Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Ollie pushed his untouched muffin around the plate, his appetite lost somewhere between disappointment and worry. The café around him buzzed with morning energy, but he felt disconnected from it all, his mind caught in an endless loop of analysis.
“If you stare any harder at that muffin, it might confess to whatever crime you’re accusing it of,” Jules said, sliding into the booth across from him at The Old Mill Café. They pushed a fresh mug of coffee toward him. “Drink. Then talk.”
Ollie wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic, grateful for something to hold. “Is it obvious?”
“You look like a puppy who’s been left out in the rain. Yeah, it’s obvious.” Jules tilted their head, studying him. “Finn troubles?”
“Not troubles, exactly.” Ollie took a sip of coffee, buying time. “More like… I don’t know. He’s pulling away. Not answering texts for hours. Canceling plans. And when we are together, he’s…somewhere else. I really thought things were going good.”
Jules reached across the table, covering his fidgeting hand with theirs. “Did something happen? A fight? An awkward family dinner where Brooklyn threatened to stab you?”
The attempt at humor drew a reluctant smile from Ollie. “Nothing like that. Things were amazing and then suddenly they weren’t. It’s like a switch flipped. What if we both got caught up in the frenzy of a new relationship and sex-on-demand, and now he’s freaking out about it?”
“When did things change?”
Ollie frowned, thinking back. “A few days ago? Maybe a week? It was gradual at first, just little things. But now…” He gestured helplessly at his phone.
“Three days of rain checks and ‘sorry, swamped with work’ texts. Before that, we were spending every minute we could together. It was scary how easy it was to fall into domestic bliss. It felt like it was the three of us against the world.”
“Have you asked him what’s going on?”
“I’ve tried. He says everything’s fine, just busy.” Ollie ran a hand through his already chaotic curls. “I feel like I’m being paranoid, but also like something’s definitely wrong.”
Jules was quiet for a moment, stirring their coffee thoughtfully. “You know what I think? I think you’re scared.”
“Of course I’m scared,” Ollie admitted. “I’m falling for this guy, and he’s suddenly acting like I’m an afterthought.”
“No,” Jules said gently. “You’re scared because you’re falling for him.
Because this matters to you in a way your other relationships haven’t.
Because you’re letting yourself want something real.
People get busy sometimes. That’s life. It doesn’t mean you did something wrong to push him away or that he’s suddenly realized he’s not as bi as he thought.
Isn’t it far more likely that, if he is actually withdrawing, and that’s a huge if, it has something to do with wanting to give Brooklyn space to make sure she doesn’t feel like you’re being forced into her life? ”
The simple truth of it hit Ollie like a physical blow. He looked away, unable to meet Jules’s knowing gaze. “What if I want more than he can give? What if she does feel that way?”
“Then you’ll figure it out. Together or apart.” Jules squeezed his hand. “But I don’t believe he’s pulling away because he doesn’t care. He’s pulling away because he does.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Doesn’t it?” Jules raised an eyebrow. “Think about it. This is a guy who’s spent years building walls around himself, being the steady, reliable one for everyone else. And then you come along and make him feel things he probably hasn’t let himself feel in a very long time. That’s terrifying.”
Ollie considered this, turning the idea over in his mind. “So you’re saying his distance is actually…what? A form of self-protection?”
“Or protection for you,” Jules suggested.
“Maybe he’s afraid of disappointing you.
Of not being enough. Maybe he’s worried you’re going to walk away.
I didn’t know her, obviously, but from everything I’ve heard, that ex of his was a piece of work.
He practically hung the moon for her, and she shit on both of them.
It would be logical for him to worry you’ll do the same, no matter how irrational that fear is. ”
The thought made Ollie’s chest ache. “I wouldn’t.”
“He doesn’t know that. Not for sure.” Jules’s expression softened. “Look, I’m not saying it’s okay for him to shut you out. But maybe understanding where it’s coming from will help you decide what to do next.”
“Which is what, exactly?” Ollie asked, frustration edging into his voice. “Keep waiting for him to let me in?”
“No,” Jules said firmly. “You tell him how you feel. Be brave enough to name what you want, what you need. And then give him the chance to meet you there.”
Ollie nodded slowly, the knot in his chest loosening slightly. “Thanks.”
“You did the same for me when I had my head up my ass because of Keaton.” Jules grinned. “Now finish your coffee. You’ve got a bookstore to run and a romance showcase to plan.”
The reminder of the upcoming event sent a fresh wave of anxiety through Ollie. The romance showcase was supposed to be Shelf Care Central’s biggest event yet—local authors, readings, themed displays, the works. And he was nowhere near ready.
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned. “I still haven’t finalized the program or confirmed half the authors. And my creative brain is apparently on strike.”
“All the more reason to sort things out with Finn,” Jules pointed out. “You can’t pour from an empty cup. And right now, you’re running on fumes.”
Ollie knew they were right. He’d been pouring all his energy into worrying about Finn, leaving little for the work he loved. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised. “Today, if I can.”
“Good.” Jules stood, gathering their bag. “I’ve got to get to work. Text me if you need backup. Or wine. Or both.”
As Jules left, Ollie remained at the table, staring into his coffee. The idea that Finn’s distance might be rooted in fear rather than indifference was both comforting and painful. If Jules was right—if Finn was pulling away because he cared too much, not too little—then maybe there was still hope.
But first, he had a bookstore to run.
Shelf Care Central was quiet when Ollie arrived, just a few regulars browsing the stacks. His parents moved around the space with the easy familiarity of people who’d spent decades surrounded by books—his mom straightening displays, his dad tallying inventory behind the counter.
“There he is,” his father said, looking up with a smile. “We were starting to think you’d abandoned us for the day.”
“Sorry,” Ollie said, shrugging off his jacket. “Got caught up with Jules.”
His mother appeared from between the shelves, a knowing look in her eyes. “Everything okay, honey? You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” Ollie assured her, the automatic response falling from his lips before he could consider its truth. “Just a lot on my mind with the showcase coming up.”
His parents exchanged a glance—the silent communication of people who’d been married long enough to read each other’s thoughts. His father nodded slightly, and his mother disappeared into the back room, returning moments later with a steaming mug of tea.
“Chamomile with honey,” she said, pressing it into his hands. “Your thinking tea.”
The simple gesture, so full of understanding and care, made Ollie’s throat tight with emotion. “Thanks, Mom.”
“We’ve been working on the event logistics,” his father said, sliding a notebook across the counter.
“Thought we could handle the setup and scheduling if you want to focus on the creative elements. The numbers don’t lie.
These special events you’ve started putting together are working.
You need the space to work on the parts of them that bring you to life and leave the rest to us.
It’s time we treat you like the partner you are in all of this. ”
Ollie flipped through the pages, taking in his father’s neat handwriting—author time slots, a menu for simple drinks and snacky type foods, seating arrangements. All the practical details he’d been avoiding in his distracted state.
“This is…wow. Thank you.” He looked up, meeting his father’s steady gaze. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“We wanted to,” his mother said simply. “We’re proud of what you’re building here, Ollie. The store’s having its best month in two years, and that’s all because of you.”
“I hope so,” he said, not quite able to match their confidence. “I just want it to be perfect.”
“It won’t be,” his father said matter-of-factly. “Nothing ever is. But it’ll be genuine and warm and full of books people love. That’s what matters.”
Ollie nodded, letting the wisdom of those words settle over him. His father was right. Perfection wasn’t the goal. Connection was. Community. The same things he wanted with Finn, if he were being honest with himself.
“I should get to work on the program,” he said, gesturing toward the back room. “See if I can get my brain to cooperate.”
His mother squeezed his arm gently. “We’ve got the front. Take all the time you need.”
In the small back office, Ollie settled at the desk, opening his laptop with determination.
The document for the showcase program stared back at him, half-finished and uninspired.
He’d been working on it for days, trying to capture the essence of what made romance novels so powerful—the hope, the vulnerability, the promise that love could heal even the deepest wounds.
But the words wouldn’t come. Every time he tried to write an event description about love and trust and taking chances, his mind circled back to Finn—to the distance growing between them, to the walls he couldn’t seem to breach.