“We saw how you two were working together,” his father explained. “The way you talk about the store, about its potential, it’s infectious. Even got this old cynic believing again.”
“We’ve been holding on too tightly to how things were,” his mother added softly. “Maybe it’s time to see what they could be.”
The weight that had been pressing on Ollie’s chest for weeks suddenly lifted, leaving him lightheaded with relief and possibility. He threw his arms around both his parents, hugging them tightly, words failing him completely. When he finally pulled back, his smile was watery but radiant.
“I won’t let you down,” he promised. “We’re going to make this work.”
“We know you will,” his father said, squeezing his shoulder. “Now, show us what you’ve got going. We want to hear everything.”
As Ollie led his parents toward his friends, he felt a strange sense of alignment—as if the pieces of his life that had been drifting apart were suddenly clicking into place. The store had a chance. His parents believed in him. And Finn…
Well, that remained to be seen. But for the first time in weeks, Ollie had a tentative hope that maybe—just maybe—everything would work out after all.
NINE
Finn ran his hand along the new molding, checking for imperfections. The bookstore renovation was finally complete—the construction mess gone, replaced by the smell of books mixing with fresh paint and leftover coffee from the celebration.
“Stop inspecting your brother’s work,” Ollie called from across the room, where he was collecting empty cups left behind by the volunteers who’d helped restock the shelves. “I can see you looking for flaws that don’t exist.”
“Force of habit,” Finn admitted, turning away from the molding. “Brendan says I’d find something to fix in the Sistine Chapel.”
“And he’d be right.” Ollie’s smile was tired but genuine, his glasses slightly askew as he dumped the cups into a recycling bin. “I think Michelangelo himself would’ve been intimidated by your attention to detail.”
The easy banter between them felt natural now, comfortable in a way that made Finn’s chest tighten with something dangerously close to longing. Over the past weeks, as they’d worked side by side to restore the bookstore, the careful distance he’dmaintained had eroded, leaving him vulnerable in ways he hadn’t been in years.
Rain pattered against the windows, streaking the glass and blurring the streetlights outside into hazy orbs. The weather had driven away the last lingering customers, leaving just the two of them in the warm cocoon of the bookstore. Finn was acutely aware of how alone they were—how private this moment felt, suspended between the frantic activity of the day and whatever came next.
“I still can’t believe we pulled this off,” Ollie said, collapsing onto the small sofa in the reading nook. “Three weeks ago, I was staring at a hole in my ceiling and contemplating a career change to professional hermit.”
Finn smiled, gathering his tools from where they’d been scattered during the final touch-ups. “The hermit life is overrated. Poor Wi-Fi, terrible takeout options.”
“You speak from experience?” Ollie teased, stretching his arms above his head. The motion lifted the hem of his shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of skin that Finn absolutely did not notice. Or at least, tried very hard not to notice.
“Let’s just say the first year after Holly left, I didn’t exactly embrace social opportunities,” Finn admitted, the confession slipping out easier than it once would have. “Brooklyn and work were my entire world.”
“And now?” Ollie’s voice had softened, the question hanging between them with unmistakable weight.
Finn looked up, meeting Ollie’s gaze across the room. “Now, I’m here.”
The simple statement felt more revealing than he’d intended. He busied himself with packing his remaining tools, aware of Ollie watching him with those perceptive eyes that seemed to see past every defense.
“Well, I’m glad,” Ollie said finally. “That you’re here, I mean. Not just for the ceiling or the fundraising ideas, but…you know. I’m just glad you’re here.”
The warmth in his voice made Finn’s hands falter as he zipped his bag. Before he could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket—a welcome distraction from the intensity of the moment.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling it out to check the screen. No caller ID, but the area code was local. “I should take this. It might be about the supply delivery we’re waiting on.”
Ollie nodded, rising from the sofa. “I’ll finish cleaning up. Take your time.”
Finn stepped toward the back office for privacy, answering as he walked. “Finn O’Riley.”
“Mr. O’Riley, this is Diane Mercer from Maple Hill High School.” The woman’s voice was professional but carried an undercurrent of concern that immediately set Finn on edge. “I’m calling about Brooklyn.”
His stomach dropped. “Is she okay? Did something happen?”
“She’s not injured,” the woman assured him quickly. “But I’m afraid she’s been skipping her fourth-period class regularly. Today makes the third time in two weeks. As her guidance counselor, I wanted to speak with you directly.”
Finn closed the office door behind him, leaning against it as guilt and worry crashed over him. “I wasn’t aware of this. Did she say why?”
