Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Finn stared at his daughter across the breakfast table, trying to decipher the subtle shifts in her expression.
Brooklyn stabbed at her pancakes with more force than necessary, her shoulders hunched defensively even though he hadn’t said anything yet.
The past two weeks had been a delicate dance of progress and setbacks—she’d kept her promise about attending class, but the distance between them remained, a chasm he wasn’t sure how to bridge.
“So,” he began carefully, “there’s this event at Shelf Care Central today. Some young adult book thing. Ollie mentioned they could use some extra hands.”
Brooklyn’s fork paused mid-stab. “And?”
“And I thought maybe you’d want to come help out.” He kept his tone casual. “They need someone to run the trivia station. Apparently, it’s all dystopian fiction and fantasy series—right in your wheelhouse.”
“I have homework,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“On a Saturday morning?”
“Some of us take school seriously.” The barb landed with precision, and Finn winced. “I thought that’s what you wanted me to do.”
“Brooklyn—”
“That was unfair,” she admitted immediately, shoulders slumping. “Sorry.”
The apology, small as it was, felt like progress. Finn took a breath. “Look, I’m not trying to force you into anything. I just thought it might be good for both of us. You used to love going there every weekend.”
Brooklyn pushed her pancakes around her plate, considering. “Is this because I promised to stop skipping class? Some kind of reward system, like I’m five?”
“No,” Finn said firmly. “This is because you’re good with books, you know the YA section better than most adults, and honestly, he could use your help.” He paused, then added quietly, “And maybe I miss hanging out with you.”
Something flickered across Brooklyn’s face—a softening around the eyes that reminded him so much of her younger self that his chest ached. “Fine,” she said finally. “But I’m not wearing one of those dorky volunteer shirts.”
Relief washed over him. “Deal.”
Two hours later, they stood outside Shelf Care Central, music and laughter spilling through the open door. Brooklyn hesitated on the sidewalk, tugging self-consciously at her oversized flannel shirt.
“You okay?” Finn asked.
“Yeah.” She adjusted her ponytail. “Just… It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”
The admission caught him off guard. Brooklyn had practically grown up among these shelves, but somewhere along the way, between the divorce and adolescence and his own distraction, that connection had faded.
Before he could respond, Ollie appeared in the doorway, his face lighting up at the sight of them. He wore a ridiculous T-shirt emblazoned with Books are my love language and his curls were even more chaotic than usual, as if he’d been running his hands through them all morning.
“You made it!” he exclaimed, genuine delight in his voice. His eyes warmed with recognition when he spotted Finn’s daughter. “Brooklyn! Thank god you’re here. We need someone who actually knows their Hunger Games from their Divergent, and Sam is hopelessly out of her depth.”
The casual welcome, no pressure, no awkwardness, seemed to ease some of the tension in Brooklyn’s posture. “Adults always mix up the factions and the districts,” she said, a hint of her usual confidence returning.
“Exactly!” Ollie agreed, gesturing them inside. “Which is why we need you. I tried to explain to Sam that Dauntless isn’t a Hunger Games district, and she looked at me like I’d grown a second head.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Brooklyn’s lips. “That’s just embarrassing.”
“Tell me about it. Her nerd credentials are in serious jeopardy.”
Finn hung back slightly, watching the exchange with a mixture of relief and a subtle ache in his chest. There was something bittersweet about seeing how effortlessly Ollie connected with Brooklyn, drawing out that spark of enthusiasm he’d been trying so desperately to rekindle for months.
No forced conversation, no walking on eggshells.
Just a genuine interest that bypassed all her defenses in a way Finn couldn’t seem to manage lately.
He recognized the feeling tightening his throat.
It wasn’t quite jealousy, but something adjacent to it.
A reminder of how easy their relationship used to be, before puberty and high school had complicated everything.
Before conversations became minefields and shared interests seemed to evaporate overnight.
Yet alongside that ache bloomed something warmer as he watched Brooklyn’s shoulders relax, her posture opening up in a way it rarely did anymore. If Ollie could reach her when Finn couldn’t, maybe that was its own kind of gift.
As they’d entered the store, Finn had hung back slightly, watching the easy way Ollie drew Brooklyn into conversation. There was no condescension, no forced enthusiasm, just genuine interest and respect. Something warm unfurled in Finn’s chest at the sight.
The bookstore had been transformed for the event.
Colorful banners hung from the newly repaired ceiling, themed displays featured everything from fantasy to contemporary YA, and the central area had been cleared for activities.
Teens clustered around different stations, while parents and community members browsed the shelves or chatted over coffee.
When Ollie first mentioned wanting to do an event for teens, Finn had been skeptical.
From what he’d seen, most kids were more interested in technology than physical books.
Being proven wrong was a pleasant surprise.
Then again, that was why Ollie sold books while Finn preferred to stay behind the screen.
“The trivia is over there,” Ollie told Brooklyn, pointing to a table decorated with book covers and question cards. “Isabel’s been helping out, but she’s been begging for backup. The questions get progressively harder, and I think she’s out of her depth on the fantasy rounds.”
Brooklyn’s eyes lit up at the mention of her friend. “Isabel’s here?”
“Volunteered first thing this morning,” Ollie confirmed. “Something about needing community service hours for National Honor Society, but between us, I think she just wanted first dibs on the new releases we got in yesterday.”
Brooklyn actually laughed at that—a small sound, but real. “That tracks.”
As she headed toward the trivia station, Ollie turned to Finn, his smile softening into something more private. “Thanks for bringing her. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to convince her.”
“Neither was I,” Finn admitted, watching as Brooklyn greeted Isabel with a half-hug. “She’s been… It’s been tough lately.”
“But she’s here,” Ollie pointed out gently. “That counts for something.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else fell away—the noise of the event, the people milling around them, the careful distance they’d maintained since their conversation a week ago. Finn’s gaze dropped to Ollie’s lips, remembering their softness, the way they’d parted under his own.
“Ollie!” Jules called from across the store. “The coffee maker’s doing that weird gurgling thing again!”
The moment broke. Ollie sighed, pushing his glasses up. “Duty calls. The caffeine must flow.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re here, Finn. Both of you.”
As Ollie hurried off to fix the coffee situation, Finn was drawn into the event’s orbit.
Maya enlisted his help moving a display table, Sam roped him into restocking the refreshment station, and somehow, he ended up explaining the difference between science fiction and fantasy to a group of bewildered parents.
Throughout it all, he kept finding his gaze drawn to two points in the room: Brooklyn at the trivia station, gradually relaxing as she quizzed tweens on book knowledge, and Ollie, moving through the crowd with infectious enthusiasm, somehow everywhere at once.
“You know, if you stare any harder, you might burn a hole through him,” Brendan’s voice came from behind, startling Finn.
“What are you doing here?” Finn asked, ignoring the comment.
Brendan grinned, snagging a cookie from the refreshment table. “Supporting local business. Preening over the kick-ass results of the first project Keaton trusted me to lead. Appreciating literature. Watching my brother make heart eyes at the cute bookstore owner. Take your pick.”
“I’m not making heart eyes,” Finn muttered, though he could feel heat creeping up his neck.
“Sure you’re not.” Brendan’s expression softened slightly. “How’s Brooklyn doing?”
Finn glanced toward the trivia station, where his daughter was animatedly explaining something to a younger teen, her hands gesturing as she spoke. “Better, I think. Still not quite herself, but she’s getting there.”
“And you two? Making progress?”
“Some days,” Finn admitted. “Others, it feels like we’re speaking different languages. I miss the days when I was her hero. I know that’s selfish, but damn, it sucks constantly second-guessing myself.”
Brendan nodded, understanding in his eyes.
“She’ll come around. O’Rileys are stubborn, but we get there eventually.
Remember what a pain in the ass I was when I was younger?
” He nudged Finn’s shoulder. “Speaking of getting there, what’s the deal with you and Ollie?
You’ve been doing this weird orbit thing for a month now, close but never quite connecting. ”
Finn sighed, keeping his voice low. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” Brendan studied him for a moment. “You know, it’s okay to want something for yourself, Finn. Even with everything else going on.”
Before Finn could respond, Maya appeared, iPad in hand. “Finn! Just the man I need. The YA fantasy display is causing some debate—apparently, mixing Shadow and Bone with Percy Jackson is a cardinal sin. Could you help mediate?”