“Jesus, you two! The tension in here is thick enough to cut with a knife,” Brendan observed, leaning against the shelf with a knowing smile.
“Don’t you have drywall to tear out?” Finn asked, not meeting his brother’s eyes.
“Taking a break. It’s almost noon.” Brendan glanced between them, his smile widening. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Just trying to figure out which books to leave on display and which to pack,” Ollie said quickly, pushing his glasses up. “Very exciting stuff. The drama of proper shelving technique.”
“Riveting,” Brendan agreed solemnly. “Almost as riveting as watching you two pretend not to notice each other.”
“Brendan,” Finn said, a warning note in his voice.
“What? I’m just making an observation. As a neutral third party.” Brendan’s innocent expression fooled no one. “Anyway, the guys are talking about ordering pizza. I told them you might have other lunch plans.”
“I do?” Finn asked, confusion evident in his furrowed brow.
“Actually, I was thinking—” Ollie began, then stopped, suddenly uncertain. “That is, if you wanted… The diner down the street has great lunch specials. My treat.”
“Free lunch? I’m in,” Brendan said immediately. “Finn?”
A group lunch hadn’t been what Ollie had in mind, but he couldn’t exactly say that. Brendan seemed like a nice enough guy. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have him there as a buffer.
Finn hesitated, and Ollie was certain he was about to refuse, to maintain the professional distance that seemed so important to him. But then something shifted in his expression.
“That would be…nice,” he said, the words careful but genuine. “Thank you.”
“Great! Perfect. Yes.” Ollie nodded too enthusiastically again, inwardly wincing at his obvious eagerness. “We can head over in about fifteen minutes? If that works with your schedule?”
Why in the world did everything he said come out sounding like a question? Finn probably thought he was a bumbling fool at this point.
“Works for me,” Brendan confirmed. “I’ll let Shane and Matt know they’re on their own for lunch. Back in fifteen.” He disappeared around the corner, but not before shooting Finn a look that Ollie couldn’t quite interpret.
Left alone again, they stood in awkward silence for a moment, the easy rhythm of their earlier conversation disrupted by Brendan’s teasing and their own awareness of…whatever this was between them.
“I’m sorry about him. My brother acts like a puppy sometimes. You give him a scrap of attention and he’s off,” Finn apologized. “We should finish this stack before we go.”
“Right. Yes. Good plan.” Ollie reached for another volume, careful not to let their hands touch again.
They worked quickly and efficiently, the silence between them charged but not uncomfortable. As they placed the last few books on the shelf, Finn paused, his hand lingering on a stack of poetry collections that had been hastily moved earlier. With careful, deliberate movements, Finn straightened the stack, aligning the spines and ensuring none of the pages were bent.
“Ready?” Finn asked, turning toward him.
Ollie nodded, not trusting his voice immediately. Then, gathering himself, he managed a smile. “Ready. Let’s go feed that brother of yours before he starts making moreobservations.”
Finn’s mouth twitched in that now-familiar almost-smile. “Too late for that, I’m afraid. Assumption is Brendan’s default state, no matter what he calls it.”
“Well, then we’ll give him something worth observing—the fastest consumption of a diner burger in recorded history. I’m suddenly starving.”
As they headed toward the front of the store, Ollie was acutely aware of Finn beside him. It was a dangerous observation, one that had no place in a professional relationship between a bookstore owner and his contractor.
Yet, as they stepped into the bright noon sunlight, Ollie couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between them—something small but significant, like the first word on a previously blank page.
FIVE
The rain started just after eight, a gentle patter against the bookstore’s windows that quickly intensified into a steady downpour. Finn watched droplets race down the glass as he waited for Brendan to bring in the last of the equipment. The weather forecast hadn’t mentioned rain—a small annoyance that seemed to fit perfectly with how the week was unfolding.
“Just what we need,” he muttered, checking his phone for messages from Brooklyn. Nothing since her curtat schooltext that morning. These moods didn’t typically last days at a time, and the fact that she was increasingly distant with him made it hard to focus on work.
“Sorry about that,” Brendan said, shaking water from his hair as he entered. “Raining cats, dogs, and possibly several other domesticated animals out there.”
