“But the books?—”
“Are mostly okay,” he assured her, stretching the truth only slightly. “We got the plastic over the rare stuff and special editions before the water reached them. It’s mainly the suspense and thrillers that are taking the hit right now.”
A pause, then his father’s voice joined the call. “Son, we can come back. The store is our responsibility too.”
Ollie closed his eyes briefly, a complicated mix of love and frustration washing through him. “Dad, you and Mom have been planning this week with Aunt Barb for months. I’ve got this covered. I promise.”
“The insurance company—” his mother began.
“I’ll call them first thing in the morning. I texted Megan to let her know what’s going on, and she’s going to open the bakery for me. I’ve already taken photos of everything.” Ollie ran a hand through his damp curls, leaving them sticking up at odd angles. In an ideal world, he wouldn’t have to have a part-time job, but until the bookstore was solvent, that wasn’t an option. “Seriously, enjoy your break. There’s literally nothing you can do right now that we aren’t already doing.”
The silence on the other end told him they weren’t convinced, but after a moment, his father sighed. “You’ll call if anything changes? Anything at all?”
“The second anything happens, good or bad, you’ll be the first to know,” Ollie promised. “It’s nothing we can’t handle. Promise. Love you too.”
After a few more reassurances, he finally ended the call, letting his head fall back against the wall. For just a moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight of it all: the water damage, the inevitable repair costs, the precarious state of the bookstore’s finances even before this disaster struck. The constant juggling act between his shifts at Sweet & Simple Bakery and the hours he poured into Shelf Care Central, trying to keep the bookstore afloat.
“We can fix this,” he whispered to the empty office, the words half prayer, half determination. “We have to.”
His throat tightened unexpectedly. The bookstore wasn’t just a business. It was the place where he’d learned to read, where he’d hidden during his awkward teenage years, where he’d decided—after a brief, unsuccessful attempt at city living—that Maple Hill was where he belonged. It was home in a way that transcendedthe actual building, and the thought of losing it made his chest ache with a pain far sharper than mere exhaustion.
The steady humof industrial fans greeted Ollie as soon as he pushed through the door the following morning. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and he groaned, shielding his eyes from the unexpected brightness. Even once they’d quit working for the night, Ollie hadn’t been able to relax.
Every muscle in his body ached from last night’s marathon cleanup session. Once they’d stopped the waterfalls seeping through the ceiling and cleaned up the pools of water, there’d been little more they could do. Keaton had set up dehumidifiers and industrial fans before telling everyone to get some sleep.
A soft knock at the door pulled him back to the present. Jules poked their head in, their expression a mixture of sympathy and urgency. “Finn is here.”
Ollie blinked, and the fog of exhaustion shattered. “Seriously? I thought Keaton was coming over?”
He wasnotprepared to deal with the hot office manager from Anderson Homeworks this morning. Before the opening night of Jules’s first art exhibit a few months ago, he’d only known Finn O’Riley as the sexy single dad who used to come in with his daughter to pick out books on Sunday mornings. But that night, he’d learned Finn was also an avid reader, and the two of them had talked about the validity of erotic romance as a genre while their friends were busy entertaining everyone else who’d joined them from dinner.
Thatwas the night Ollie’s admiration had turned into a full-blown crush.
Jules shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “He had an appointment at the bank first thing this morning that he couldn’t get out of, but he didn’t want you freaking out all day. Just thought you should know before you go out there looking like a librarian having an existential crisis.”
“That’s my everyday aesthetic,” Ollie protested, but he took a moment to tuck in his shirt and run a hand through his hopelessly rumpled hair. “How bad is it?”
“The ceiling or your hair? Because both are concerning.”
Ollie made a face at them. “You’re fired.”
“You can’t afford to fire me. I work for free.” Jules grinned, some of the tension easing from their shoulders. “Come on. Your white knight awaits.”
Ollie followed them back into the main area of the bookstore, where Sam was already talking to Finn. The store looked markedly different from last night—no more buckets catching drips, no puddles spreading across the floor. The industrial dehumidifiers dominated the space, creating islands of noise around which they’d rearranged the less damaged inventory. Several sections had been cordoned off with caution tape where the ceiling damage was worst.
When Finn turned, Ollie was struck by the contrast between his professional demeanor—crisp button-down, serious expression—and the gentle way his eyes took in the surrounding chaos, assessing without judgment.
“Morning, Ollie.” Finn offered a broad hand, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Looks like you managed to get things under control.”
“We’ve downgraded from ‘maritime disaster’ to ‘concerning dampness,’” Ollie replied, trying to keep the mood light despite his exhaustion. Their hands met, and Ollie tried not to notice how warm Finn’s palm felt against his. “The dehumidifiers are doing their job. Thank Keaton for getting them here so quickly for me?”
A flicker of amusement crossed Finn’s face before he settled back into his professional mode. “Of course. Once I get a better look around, I’ll put together a full estimate and timeline for you. I can come back later today with all the details before we schedule the crew to start.”
“Sure, that sounds great.” Ollie gestured toward the small café area they’d set up in one corner of the store. “Coffee? It’s about all I can offer right now.”
He hadn’t bothered picking up his typical order of pastries from Sweet & Simple this morning. He doubted anyone would want to hang out to read and have a snack with the noise of the fans and the lingering smell of wet paper.
Finn nodded, his expression serious, though his eyes betrayed a hint of warmth. “Black would be perfect, thanks.”
