideas, but…you know. I’m just glad you’re here.”
The warmth in his voice made Finn’s hands falter as he zipped his bag. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket—a welcome distraction from the intensity of the moment.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling it out to check the screen. No caller ID, but the area code was local. “I should take this. It might be about the supply delivery we’re waiting on.”
Ollie nodded, rising from the sofa. “I’ll finish cleaning up. Take your time.”
Finn stepped toward the back office for privacy, answering as he walked. “Finn O’Riley.”
“Mr. O’Riley, this is Diane Mercer from Maple Hill High School.” The woman’s voice was professional but carried an undercurrent of concern that immediately set Finn on edge. “I’m calling about Brooklyn.”
His stomach dropped. “Is she okay? Did something happen?”
“She’s not injured,” the woman assured him quickly. “But I’m afraid she’s been skipping her fourth-period class regularly. Today makes the third time in two weeks. As her guidance counselor, I wanted to speak with you directly.”
Finn closed the office door behind him, leaning against it as guilt and worry crashed over him. “I wasn’t aware of this. Did she say why?”
“She was evasive when I tried getting her to open up. Given her normally excellent attendance and grades, we wanted to address this before it becomes a larger issue.”
“Of course,” Finn said, running a hand through his hair. “I appreciate the call. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
After arranging a follow-up conversation later in the week, Finn ended the call and stood in the quiet office, trying to process.
Brooklyn skipping class? It was so unlike her—his responsible, focused daughter who’d always taken school seriously.
What had he missed while he’d been pouring his energy into the bookstore project, into helping Ollie, into his own secret writing deadlines?
His messenger bag sat on the desk where he’d left it earlier, and as he moved to collect it, his foot caught on the strap.
The bag toppled, spilling its contents across the floor—his laptop, a folder of invoices, and worst of all, his notebook filled with character sketches and plot outlines for his latest Rhett Wilder novel.
“Shit,” he muttered, dropping to his knees to gather everything before—
The door opened, and Ollie’s voice filled the small space. “Hey, I was thinking we could grab dinner to celebrate the—oh!” He stopped short at the sight of Finn scrambling to collect his scattered belongings. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to barge in. Let me help.”
Before Finn could object, Ollie was kneeling beside him, reaching for the open notebook where Finn’s handwriting was sprawled across the pages. Heart hammering against his ribs, Finn snatched it away, perhaps too quickly.
“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” he said, his voice strained as he shoved the notebook deep into his bag.
Ollie blinked, surprise and a flicker of hurt crossing his features. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Finn said immediately, regret washing over him. “That was… I didn’t mean to be abrupt. It’s just—” He faltered, searching for an explanation that wasn’t a lie but wouldn’t reveal his secret. “Work notes. Client confidentiality and all that.”
It was a weak excuse, and from the slight furrow between Ollie’s brows, he knew it. But Ollie didn’t push, just nodded and helped gather the remaining papers in silence.
As they stood, the awkwardness between them was palpable—a stark contrast to the easy comfort of minutes before. Finn’s phone call and near-exposure of his secret had erected a wall he hadn’t intended, and he hated it.
“Everything okay?” Ollie asked finally, gesturing toward Finn’s phone. “With your call?”
Finn hesitated, then sighed. “It was Brooklyn’s school. She’s been skipping class, apparently.”
Concern immediately replaced the hurt in Ollie’s eyes. “Is she all right?”
“I don’t know what in the hell’s going on with her,” Finn admitted, the weight of parental worry settling heavy on his shoulders.
“I thought things had gotten better since I talked to her about the missing assignments. Maybe I was foolish to think that was an isolated issue. I trusted her when she said it was just because she’d been so focused on her science fair project that other things had slipped her mind. ”
“Hey,” Ollie said softly, stepping closer. “Don’t do that to yourself. Teenagers are complicated. Even the good ones have rough patches.”
“I know. But I’m all she has. If I miss something important—” Finn cut himself off, the fear he usually kept buried rising to the surface.
“You’re not missing anything,” Ollie insisted. “You’re noticing now, and you’re going to talk to her. That’s what matters.”
The simple reassurance, offered without judgment, loosened something in Finn’s chest. He looked at Ollie—really looked at him—taking in the sincerity in his eyes, the gentle set of his mouth, the way he seemed to understand without Finn having to explain.
“Thank you,” Finn said quietly. “For saying that. For…a lot of things, actually.”
Ollie’s smile was soft. “That’s what friends do.”
“So you admit that we’re friends now?” The question slipped out before Finn could stop it, hanging in the air between them.
Ollie’s breath caught, his eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. “I think we both know it’s more complicated than that.”
The honesty of the response sent a jolt through Finn’s system.
They’d been dancing around this—whatever this was—for weeks, neither quite brave enough to name it.
But here, in the quiet of the back office, with rain drumming against the windows and no one else around, the truth felt impossible to ignore.
“I’m not good at this,” Finn admitted, his voice rough. “At wanting things. At letting myself care too much. Especially now, with Brooklyn struggling…”
“I know,” Ollie said simply. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m scared too.”
The admission—so honest, so vulnerable—made something shift in Finn’s chest. He took a step closer, close enough to see the darker flecks in Ollie’s blue eyes, to count the freckles scattered across his nose.
“What are you scared of?” Finn asked, barely above a whisper.
Ollie swallowed, his gaze never leaving Finn’s.
“That I’ll let myself feel something real for you, and you’ll realize you don’t have time for anything but Brooklyn.
It’s impossible to deny there’s something here, but you have so much going on in your life right now, and I know she’ll always be your priority.
The last thing I want is for you to feel like I’m yet another obligation. ”
The raw honesty of the words struck Finn like a physical blow. He reached out, his hand hovering uncertainly before settling on Ollie’s arm. “You could never be just an obligation to me.”
Ollie’s eyes flickered to Finn’s hand on his arm, then back to his face. “What am I, then?”