Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
“I like having you here with me. Could get addicted to it if I’m not careful.” The phrase resonated in Ollie’s mind, a promise of more nights like this, of shared moments and quiet.
Ollie arrived at Finn’s house with a bag of popcorn, three different kinds of candy because he didn’t know if Brooklyn liked sour, sweet, or chocolate, and a nervous energy that made him second-guess every step up the walkway.
He’d spent most of the afternoon convincing himself not to overthink this—Brooklyn had invited him, after all—but the idea of being invited into their family orbit, even for a movie, made his stomach do slow, hopeful somersaults.
Finn answered the door, a rare, crooked smile softening the lines around his eyes. “You brought supplies?”
“Only the essentials,” Ollie said, holding up the bag. “I considered ordering pizza, but I worried she might think I was trying too hard if I did.”
Finn’s hand brushed Ollie’s arm as he took the bag. “You don’t have to buy her acceptance. She just wants to watch movies. I think it’s her way of making sure we know she’s okay with us dating.”
“Right. Movies. No pressure.” Ollie exhaled, catching the warmth in Finn’s eyes that made his chest tighten. “Because it’s totally normal for a teenager to catch the guy her dad slept with the morning after and then ask him over for a movie night. I swear, this is worse than meeting the parents.”
Brooklyn was already curled up at one end of the couch, a fuzzy blanket pulled up to her chin, phone in hand. She looked up as Ollie entered, her gaze as direct as ever, but this time there was a spark of something new—maybe curiosity with a hint of wariness.
“Hey, Brooklyn,” Ollie greeted, dropping the bag of snacks on the coffee table. “I come bearing candy and a complete inability to keep my mouth shut during movies. Hope that’s not a dealbreaker.”
She snorted, rolling her eyes with the practiced ease of a fifteen-year-old who’d seen all adult attempts at coolness and found them wanting. “As long as you don’t talk over the best parts, you can stay.”
Finn, standing behind the couch, shot Ollie a look that was equal parts gratitude and apology. Ollie just grinned and plopped down at the other end of the couch, leaving a respectful space between himself and Brooklyn.
“So,” he said, “what are we watching first? Please tell me it’s not the one with the Ewoks. I have a strict no-teddy-bears-in-space policy.”
Brooklyn’s lips twitched. “We’re starting with Arrival. Dad says it’s thoughtful and makes you question your place in the universe, but I just like the alien linguistics.”
“Excellent choice,” Ollie declared. “Subtitles and emotional devastation. Right up my alley.”
Finn settled into his armchair, a bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. “I’ll try not to get too philosophical.”
Ollie winked at Brooklyn. “Don’t worry. I brought emergency Skittles in case things get too deep.”
As the opening credits rolled, Ollie snuck glances at Brooklyn, careful not to push but hoping for an opening.
She seemed more relaxed than she had at breakfast, legs tangled in the blanket, occasionally muttering commentary about the movie’s science—“That’s not how gravity works, but whatever.
” Ollie nodded along, offering the occasional dry aside.
About halfway through the movie, Finn’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen and frowned. “Work call. I need to take this.” He stood, giving Ollie an apologetic look. “Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
As Finn disappeared down the hallway, his voice fading into a low murmur, an awkward silence settled between Ollie and Brooklyn. She shifted on the couch, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
Brooklyn surprised him by reaching for the bag of sour candies. She held it out to him.
“Thanks,” Ollie said, taking a handful. “I was starting to worry you’d let me starve.”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a softness to it. “You talk a lot for someone who claims to be a book person.”
“Talking and reading are not mutually exclusive,” Ollie informed her. “In fact, some would argue—”
“—that you can do both at the same time?” she finished, a hint of a smile breaking through. “You sound like Isabel.”
Ollie grinned. “High praise. She’s sharp.”
Brooklyn shrugged, but he could tell she was pleased. “She’s cool. Most people in this town aren’t.”
There was a pause, the kind Ollie had learned to let stretch.
When Brooklyn spoke again, her voice was softer.
Brooklyn shifted on the couch, her eyes flickering between Ollie and the muted light of the TV.
“Is it weird, still living here? Like, you grew up in Maple Hill and just stayed? I can’t imagine never getting out there to explore the world. ”
Ollie smiled, the question both familiar and unexpectedly pointed.
“Sometimes it’s weird, yeah. Maple Hill doesn’t really let you forget anything.
You run into your third-grade teacher at the grocery store, and she still remembers you failed the state capitals quiz.
” He shrugged, letting the moment breathe.
“But there’s something about being known too.
Even if it’s awkward, it means you don’t have to pretend.
I guess I stayed because I wanted to see if I could be a different version of myself without having to start over somewhere new. ”
Brooklyn chewed a sour candy, thoughtful. “I wish I could do that. Start over, I mean. But people here remember every little thing. Feels like there’s no room for change.”
Ollie’s voice softened. “People remember, sure. But you get to decide what comes next. Maybe you can’t erase what’s already there, but you can still write new chapters. Even if it’s just small stuff, it adds up.”
She didn’t answer right away, but the tension in her shoulders eased, her sarcasm settling into something quieter.
Finn’s earlier good mood was noticeably absent when he returned, setting his phone on the end table.
He lowered his body into the armchair, watching them, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving Ollie’s face.
When their gazes met, something passed between them—understanding, maybe, or the quiet acknowledgment that this mattered more than either would admit.
“Intermission,” Finn announced. “Bathroom break, snack refill, existential crisis check-in.”
Brooklyn snorted. “You’re such a dad.”
“Guilty as charged,” Finn said, ruffling her hair as he passed. His fingers brushed Ollie’s shoulder as he walked by, a touch so brief Ollie might have imagined it, except for the warmth that lingered.
In the kitchen, Finn moved closer than necessary as they refilled bowls. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice low enough that only Ollie could hear. “For being here. For trying with her.”
Ollie swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “She makes it easy. She’s a good kid.”
“She is,” Finn agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Brooklyn lingered near the kitchen doorway, fiddling with the edge of her blanket as Ollie refilled the popcorn bowl.
The low hum of the dishwasher and Finn’s voice drifting from down the hall filled the space between them, but for once, neither seemed in a rush to fill the silence.
Ollie sensed something shifting—an openness, maybe, or just the absence of Brooklyn’s usual armor.
She watched him with a sidelong glance, her chin propped on her fist. “You really think people can change how they’re seen here?” The question was softer than he expected.
Ollie leaned against the counter, considering. “Not overnight. But every time you show people something new, it sticks. Even if they pretend not to notice.”
Brooklyn huffed, but there was less bite in it than before. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
He smiled. “Luck’s overrated. Sometimes you just have to be stubborn about who you want to be.”
She laughed, a quick, surprised sound. “That sounds like something Isabel would say.”
Ollie grinned. “We already established she’s smart. There are definitely worse people you could be comparing me to. Let’s face it, it seems to me like you’ve got good taste in friends.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but her expression had softened.
She glanced at her phone, then back at Ollie, her voice dropping to a more vulnerable register.
“Yeah, but who knows how long that’ll last. Everyone’s getting jobs now, and it feels like we’re drifting apart.
Isabel started seeing a guy, Mason, and even when we’re hanging out, she’s always texting him.
It’s like I’m the third wheel even when only the two of us are there. ”
The words hung between them, honest and edged with longing. Ollie recognized the ache behind them—the wanting, and the not knowing how to get there. “Working’s highly overrated. Stay young as long as you can.”
She snorted. “Yeah, if only it were that easy. Isabel keeps bragging about her job at the hardware store, but I can’t work there unless I get my license, and nobody’s hiring anyway.
My friends always have money to go do things, and I don’t.
Sucks when they don’t think twice about driving up to Afton and don’t ask me to come with them because they know I don’t want to bug Dad for money.
” There was a note of frustration beneath her bravado.
Ollie brightened. “You know, I’ve been looking for help at the bookstore.
Someone who actually knows the difference between a dystopia and a space opera, and who can talk to teens without making them want to flee.
The pay isn’t much, but you’d get first dibs on new releases and an unlimited supply of coffee.
Or hot chocolate, whichever you prefer.”
Brooklyn blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Ollie said. “You’d be doing me a favor. Plus, I need someone to keep me from organizing the graphic novels by color again. The last time I did it, Jules nearly staged an intervention.”