Finn hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
They moved to the kitchenette, where Ollie busied himself with the coffee maker, grateful for the familiar task to occupy his hands.
“So,” he said, determined to break the silence, “is your face always that serious, or is it just your professional boss-guy expression?”
Finn looked up, surprise evident in his raised eyebrows. “My face?”
“Yes, that thing on the front of your head with the eyes and nose and mouth,” Ollie clarified, handing him a fresh mug of coffee. He wanted to crawl into a hole, but now that his internal thoughts had escaped into the world, he had no choice but to roll with it. “It has this…intensity. Like you’re decoding ancient hieroglyphics while simultaneously plotting the perfect chess endgame.”
A small crease appeared between Finn’s brows, as if he’d never considered his own expression before. “I’m focused. Believe it or not, that’s considered a strength to employers.”
“Focused is good,” Ollie assured him, leaning against the counter. “Focused gets things done. I’m more of a chaotic energy person myself, as you may have noticed.”
That earned him the ghost of a smile. “I noticed.”
“See? That right there—that almost-smile. It’s like watching the sun try to break through thunder clouds.” Ollie mimicked the expression, exaggerating the restraint. “Very mysterious. Makes a person wonder what a full smile from Finn O’Riley might look like.”
Finn’s eyes widened slightly, and a flush of color touched his cheekbones. “I smile,” he protested mildly.
“Anecdotal evidence suggests otherwise,” Ollie teased, emboldened by the hint of color in Finn’s face. “But I’ll keep watching for empirical proof.”
Finn shook his head, but the tension in his shoulders had eased further. “You’re very…”
“Caffeinated? Sleep-deprived? Borderline hysterical about the state and fate of my parents’ business? All accurate.”
“I was going to say direct,” Finn finished, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Ah. That too.” Ollie pushed his glasses up. “Side effect of being a socially awkward, hyperlexic kid who spent too much time in the bookstore with adults. My parents despaired of ever taking me around polite company.”
They carried their coffee back to the front of the store, pausing near the literature section where tall shelves created a small alcove of relative privacy. Ollie perched on a step stool whileFinn leaned against a bookshelf, his posture fully relaxed for the first time since he’d arrived.
“So,” Ollie said, cradling his mug between both hands, “what does the super-serious Finn O’Riley read when he’s not rescuing drowning bookstores?”
There. That was a reasonable question. What Ollie really wanted to know was if Finn actually read the steamy romance books they’d talked about the night of Jules’s gallery opening, or if it was a fluke that he’d known the book Ollie was obsessed with that night. But for some reason, asking outright felt like crossing a line. A lot of men weren’t comfortable admitting they enjoyed reading romance, and Ollie didn’t want to put Finn in an uneasy position if any of his coworkers overheard them talking.
Finn seemed caught off guard by the question, his coffee mug pausing halfway to his lips. “Read?”
“Yes, that’s what you do with those rectangles filled with pages and words.” Ollie gestured around them. “I remember you used to bring your daughter in on Saturdays, and you weren’t just buying books for her. So, what’s your reading pleasure?”
“I know what books are,” Finn said, a defensive note in his voice that made Ollie instantly regret his teasing tone. “I don’t have much time for reading.”
Okay, so apparently they were pretending their previous conversation hadn’t happened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply?—”
“No, it’s fine.” Finn set his mug down on a nearby shelf. “I like historical fiction. And some biographies.”
“Respectable choices.” Ollie nodded approvingly. “Any particular period for the historical fiction?”
“Civil War era, mostly.” Finn seemed to relax slightly, on more comfortable ground. “I like the attention to detail, the research that goes into making the past feel immediate and real.”
“The best historical fiction makes you forget you’re reading about history at all,” Ollie agreed. “It just becomes people living their lives, facing their challenges. The period details are the backdrop, not the story.”
Finn looked at him with something like surprise. “Exactly.”
Encouraged, Ollie continued, “What about other genres? Mystery? Science fiction? Romance?”
A flicker of something—discomfort? interest?—crossed Finn’s face at the last suggestion. Ollie wasn’t going to push, but dammit, Finn needed to realize there was nothing wrong with wanting to read about people falling in love. “Not much science fiction. Some mysteries. Romance isn’t usually my go-to, but I’ve read some. Mostly the bodice rippers my mom used to grab from the laundromat when I was a kid and tired of my parents only getting me children’s books.”
“Oh, you’re missing out,” Ollie said, warming to one of his favorite topics. Maybe if he showed that he wasn’t ashamed by his picks, Finn would quit being so damned cagey. “There’s been an explosion of amazing work in the last few years. Stories that would have been relegated to tiny specialty presses a decade ago or not published at all are now hitting bestseller lists, even in queer romance. They’re nothing like the cheesy books of decades past.”
