“Speaking of things that matter,” Jules murmured, standing. “I’m going to help Maya with those author bios. You might want to fix your hair—it’s doing the thing.”
“What thing?” Ollie asked, automatically reaching up.
“The ‘I’ve been running my hands through it for hours and now I look like I stuck my finger in an electrical socket’ thing.” Jules grinned. “It’s cute, but maybe not the look you’re going for.”
As Jules walked away, Finn approached, setting the box on a nearby table. “Sorry, I’m late. Brooklyn needed help with an English assignment, and then Brendan called with questions about the trim work. We need to get that ordered, but he’s been driving himself crazy trying to find something that’ll be an exact match to the existing trim.”
“No worries,” Ollie said, suddenly self-conscious about his rumpled appearance. “Thanks for coming. I can’t exactly be grumpy when you’re taking time out of your life for me. You sure you don’t need to help Brooklyn?”
“Brooklyn’s fine. She’s actually upstairs in the young adult section now, working on a paper.” Finn glanced around the room. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“That’s one word for it. ‘Chaotic’ would be another. Or ‘slightly unhinged.’” Ollie gestured to the explosion of planning materials. “But we’re making progress. I think.”
Finn’s mouth twitched in that almost-smile that never failed to make Ollie’s heart skip. “Need an extra pair of hands?”
“Always,” Ollie admitted. “We’re sorting promotional materials for different venues. Some need to be more…conservative than others.”
They moved to a table covered with stacks of flyers, working side by side to organize them by location. The simple task felt oddly intimate, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they reached for the same pile. Each accidental touch sent a current through Ollie’s skin, making it hard to focus on the task at hand.
“Before we get too much deeper, do you truly think we’ll be able to get the store back in order in time?” Ollie asked, needing to fill the charged silence.
“Absolutely. We should be finished by Friday, barring any setbacks.” Finn’s hands moved efficiently, sorting flyers with the same precision he brought to everything. “Brendan’s team is painting right now, so the walls can dry overnight.”
“I can’t thank you enough for expediting everything. I know you called in some favors to get everything done so quick.”
Finn shrugged, a hint of color touching his cheekbones. “It’s what needed to be done.”
They worked in companionable silence for a while, falling into an easy rhythm. Ollie couldn’t help stealing glances at Finn’s profile—the strong line of his jaw, the slight furrow of concentration between his brows, the way his Henley stretched across his shoulders as he reached for another stack. The lamplight cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting angles Ollie had memorized without meaning to.
“You’re staring,” Finn observed quietly, not looking up from his task.
Heat flooded Ollie’s face. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”
“About?”
“How much I owe you. For all of this.” Ollie gestured vaguely. “For caring about the store. For showing up. For making me feel like maybe this isn’t a lost cause after all.”
Finn’s hands stilled, and he finally looked up, meeting Ollie’s gaze. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know. That’s what makes it special.” The words slipped out before Ollie could filter them, too honest and too revealing.
Something shifted in Finn’s expression—a softening around the eyes, a vulnerability that made him look younger somehow. “Ollie?—”
“Hey, lovebirds!” Sam called from across the room. “Less googly eyes, more flyer sorting. We’ve got a bookstore to save!”
Ollie groaned, dropping his forehead to the table dramatically. “I’m going to murder her. Slowly. With a limited-edition hardcover.”
Finn’s low chuckle sent a pleasant shiver down Ollie’s spine. “She’s not wrong. About the flyers, I mean.”
“Just the flyers?” Ollie asked, lifting his head to find Finn watching him with an intensity that made his breath catch.
“We should talk,” Finn said quietly. “About the other day. At the store.”
Ollie’s mouth went dry. He bit his lower lip. “Yes. We should. But maybe not with an audience of nosy friends who are definitely eavesdropping right now.” He shot a pointed look toward Sam, who didn’t even pretend not to be listening.
“Later then,” Finn agreed, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “After we finish here?”
Ollie nodded, not trusting his voice. The promise of “later” hung between them, charged with possibility.
