“And you’re sure you actually want to offer her a job? I know things are tight financially. Don’t hire her just because she wants to make money of her own.”
Ollie set down the dish towel and turned to face Finn. “I meant what I said. I could use the help, and she’ll be great at it. But…” He hesitated, wanting to be honest, “I also like the idea of having her around more. Getting to know her better.”
Finn’s expression softened. “You’re already thinking about us as a package deal, aren’t you?”
“Isn’t that what you are?” Ollie asked simply. “You and Brooklyn—you come together. And I’m more than okay with that. I like her, Finn. She’s smart and funny and so clearly your daughter in all the best ways.”
Finn set down the glass he was washing and dried his hands, then reached for Ollie, pulling him close. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? A lot of people claim they’re fine with someone being a parent, but then they expect the kids to just exist in the background?”
Ollie shook his head. “Their loss. She’s not background material.”
“No,” Finn agreed, “she’s definitely not.” He paused, his eyes searching Ollie’s face. “I’m falling for you, you know. Hard.”
The words sent a thrill through Ollie’s body. “Good,” he said softly. “Because I’m already there.”
When Finn kissed him, it felt like a promise—one that extended beyond just the two of them to include the makeshift family they were cautiously, hopefully beginning to build.
SEVENTEEN
Finn’s phone vibrated against his desk, his agent’s name flashing on the screen. His stomach clenched. Meredith never called this early unless something was urgent—or important enough to disrupt his carefully constructed routine.
He glanced at the clock: six forty-two a.m. Brooklyn would be up in less than an hour, and he’d planned to use the quiet time to finish the last chapter of revisions. Instead, his finger hovered over the screen, dread pooling in his gut.
“Morning, Meredith,” he answered, keeping his voice low despite being alone in his bedroom.
“Finn! Thank god you picked up.” Her voice was bright with the particular enthusiasm she reserved for good news. “I’ve been trying to reach you for a week.”
Finn winced. He’d been avoiding her calls, knowing exactly what she wanted to discuss. “Sorry. I’ve been busy with…real-life stuff.”
“Well, I need an answer. The award ceremony is in three weeks, and they need to know if Rhett Wilder will finally make hispublic debut.” She paused, her voice softening. “This is huge, Finn. You’re nominated for Best Contemporary Series. People want to meet the man behind the words.”
Finn closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know, Meredith.”
“What’s holding you back? Your books are bestsellers. Don’t you want recognition for your work?”
The question hit a nerve. Of course he wanted recognition—what writer didn’t? But recognition meant exposure. Exposure meant questions. Questions from his family, from Brooklyn’s friends, from Ollie…
Ollie.
The thought of him sent a complicated wave of emotion through Finn’s chest. Just over a month into whatever they were doing, and already Finn felt more seen, more understood than he had in years. He used to roll his eyes when he wrote about instalove despite it being a popular trope, but now he was a believer. He couldn’t imagine a world without Ollie in it. Hell, today was the first time all week he hadn’t woken up with Ollie snoring softly next to him, and he didn’t like it one bit.
But Ollie still didn’t know about Rhett Wilder. Nobody did, except Meredith and his mom.
“It’s complicated,” he said finally. “I have Brooklyn to think about. And…other things.”
“The mysterious ‘other things.’” Meredith sighed. “Look, I get it. You’ve built a life there. But this isn’t just about a fancy trophy. This is about your career. With the buzz you’ve created, there’s so much we could do. I’d love to put out some feelers about TV orstreaming options, possibly even court some publishers to see if we could get you a multi-book deal, but all of that will be easier if they have a face to put with the name.”
Finn’s pulse quickened. A multi-book deal would mean financial security, maybe even enough to stash away in Brooklyn’s college fund with some left to take her somewhere for Christmas if Holly flaked again. But at what cost?
“Can I think about it?” he asked, already knowing her answer.
“You’ve been thinking about it for two years,” she replied, not unkindly. “I need an answer by the end of business tomorrow. That’s the best I can do.”
After promising to call her back—a promise they both knew might go unfulfilled—Finn set down his phone and stared at his laptop screen. He needed to power through so he could send this file back to his editor.
How had he let this get so complicated? What had started as a private creative outlet, a way to process his loneliness after Holly left, had somehow become a secret second life. One where he could explore desires and vulnerabilities he’d never allowed himself in reality. Until Ollie.
The sound of Brooklyn’s bedroom door opening jolted him from his thoughts. He quickly saved his document and closed the laptop, the familiar guilt settling like a stone in his stomach.
