Chapter 21 #2
The words fell into the quiet studio like stones into still water. Jules froze, kettle in hand, before slowly turning to face him.
“I’m sorry, what now?”
“Finn. Is. Rhett Wilder.” Ollie scrubbed his hands over his face. “The author I’ve been gushing about for months. The books I’ve hand-sold to half the town. My boyfriend writes them.”
Jules set the kettle down with deliberate care. “Okay, I need you to back up and start from the beginning. Because either I’m having a stroke or you just told me that your stuffy office-manager boyfriend is actually a bestselling romance author.”
“That’s exactly what I told you.” The words came out in a rush now, the dam finally bursting.
“He came to the store today to tell me, and I started freaking out about the showcase because Meghan Jackson canceled. When he offered to get me another author, I figured it was him trying to be the fixer as usual. He said he could get me someone who’d draw a crowd.
Rhett Wilder. Because he is Rhett Wilder. ”
Jules sank into the chair across from him, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”
“Right?” Ollie let out a hysterical laugh. “And the worst part is, I don’t know how to feel about it. I’m proud of him— God, I’m so proud. His books are incredible. But I’m also…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.
“Hurt,” Jules supplied gently. “Because he didn’t trust you enough to tell you.”
“Every time I recommended his books to customers while he was right there, every time I gushed about Rhett Wilder’s writing—he just let me make a fool of myself.”
“Did he though?” Jules asked, returning with two steaming mugs. “Or were you being genuine about books you genuinely love?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it?” Jules settled back into their chair. “I don’t think you’re pissed off at all. You’re embarrassed because you didn’t know it was his writing. If you had, you’d have held back.”
The observation hit uncomfortably close to home. Ollie took a sip of tea, buying time. “Maybe.”
“Definitely. And that’s not the same as betrayal, Ollie. That’s just awkward.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the familiar sounds of the studio filling the space between them.
“I keep thinking about all the conversations we’ve had,” Ollie said finally. “About books, about writing. He never once mentioned that he writes. Not even when I asked him directly what he reads.”
“What did he say when you asked?”
Ollie frowned, trying to remember. “Historical fiction. Biographies. He was evasive about romance.”
“Of course he was. He was probably terrified you’d figure it out.
” Jules leaned forward. “Think about it from his perspective. He’s been keeping this secret, probably for good reasons.
Then suddenly there’s this guy he’s crazy about, who happens to be obsessed with his alter-ego. That’s got to be terrifying.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Ollie protested weakly.
Jules gave him a look. “Ollie. You totally are. You literally squealed when his latest release came in.”
Heat crept up Ollie’s neck. “I didn’t squeal.”
“You squealed. It was adorable and slightly unhinged.” Jules’s expression softened. “But that’s exactly why he was scared to tell you. What if you fell for the author instead of the man?”
The question hit like a physical blow. “I would never—”
“He might not have known that. Not for sure.” Jules set down their mug. “Look, I’m not saying he handled this well at all. Keeping secrets in a relationship is shitty. But I understand why he did it.”
Ollie stared into his tea. “So what do I do now?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be angry,” Ollie admitted. “I want to feel betrayed and righteous and justified in my hurt.”
“But?”
“But I also want to grab him and kiss him and tell him how proud I am.” The confession came out barely above a whisper. “He’s so fucking talented. And he’s been hiding this incredible part of himself because he was scared.”
“Scared of what?”
Ollie thought about Brooklyn, about small-town gossip, about the weight of being a single father. “Of people judging him for what he writes. It’s not exactly a mainstream path, even for authors. And he said he wanted to protect Brooklyn so she wasn’t bullied for what he chose to do.”
“And now he’s offered to publicly out himself to save your event.”
The truth of it settled over Ollie like a blanket. Finn hadn’t just told him the truth—he’d offered to make it public, to step into the spotlight he’d been avoiding, all to help Ollie save something that mattered to him.
“He’s going to hate the attention,” Ollie said. “He’s so private. But Rhett Wilder making his first public appearance…? That’s huge. It could save the bookstore.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know if I can ask him to do that. Not when things are so messed up between us.”
Jules was quiet for a long moment. “Can I ask you something?”
Ollie nodded.
“Do you love him?”
The question was simple, direct, and absolutely terrifying. “Yes,” Ollie whispered. “I love him. Both parts of him, apparently.”
“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Jules stood, moving to the window. “You don’t have to make any grand gestures or decisions. But maybe you can separate the business from the personal, just for now. Save your event. Let the rest sort itself out later.”
Ollie considered this. It made sense, in a practical way. The showcase needed a headliner, and Rhett Wilder’s first public appearance would generate more buzz than he could have dreamed of.
“What if seeing him up there, being Rhett Wilder, changes how I feel about him?” The fear escaped before he could stop it. “What if I can’t separate the author from the man?”
Jules turned from the window, their expression gentle. “Then at least you’ll know. But, Ollie? I don’t think that’s going to happen. You fell for Finn before you knew he was Rhett. That has to count for something.”
Ollie’s apartment was quiet when he finally made it home, the familiar clutter of books somehow comforting after the day’s revelations. He made a simple dinner, eating mechanically while his mind continued to churn.
On impulse, he pulled one of Finn’s books from his shelf—an older release, one he’d been saving to reread. Small Town Hearts. The cover showed two men silhouetted against a sunset, their hands almost touching.
Now, knowing Finn had probably had input on the design, it felt different. More personal.
He flipped to the acknowledgments page, something he rarely bothered to read. To my daughter, who inspires me to be brave even when I’m terrified. To my family, who loves me despite my secrets. And to the readers who find themselves in these pages—you are seen, you are valued, you are loved.
The words blurred as Ollie read them again.
Finn’s voice, speaking directly to his readers with a vulnerability that took his breath away.
This was the man he’d fallen for—not just the steady contractor or the devoted father, but this writer who poured his heart onto the page for strangers to find comfort in.
He thought about the books he’d read, the characters Finn had created. Men struggling with identity, with acceptance, with the courage to love openly. Stories that had resonated with Ollie on a level he’d never fully examined because they felt true in a way that went beyond craft or technique.
Because they were true. Finn’s truth, translated into fiction.
His phone buzzed with a text, and his heart jumped, hoping it was Finn. Instead, it was Brooklyn.
Dad’s stress-eating ice cream and watching documentaries about the Civil War. Just thought you should know.
Despite everything, Ollie smiled. Even in the middle of their crisis, Brooklyn was looking out for both of them.
Tell him I said thank you. For today. For the offer.
The response came quickly.
Tell him yourself. He misses you.
Ollie stared at the message for a long time before setting his phone aside. Tomorrow, he would have to make decisions—about the event, about Finn, about what came next. But tonight, he could sit with the truth of what he’d learned, let it settle into the spaces between his hurt and his hope.