As he was pulled away to referee the great fantasy segregation debate, Finn caught sight of Ollie behind the counter, laughing at something Jules had said. The sound carried across the store, bright and genuine, making something in Finn’s chest tighten with longing.
Later, as the event hit its stride, Finn stepped behind the counter to help Ollie pack books while he checked out the customers. They worked in companionable silence for a moment, their hands occasionally brushing as they moved around the small space.
“You’re good at this,” Ollie observed, nodding toward the store at large. “The community thing. For someone who claims to be socially grumpy, you fit right in.”
Finn raised an eyebrow. “I never claimed to be socially grumpy.”
“You didn’t have to. It was implied by all the…” Ollie gestured vaguely at Finn’s entire person, a teasing smile playing at his lips. “The brooding competence. The monosyllabic responses. The way you look like you’re calculating escape routes whenever more than three people are talking at once.”
Despite himself, Finn smiled. “Maybe I’m just selective about where I spend my social energy.”
“And you chose to spend it here,” Ollie said softly, the teasing giving way to something warmer. “With us. I’m honored.”
The simple observation hit Finn with unexpected force. He had chosen this—not just today, but over the past weeks. He’d chosen to stay involved with the bookstore even after the construction was complete.
“As you should be,” he teased, his voice rougher than he intended.
Ollie’s eyes met his, warm and understanding. “Brooklyn seems to be enjoying herself. I saw her actually smile at that trivia question about dystopian governments.”
Finn glanced toward his daughter, who was now deep in conversation with Isabel and another girl, their heads bent together over a book. “She loves this stuff. Always has. Even when she was little, she gravitated toward stories about brave kids saving the world when she wasn’t devouring non-fiction.”
“Takes after her dad then,” Ollie said, bumping Finn’s shoulder lightly. “The whole ‘saving things’ vibe.”
“I don’t know about that,” Finn admitted, the words slipping out before he could filter them. “Some days I feel like I’m failing her completely. Like I’m missing something important, something that would help me understand what she’s going through.”
The confession hung between them, more vulnerable than Finn had intended. Ollie was quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful.
“You know what I see?” he said finally. “I see a father who shows up. Who tries. Who cares enough to worry about whether he’s doing it right.” He gestured toward Brooklyn. “And I see a kid who, despite whatever she’s going through, still came here today because you asked. That’s huge, Finn.”
The simple reassurance—offered without platitudes or judgment—eased something tight in Finn’s chest. “How do you know so much about parenting?”
“I don’t,” Ollie admitted with a small smile. “But I know something about feeling lost and found at the same time. About needing space but also connection.” He hesitated, then added softly, “About wanting to be seen for who you are, not just what you can do for others.”
The words resonated deep in Finn’s chest, a truth he’d never quite articulated to himself. Before he could respond, the door chimed, and a group of teens entered, laughing and talking over each other.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing better than you give yourself credit for,” Ollie said, but he lingered a moment longer, his eyes holding Finn’s.
As Ollie moved to greet the newcomers, Finn remained at the counter, the warmth of their conversation settling around him like a favorite sweater. Across the store, he caught Brooklyn watching him, her expression curious and slightly guarded. When their eyes met, she didn’t look away immediately, the way she would have days ago. Instead, she offered a small, tentative nod before turning back to her friends.
It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress.
The afternoon wore on, the event flowing smoothly from trivia rounds to book discussions to a surprisingly competitive game of literary charades. Finn joined Ollie’s friends—Jules with their dry humor, Sam’s unfiltered commentary, Maya’s quiet competence—and realized they’d begun to feel like his friends too.
“So,” Sam said, sidling up to him as he restocked the refreshment table, “at what point do you and Ollie quit dancing around one another and admit you want to bump uglies?”
Finn nearly dropped the plate of cookies he was arranging. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t,” Sam agreed cheerfully. “Just like I don’t know how much time you’ve been spending here when it’s not strictly required for work. Very convincing, both of us.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” Finn asked, though there was no real irritation in his tone.
Sam’s expression softened slightly. “Just that he’s happy when you’re around. Happier than I’ve seen him in a long time. And you seem…less like you’re carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.” She shrugged. “Take that information and do with it what you will.”
Before Finn could respond, Brooklyn appeared at his elbow, slightly breathless from the charades game. “Dad, can I get some money? Isabel says they have the new Leigh Bardugo.”
The simple request—so normal, so reminiscent of the easy relationship they used to have—made Finn’s heart squeeze. “Sure,” he said, reaching for his wallet, handing her his credit card. “Get whatever you want.”
Brooklyn’s eyes widened slightly. “Really? No budget lecture?”
