They returned to their task, but something had shifted—an awareness that crackled in the air between them, making every accidental touch feel deliberate, every shared glance meaningful. Ollie was hyperaware of Finn’s proximity, the warmth radiating from his body, the subtle scent of his soap.
As they sorted the last stack of flyers, Ollie told Finn about his vision for the bookstore—the ideas he’d been too afraid to voice fully, even to his parents.
“I’ve always thought we could be more than just a place that sells books,” he explained, enthusiasm building as he spoke. “We could be a hub for creativity, for connection. Besides the stuff I already told you, I was thinking maybe even a paint-and-sip event in the back room if Jules is game. A place where people find stories that change them, yes, but also where they can tell their own stories.”
Finn listened intently, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Too much, probably,” Ollie admitted with a self-deprecating smile. “My parents always focused on the classics, on building a solid collection. And that matters—it’s the foundation. But I think we need to evolve to survive.”
“Have you told them this? Your parents?”
Ollie shook his head. “Not all of it. They’ve been so stressed about finances, and I didn’t want to add to that with pie-in-the-sky ideas. It was hard enough getting them to agree to what we’re already working on.”
“They’re not pie-in-the-sky,” Finn said firmly. “They’re practical, forward-thinking. The kind of vision that could actually save the store.”
The simple validation—from someone as grounded and practical as Finn—made something warm unfurl in Ollie’s chest. “You think so?”
“I know so.” Finn’s gaze was steady, confident. “You should tell them everything you’ve come up with. Show them what you see.”
“Maybe I will,” Ollie said softly. “If this first author event goes well.”
“It will,” Finn said, with such certainty that Ollie almost believed him.
Their hands brushed as they reached for the same flyer, but this time, neither pulled away. Finn’s fingers curled slightly around Ollie’s, a deliberate touch that sent electricity up his arm. Ollie’s breath caught in his throat as Finn’s thumb traced a small circle on the back of his hand.
“Ollie,” Finn began, his voice rough around the edges.
“Yes?” Ollie barely breathed the word, afraid to break whatever spell had fallen over them.
Finn leaned closer, his eyes dropping to Ollie’s lips. The rest of the room seemed to fade away—the chatter of friends, the rustling of papers, the hum of the library’s heating system—until there was only this: Finn’s hand warm against his, Finn’s breath mingling with his own, the infinitesimal distance between them shrinking by heartbeats.
Ollie’s eyes fluttered half-closed, his body swaying slightly forward as if pulled by an invisible thread. He could feel thewarmth of Finn’s skin, count the flecks of amber in his hazel eyes, sense the slight tremble in the fingers still holding his. Time stretched and slowed, each second expanding to contain multitudes of wanting.
“Dad?”
Brooklyn’s voice shattered the moment. Finn straightened abruptly, his hand slipping away from Ollie’s as he turned toward his daughter.
She stood in the doorway, backpack slung over one shoulder, her expression curious as her gaze flicked between them. For a brief moment, something like recognition flickered in her eyes—not just of what she’d interrupted, but of something else. The way she looked at her father, a mixture of surprise and quiet assessment, suggested she was seeing him in a new light.
“I finished my research. Are you ready to go?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
“Yes, of course,” Finn said, his voice slightly unsteady. “Just give me a minute to wrap up here.”
Brooklyn nodded, her eyes lingering on Ollie with an unreadable expression before she stepped back into the hallway.
The interruption left Ollie feeling oddly bereft, the loss of Finn’s touch like a physical ache. He forced a smile, trying to mask his disappointment. “You should go. It’s getting late.”
Finn hesitated, conflict evident in his eyes. “Ollie, I?—”
“It’s okay,” Ollie assured him, though it wasn’t, not really. “Family first. Always.”
Something like gratitude flickered across Finn’s face, followed quickly by regret. “Rain check on that talk?”
“Absolutely,” Ollie agreed, though he wondered if the moment—whatever it had been building toward—was lost for good.
As Finn gathered his things, Sam sidled up to Ollie, bumping his shoulder with hers. “That was some serious tension I just witnessed. On a scale of one to ‘get a room,’ you two were at about a nine point five.”
“Shut up,” Ollie muttered, but there was no heat in it.
