“Dad?” Brooklyn appeared in the doorway, hair tousled from sleep, oversized T-shirt hanging to her knees. “You’re up early.”
“Work call,” he said, the half-truth bitter on his tongue. “What are you doing up? It’s not even seven.”
She shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Couldn’t sleep. Isabel texted about some drama with Zach and Kaylee, and now my brain won’t shut up.”
Finn smiled despite his inner turmoil. “Teenage problems, got it. Want to talk about it over breakfast?”
“Maybe. If you make those egg things with the cheese.”
“Deal.”
As Brooklyn shuffled toward the bathroom, Finn remained at his desk, the weight of Meredith’s call settling over him like a physical presence. Three weeks. A decision that could change everything.
His phone buzzed again—a text this time, from Ollie.
Morning! Any chance you’re free for lunch? My mom is working the store, and I have a sudden craving for your company (and maybe those sandwiches from the deli). My bed isn’t as comfortable as yours.
Finn stared at the message, warmth and anxiety battling in his chest. The easy affection in Ollie’s words made something loosen inside him, even as fear tightened its grip. How could he face Ollie today, with the weight of his secret pressing down harder than ever?
Rain check?
Swamped with work and Brooklyn stuff.
The reply came almost immediately.
No problem! Dinner later this week?
Finn hesitated, then sent back a thumbs-up emoji—noncommittal enough to buy him time, but not so distant as to raise concerns. The coward’s approach, and he knew it.
In the kitchen, he mechanically gathered ingredients for breakfast, his mind still churning with Meredith’s words.The publisher needs to know if Rhett Wilder will finally make his public debut.As if Rhett Wilder were a separate person, someone he could simply become by stepping onto a stage.
“You’re burning the eggs,” Brooklyn’s voice cut through his thoughts.
Finn blinked, suddenly aware of the acrid smell rising from the pan. “Shit,” he muttered, quickly removing it from the heat.
Brooklyn raised an eyebrow. “You okay? You seem weird.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically. “Just distracted. Work stuff.”
She studied him for a moment, that too-perceptive gaze that reminded him so much of himself. “Work stuff or Ollie stuff? Because you’ve been acting strange since he started staying over more. You know I don’t mind if he spends more time here, right?”
Heat crept up Finn’s neck. They hadn’t discussed the time Ollie spent with them in detail. Things had been awkward when she walked in to see Ollie there the morning after their first night together. His daughter had surprised him when she invited Ollie over for movie night, and since then, the two of them had been getting along just fine. Brooklyn was right. Finn was the one making things weird at this point, but he couldn’t tell her why.
“It’s not Ollie stuff,” he said, scraping the salvageable eggs onto a plate. “It’s just work. A deadline I’m not sure I can meet.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie. The decision about the award ceremony was a deadline of sorts, one with consequences that rippled far beyond his writing career.
Brooklyn seemed to accept this explanation, digging into her breakfast with the single-minded focus of a hungry teenager. Finn picked at his own food, appetite lost in the swirl of anxiety.
“Can I use your laptop before school?” Brooklyn asked between bites. “Mine’s acting up, and I need to finish that history paper.”
Finn froze, fork halfway to his mouth. His manuscript was saved, but his browser history was full of research for his latest book—gay romance forums, LGBTQ+ history sites, articles about coming out later in life. Things he wasn’t ready to explain.
“Sure,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I just need to save some stuff first so I can close the files.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes. “It’s not like I’m going to snoop through your boring spreadsheets, Dad.”
“I know. Just…give me ten minutes.”
