Instead, he whispered, “Good night, sweetheart,” knowing she couldn’t hear him, but needing to say it anyway.
In his own room, Finn lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling as sleep eluded him. His mind cycled through tomorrow’s logistics, Brooklyn’s hidden troubles, the stalled manuscript, the countless responsibilities that seemed to multiply when he wasn’t looking.
His mother’s words echoed in his head:You can’t hold up every wall by yourself, love. Let someone steady your ladder now and then.
The problem was, Finn wasn’t sure he remembered how to ask for help, or even what help he needed. He’d been the steady one for so long—the reliable son, the dependable father, the efficient office manager—that he wasn’t sure who he’d be without those roles to define him.
As he finally drifted toward sleep, his thoughts returned unexpectedly to Ollie’s email, to the warmth and humor that hadshone through despite the man’s obvious stress. There had been something refreshing about that openness, that willingness to acknowledge vulnerability without being diminished by it.
Maybe, Finn thought as consciousness slipped away, that was what Wyatt needed to learn. Whatheneeded to learn.
That strength wasn’t about never faltering, but about being honest when you did.
FOUR
Ollie arrived at Shelf Care Central before the construction crew was scheduled to appear. The early hour left his eyes gritty with exhaustion, but sleep had proven elusive—his mind too full of leaking ceilings, insurance deductibles, and the memory of a certain contractor’s almost-smile. This was proving to be the longest week in history.
The bookstore was eerily quiet, the usual creaks and sighs of the old building amplified in the pre-dawn stillness. Ollie flipped on the lights, wincing as they illuminated the evidence of Monday’s disaster.
“Morning, friends,” he murmured to the books as he made his way toward the small kitchenette in the back. Talking to books was perfectly normal behavior, he’d decided long ago. They were better listeners than most people, anyway.
He’d worn his lucky cardigan today—a faded blue affair with leather elbow patches that had seen him through college finals, his first job interview, and the grand reopening of the family bookstore under its new name. The cardigan had absorbed coffee stains, ink smudges, and tears over the years, becomingless a piece of clothing and more a security blanket disguised as adult attire.
Ollie needed all the luck he could get today.
The coffee maker gurgled to life. If he was going to face a day of construction chaos on three hours of sleep, caffeine would be his primary ally. While the coffee brewed, he unpacked the pastries he’d picked up from Sweet & Simple on his way in—Megan, the owner of the bakery, was opening this week, so he could focus on the bookstore. He felt bad leaving her in a lurch, but she understood the challenges of navigating a crisis at a small business. When he’d tried apologizing for not being able to help her through the morning rush, she’d pressed a box of day-old treats into his hands, refusing payment with a firm, “For fortification. You look like you need it more than we do.”
The gesture had nearly undone him. It was the small kindnesses that always threatened his composure more than the big disasters. When he was finally able to get back to business as usual, he’d find a way to repay her by more than just using her as his source for morning treats for his customers.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled it out, nearly dropping it in his haste to check the caller ID.
“Mom,” he answered, wedging the phone between his ear and shoulder as he continued arranging pastries on a plate. “It’s not even seven. Why are you awake?”
“I could ask you the same question,” his mother replied, her voice warm with concern. “Are you at the store already?”
“No, I’m actually parasailing off the coast of Fiji. The reception is remarkable.”
“Oliver.”
Ollie sighed, abandoning the donuts to lean against the counter. “Yes, I’m at the store. The construction crew starts today, and I wanted to get things ready.”
“How bad is it in the daylight?”
He glanced toward the main floor, where morning sun was beginning to filter through the windows, highlighting dust motes dancing in the beams. “It’s…manageable. The fans helped. The standing water is gone, and we saved the majority of the inventory.” He paused, then added with forced lightness, “The ceiling’s still determined to join the floor, but I’ve explained that their relationship is doomed from the start. Too different. Ceiling’s always looking down on floor, you know how it is.”
His mother’s soft laugh was worth the terrible joke. “And the insurance?”
“The adjuster said everything should be covered.” Ollie ran a hand through his already chaotic curls, making them stand up even more dramatically. “I’ve documented everything. Took about eight hundred photos. Created a spreadsheet. I’m basically an insurance professional now.”
“And the construction company? You said you called the Anderson boy to come out?”
“Yeah, and he had someone here first thing Tuesday morning.” Ollie poured the coffee, hoping his mother couldn’t somehow sense the slight quickening of his pulse at the thought of Finn. “They’re starting work this morning. Should take about two weeks, working in sections so we can stay open.”
“That’s good. And the project manager…are they experienced with this kind of repair?”
Ollie’s mind flashed to Finn’s steady hands, the confident way he’d assessed the damage, the surprising gentleness in his suggestion that Ollie rest. “Yeah, Finn seems to know what he’s doing.”
“Finn?” His mother’s tone shifted subtly, a note of interest creeping in. “He’s the single dad who used to come in with his little girl, right?”
