Finn’s earlier good mood was noticeably absent when he returned, setting his phone on the end table. He lowered his body into the armchair, watching them, his expression unreadable, but his eyes never leaving Ollie’s face. When their gazes met, something passed between them—understanding, maybe, or the quiet acknowledgment that this mattered more than either would admit.
“Intermission,” Finn announced. “Bathroom break, snack refill, existential crisis check-in.”
Brooklyn snorted. “You’re such a dad.”
“Guilty as charged,” Finn said, ruffling her hair as he passed. His fingers brushed Ollie’s shoulder as he walked by, a touch so brief Ollie might have imagined it, except for the warmth that lingered.
In the kitchen, Finn moved closer than necessary as they refilled bowls. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice low enough that only Ollie could hear. “For being here. For trying with her.”
Ollie swallowed, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “She makes it easy. She’s a good kid.”
“She is,” Finn agreed, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Brooklyn lingered near the kitchen doorway, fiddling with the edge of her blanket as Ollie refilled the popcorn bowl. The lowhum of the dishwasher and Finn’s voice drifting from down the hall filled the space between them, but for once, neither seemed in a rush to fill the silence. Ollie sensed something shifting—an openness, maybe, or just the absence of Brooklyn’s usual armor.
She watched him with a sidelong glance, her chin propped on her fist. “You really think people can change how they’re seen here?” The question was softer than he expected.
Ollie leaned against the counter, considering. “Not overnight. But every time you show people something new, it sticks. Even if they pretend not to notice.”
Brooklyn huffed, but there was less bite in it than before. “Maybe. If you’re lucky.”
He smiled. “Luck’s overrated. Sometimes you just have to be stubborn about who you want to be.”
She laughed, a quick, surprised sound. “That sounds like something Isabel would say.”
Ollie grinned. “We already established she’s smart. There are definitely worse people you could be comparing me to. Let’s face it, it seems to me like you’ve got good taste in friends.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but her expression had softened. She glanced at her phone, then back at Ollie, her voice dropping to a more vulnerable register. “Yeah, but who knows how long that’ll last. Everyone’s getting jobs now, and it feels like we’re drifting apart. Isabel started seeing a guy, Mason, and even when we’re hanging out, she’s always texting him. It’s like I’m the third wheel even when only the two of us are there.”
The words hung between them, honest and edged with longing. Ollie recognized the ache behind them—the wanting, and thenot knowing how to get there. “Working’s highly overrated. Stay young as long as you can.”
She snorted. “Yeah, if only it were that easy. Isabel keeps bragging about her job at the hardware store, but I can’t work there unless I get my license, and nobody’s hiring anyway. My friends always have money to go do things, and I don’t. Sucks when they don’t think twice about driving up to Afton and don’t ask me to come with them because they know I don’t want to bug Dad for money.” There was a note of frustration beneath her bravado.
Ollie brightened. “You know, I’ve been looking for help at the bookstore. Someone who actually knows the difference between a dystopia and a space opera, and who can talk to teens without making them want to flee. The pay isn’t much, but you’d get first dibs on new releases and an unlimited supply of coffee. Or hot chocolate, whichever you prefer.”
Brooklyn blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Ollie said. “You’d be doing me a favor. Plus, I need someone to keep me from organizing the graphic novels by color again. The last time I did it, Jules nearly staged an intervention.”
A slow smile spread across her face, hesitant but real. “I’d like that.”
“Then it’s settled,” Ollie said, grinning back. “You’re hired as long as your dad’s cool with you working. First shift could be next Saturday, unless you’d rather start sooner.”
Brooklyn’s eyes sparkled with something like hope. “Saturday’s good. I’ll have to check with Dad, but…yeah. Thanks, Ollie.”
He probably should have checked with Finn first to make sure he wasn’t opposed to his daughter having a job. Ollie’d just been so excited when Brooklyn opened up to him a bit about what had been bothering her lately that he’d acted without thinking.
He shrugged, trying to play it cool even as relief and pride bloomed in his chest. “Anytime. Besides, every bookstore needs a resident sci-fi expert.”
Finn returned, holding up the next movie. “Ready for round two?”
“Ready,” Brooklyn said, glancing at Ollie, her smile lingering.
As they settled back into the living room, Finn paused by Ollie’s side. “What was that about?” he asked quietly.
“I might have offered Brooklyn a job at the bookstore,” Ollie admitted, wincing slightly. “I should have asked you first. Sorry.”
Instead of the hesitation Ollie expected, Finn’s face softened. “You didn’t have to do that.”
