Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
Ollie woke to the sound of quiet humming and the smell of coffee. For a moment, he lay still, eyes closed, savoring the unfamiliar comfort of Finn’s bed. The sheets carried Finn’s scent—a mixture of cedar and soap—and Ollie breathed it in deeply before finally opening his eyes.
Sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds, casting stripes of gold across the rumpled bedding. Finn’s side was empty but still warm. Ollie stretched, feeling pleasantly sore in ways that brought a flush to his cheeks as memories of the previous night flooded back.
He checked the time—just past eight. It was late for a Monday morning. He nearly panicked before remembering Finn had taken the day off because it was a teacher in-service day for Brooklyn. Ollie slipped on his borrowed T-shirt and pajama pants before padding barefoot toward the kitchen.
The scene that greeted him made his heart swell.
Finn stood at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease while Brooklyn sat at the kitchen island, her textbook open but largely ignored as she scrolled through her phone.
The domesticity of it all—this glimpse into their morning routine—felt like a privilege.
“Morning,” Ollie said, his voice still rough with sleep.
Finn turned, spatula in hand, and the smile that spread across his face was worth every moment of uncertainty they’d navigated to get here.
“Hey, you,” Finn said softly. “Coffee’s fresh.”
Brooklyn glanced up, and Ollie was relieved to see no discomfort in her expression. If anything, she seemed amused.
“Dad burns the first batch of pancakes every time,” she informed him, sliding off her stool to grab another mug from the cabinet. “It’s like a weird tradition.”
“It’s not a tradition,” Finn protested, flipping a perfectly golden pancake onto a waiting plate. “It’s a calibration issue with the pan.”
“Sure, Dad. You’ve been ‘calibrating’ that pan for ten years.” Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but there was unmistakable affection in the gesture. She handed Ollie the empty mug. “Cream’s in the fridge, sugar’s by the pot. Dad takes his black because he thinks it makes him look tough.”
“I can hear you,” Finn said dryly.
“That’s the point,” Brooklyn replied with a grin.
Ollie accepted the mug gratefully. “Thanks. I actually take mine black too.”
He never had until those early days when Finn was at the store. He’d choked it down at first, not wanting Finn to think less of him for how much he doctored his brew. Eventually, he’d grown to appreciate the flavor of a good roast.
“Great,” Brooklyn sighed dramatically. “Another coffee purist. I’m surrounded.”
The ease between them surprised Ollie. He’d expected awkwardness, perhaps even resentment, but Brooklyn’s manner was open, almost welcoming. As he poured his coffee, he caught Finn watching them, a soft expression on his face that made Ollie’s chest tighten with emotion.
Breakfast unfolded with surprising ease.
Brooklyn interrogated Ollie about his favorite books, seeming genuinely interested in his recommendations.
She was sharp—sharper than most adults Ollie knew—and her questions revealed a mind that moved quickly between topics, making connections that impressed him.
“So you really read all the books in your store?” she asked, drowning her pancakes in maple syrup.
“Not all of them,” Ollie admitted. “But I try to read widely enough that I can recommend books to almost anyone who walks in.”
“That’s actually cool,” Brooklyn said, and Ollie could tell she meant it. “Most adults I know barely read anything. And when they do, it’s snooze-worthy.”
“Brooklyn,” Finn warned, but there was no heat in it.
“What? It’s true.” She turned back to Ollie. “I’m reading this book for English—The Bell Jar? It’s intense but good.”
“Sylvia Plath,” Ollie nodded. “Not exactly light reading.”
“That’s what makes it interesting. Happy books are boring.
” This didn’t seem like the same girl Noah had been worried about slipping in his class.
She came to life as she talked about how raw it felt, how Plath didn’t sugarcoat the way a person’s brain could turn against them.
“Not every book has to tie everything up in a neat little bow.”
Ollie laughed. “There’s nothing wrong with a happy ending, but I get what you mean. Sometimes the books that stay with you are the ones that break your heart a little.”
Brooklyn pointed her fork at him. “Exactly! Dad doesn’t get it. He only reads boring historical books.”
“Hey,” Finn protested, “I read other things.”
“Name one book you’ve read in the last year that was set in this century,” Brooklyn challenged.
Finn opened his mouth, closed it, then looked to Ollie for help.
He bit back a smirk, knowing of at least one book Finn read (or at least said he had) that met her stipulation.
No way were either of them going to tell Finn’s teenage daughter about him reading an erotic gay romance.
She was taking their budding relationship in stride; Ollie didn’t see any reason to push things.
“I could make some recommendations,” Ollie offered, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.
“Please do,” Brooklyn said. “His birthday’s coming up.”
The conversation flowed easily after that. When breakfast was finished, Brooklyn volunteered to clean up, waving off both Finn and Ollie’s offers of help.
“You guys go do whatever,” she said, already stacking plates. “I’ve got this.”
In the living room, Finn pulled Ollie close, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “You’re good with her,” he murmured.
“She makes it easy,” Ollie replied honestly. “She’s remarkable, Finn.”
Pride shone in Finn’s eyes. “Yeah, she is. And she likes you, which is…” He trailed off, searching for words.
“Important?” Ollie suggested.
“Everything,” Finn corrected, his voice low and serious. “It’s everything.”
After breakfast, Finn suggested a hike on one of the local trails—nothing too strenuous, just enough to enjoy the unseasonably warm October day.
Ollie called his Mom to see if she could open the store, and she eagerly agreed as soon as he said he wanted to spend some time with Finn.
Brooklyn agreed with minimal teenage reluctance, and soon, they were piling into Finn’s truck.
The trail wound through a wooded area at the edge of town, following a small stream that gurgled pleasantly over smooth stones. Brooklyn walked ahead, pausing now and then to snap photos of mushrooms clustered on a mossy log or leaves so bright they looked unreal.
“She’s into photography,” Finn explained as he and Ollie strolled side by side. Their hands brushed occasionally—a casual intimacy that still made Ollie’s heart stutter. “Started last year. She’s got a real eye for detail.”
“I can tell,” Ollie said, watching as Brooklyn crouched to frame a shot, her focus intent. “Still planning on environmental science, or do you think the photography bug will turn her into an artist?”
Finn’s lips curved in a proud, if slightly exasperated, smile. “Oh yeah. She’s dead set on saving the planet. Has her heart set on environmental engineering or something close to it. Every week there’s a new plan—wildlife conservation, renewable energy, you name it. But always the environment.”
“Sounds like she knows what matters,” Ollie said, genuine admiration in his voice. “Maple Hill’s lucky to have her.”
Finn’s brow creased, worry slipping in at the edges. “I just want her to have every opportunity. College isn’t cheap, even with all the scholarships she’s determined to win.”
Ollie nodded, understanding the weight behind Finn’s words. “If anyone can pull it off, it’s Brooklyn. She’s got the drive.”
Before Finn could answer, Brooklyn called back, “Are you guys coming or what? There’s a great view up here!”
They picked up their pace, following her to a small clearing where the town stretched out below, rooftops and church steeple peeking through a patchwork of autumn color.
“Worth the hike, right?” Brooklyn asked, already angling her phone for the perfect shot.
“Absolutely,” Ollie agreed, and this time there was no surprise in his voice. He’d grown up in Maple Hill, but the way Brooklyn saw the world—through her lens—made even the familiar feel new.
“Dad used to bring me here when I was little,” Brooklyn said, lowering her phone. “We’d have picnics and I’d try to catch frogs. Then I hit middle school and decided I was too cool for hiking with my dad.” She glanced at Finn, a sheepish smile flickering over her face.
“Phase of life,” Finn replied, but Ollie saw the quiet gratitude in his eyes at having her back by his side.
They found a fallen log and settled in, Brooklyn sandwiched between them as she scrolled through her photos. Her talent was obvious—she captured the kind of details most people walked right past.
“These are incredible,” Ollie said, meaning every word. “Have you ever thought about selling prints? Some of these would look amazing framed.”
Brooklyn looked up, surprised. “You think people would actually buy them?”
“Definitely. Local photography always does well, especially when it captures Maple Hill like this. If you want, I could display some in the bookstore.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously? You’d do that?”
“Of course. Art and books are a perfect match. Jules has been selling their paintings there for a while now, and they can’t keep up with the demand.”
Ollie had originally made the offer to Jules as a way to get their work out of boxes and into the world, but it had become one more way to get people in the door. He loved the idea of expanding the selection, and helping Brooklyn see her talent was just another bonus.
Brooklyn turned to Finn, seeking his reaction.
Finn grinned at her. “I think it’s a great idea. If you’re up for it.”
Brooklyn’s excitement bubbled over. “Yes! Between working at the bookstore and maybe selling a couple of pictures, I’d be able to start saving up for a car for when I get my license.”