As if sensing his attention, Ollie looked up, their eyes meeting across the crowded room. His smile softened, became something private and warm, meant just for Finn.
And in that moment, despite all the complications—Brooklyn’s struggles, his secret identity, the bookstore’s uncertain future—Finn allowed himself to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was room in his life for something more than just surviving.
All traces of Finn’s good mood evaporated when he opened the front door of the house and found Brooklyn sprawled on thecouch watching one of the TV shows she’d recently gotten into. He watched her for a moment, trying to find any signs that she might be struggling. It embarrassed him to be approached by one of her teachers, who was also a friend, and told that he had concerns. Therehadto be something Finn was missing.
“Oh, hey, Dad,” Brooklyn called out. She didn’t bother pausing her show.
Finn sighed heavily, hating that he had to ruin her good mood. As soon as he confronted her about the missing assignments, she’d close right up. Still, he couldn’t put off the conversation. He rounded the couch and took a seat in the club chair next to Brooklyn. “Hey, is there anything going on at school you want to tell me about?”
“No, why?” Brooklyn’s shoulders tensed. She curled her arms around her midsection.
“Mr. Thompson pulled me aside this morning,” Finn told her. There was no point beating around the bush. “He said your grades are slipping and you didn’t turn in some assignments. That’s not like you.”
“It’s nothing,” Brooklyn demanded. “I screwed up. I was so busy focusing on the science fair project that I forgot a couple of things, okay?”
“No, it’s not okay.” Finn sucked in a sharp breath, reminding himself he had to stay calm. “I love that you’re working so hard with Isabel on the science fair, but that can’t come at the cost of your other classes.”
He didn’t add that he wasn’t convinced that was all that was happening. Brooklyn was up until almost midnight every night,supposedly working on homework. That didn’t mesh with what he’d been told.
Brooklyn flipped the blanket over the back of the couch before tossing the remote onto the coffee table. “I’ll do better. Sorry to be such a disappointment.”
Finn stood, blocking her path before she stormed out of the room. He placed his hands on her shoulders, encouraging her to look at him. “You’re far from a disappointment, Brooklyn. You’re an amazing young woman. But it’s my job to worry when you’re acting out of sorts. If you can’t talk to me, maybe you can talk to your uncle?”
She and Brendan had always been close. While it pained him to suggest she talk to anyone other than him, he was trying to remember that sometimes kids didn’t want to let their parents know what was bothering them. Hell, the apple didn’t fall far from that particular tree since Finn still didn’t like worrying his mom.
“It’s nothing.” Brooklyn shrugged him off, side-stepping past him. “I’m going up to my room. Better make sure I don’t have any missing homework to do.”
As much as Finn wanted to follow her, he didn’t. Instead, he flopped into the chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. Just once, he’d love it if life would cut him a bit of slack.
EIGHT
Ollie added another item to his already overflowing to-do list. The Maple Hill Library’s community room hummed with activity around him. Jules arranged promotional materials on a folding table, Sam flirted with the pizza delivery guy, debating whether pineapple belonged on pizza—it absolutely did, no matter what Sam thought—and Maya meticulously color-coded a massive event calendar spread across the wall.
The benefit of being friends with the head librarian’s daughter was that they’d basically been given free rein of the basement community room, which wasn’t used often now that the expansion was complete. They were using the room as their command central because it had more room, and one entire wall was a huge whiteboard.
“If we’re going to pull off the first event in just over three weeks, we need local author confirmations by Friday at the latest so we can start promoting,” Ollie announced, pushing his glasses up with one finger. “And someone needs to talk to Jamie about the wine situation for the romance reading night because, apparently, there are‘regulations’ about serving alcohol in abookstore. I’d like to get his input so we don’t screw things up before we really get started.” He made exaggerated air quotes, his exhaustion making him punchy.
“I’ll handle Jamie,” Sam offered, finally paying the pizza guy. “He owes me for covering three Sunday brunches in a row.”
“And I’ve already reached out to four local authors,” Maya added, capping her marker. “Two confirmed, one maybe, one polite rejection. I’m hoping to get at least one or two more.”
Ollie nodded, trying to project confidence despite the anxiety gnawing at his insides. Brendan’s crew was working late tonight to finish the ceiling repairs. The store would be structurally sound again, but the financial foundation remained shaky at best. These fundraising events weren’t just about community spirit—they were about survival.
“Earth to Ollie.” Jules waved a hand in front of his face. “You’ve been staring at that same page for two minutes. Where’d you go?”
“Sorry.” Ollie blinked, forcing a smile. “Just mentally calculating how many romance novels we need to sell to build up an emergency fund for the next time something happens.”
Jules studied him, their expression softening. “Take a break. The pizza’s getting cold, and you look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.”
“I’m fine,” Ollie insisted automatically. “Just caffeinated. And sleep-deprived. And possibly experiencing the early stages of a nervous breakdown, but in a fun, quirky way.”
“Sit. Eat. Talk.” Jules guided him firmly to a chair, placing a paper plate with pizza in his hands. “The rest of you, give us five minutes.”
Sam and Maya exchanged knowing looks before tactfully moving to the other side of the room, taking their pizza with them.
“Subtle,” Ollie muttered, but he took a bite of pizza anyway, suddenly realizing how hungry he was.
Jules pulled up a chair beside him. “Talk to me. What’s really going on? No more of the deflection theater you’ve been putting on all night.”
