“Just stating facts.” Sam grinned. “Also, his kid totally caught you about to make out with her dad.”
“We weren’t—” Ollie began, then sighed. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing happened.”
“Yet,” Sam corrected. “Nothing happened yet.”
Across the room, Finn was saying goodbye to the others, his manner polite but distracted. When he reached Ollie, he paused, something unspoken passing between them.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Finn asked, the question carrying more weight than the simple words suggested.
Ollie nodded. “I’ll be at the store all day. I want to get started on putting books back on the shelves since the worst of the dust should be gone.”
“I’ll stop by,” Finn promised. “To check on Brendan’s progress. And…other things.”
The way he said “other things” made Ollie’s pulse quicken. “I’ll be there.”
After Finn left, Ollie stood staring at the door for a moment too long, lost in thought. The phantom warmth of Finn’s hand lingered on his skin, a promise of what might have been—what might still be.
“You’ve got it bad,” Jules observed, appearing at his elbow. “Like, write-his-name-in-your-notebook bad.”
“I’m thirty, not thirteen,” Ollie protested, though he couldn’t deny the accuracy of their assessment.
“Age is irrelevant when it comes to crush behavior,” Jules countered. “And you, my friend, are exhibiting textbook symptoms.”
Before Ollie could respond, the library door opened again, but instead of Finn returning, his parents stepped in. His mother’s face lit up at the sight of all the planning materials, while his father surveyed the room with quiet approval.
“Mom? Dad?” Ollie moved toward them, surprised. “I thought you were having dinner with the Hendersons tonight.”
“We are,” his mother confirmed, embracing him warmly. “But we wanted to see how the planning was coming along.” She gestured to the walls covered in promotional materials. “Looks like you’ve been busy.”
“We’ve made progress,” Ollie acknowledged, suddenly nervous. What if they thought he was being naive? Wasting time and resources on a lost cause?
His father picked up one of the flyers, studying the design. “Save the Shelf: A Community Campaign,” he read aloud. “This is good work, son.”
The simple praise loosened something in Ollie’s chest. “We’re trying. I know it’s a long shot, but?—”
“It’s not a long shot,” his mother interrupted gently. “It’s exactly what the store needs. What we all need.”
Ollie blinked, caught off guard by her certainty. “You think so?”
His parents exchanged a look—one of those silent communications honed by decades of marriage—before his father spoke.
“Your mother and I have been talking,” he began, his tone careful. “About the store. About the future.”
Ollie’s stomach dropped. “And?”
“And we think we’ve been too rigid,” his mother continued. “Too stuck in how we’ve always done things. Maybe what Shelf Care Central needs isn’t just structural repairs, but a new vision. Your vision.”
“What are you saying?” Ollie asked, hardly daring to hope.
“We’re saying we’re not selling,” his father stated firmly. “Not yet, anyway. We want to see where you take this—these events, these new ideas. We want to give it a real chance.”
Ollie stared at them, speechless. A wave of emotion crashed over him—relief, joy, gratitude, fear—all tangling together until he couldn’t separate one thing from another. His eyes stung, and he blinked rapidly, trying to process what he was hearing.
“What changed your minds?” he finally managed, his voice thick.
His mother smiled, reaching out to straighten his collar in that maternal gesture she’d never outgrown. “Seeing how hardyou’ve been working the past couple of weeks. Seeing all of this.” She gestured around the room. “The energy, the hope. And watching you with that project manager of yours.”
“He’s not my—” Ollie began automatically, then stopped. “Wait, what?”
