She shrugged, returning to her food, but Finn could feel her curiosity like a physical presence. When had his life become this complicated web of half-truths and evasions? When had he started keeping parts of himself hidden from the people he loved most?
After breakfast, Finn retreated to his office, quickly clearing his browser history and making sure all his writing files were secured in a password-protected folder. He was about to close his laptop when a new email notification appeared—the latestnewsletter from the Romance Writers Guild, featuring an article about the upcoming awards.
Without thinking, he clicked it open, scanning the text until he found his pen name. “Rhett Wilder, the reclusive author whoseSmall Town Secretsseries has captivated readers with its authentic portrayal of queer love in rural America, is nominated for Best Contemporary Series…”
“Dad? You done yet?”
Finn startled, quickly minimizing the window as Brooklyn appeared in the doorway. “Almost,” he said, his voice unnaturally high. “Just finishing up.”
She crossed the room before he could close the laptop entirely, peering over his shoulder. “What’s that?”
Panic surged through him as he realized he’d left a document open—not his current manuscript, thankfully, but notes for a future book. Still, the file nameWilder_Notes_Book7was visible in the tab.
“Nothing,” he said too quickly, closing the laptop with more force than necessary. “Just some…writing I do sometimes. For fun.”
Brooklyn’s eyebrows shot up. “You write? Like, fiction?”
“It’s not a big deal,” Finn said, standing to put physical distance between her and the laptop. “Just a hobby.”
“Can I read it?”
“No,” he said, more sharply than he intended. At her hurt expression, he softened his tone. “It’s not ready for anyone to see. Maybe someday.”
Brooklyn studied him for a long moment, suspicion and curiosity warring in her expression. “Whatever,” she said finally, the casual dismissal that was her default when she felt shut out. “I’ll just use my phone for research.”
As she left, Finn sank back into his chair, heart pounding. That had been too close. The walls of his carefully compartmentalized life were starting to crumble, and he wasn’t ready for the collapse.
He needed to talk to someone who understood, someone who knew all the pieces of him. Before he could second-guess himself, he grabbed his phone and texted his mother.
Can I stop by later? Need advice.
I’ll make cookies.
The kitchen smelledlike chocolate and sugar, the familiar scent wrapping around Finn as he stepped through the back door. His mother stood at the counter, sliding cookies onto a cooling rack, her silver hair caught up in its usual messy bun.
“Perfect timing,” she said without turning around. “These need five minutes to cool, which is exactly how long it’ll take you to stop hovering in the doorway and tell me what’s wrong.”
Despite everything, Finn smiled. “That obvious, huh?”
“You’re my son. I knew something was wrong as soon as you texted.” She turned, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her sharp eyes taking in his disheveled appearance. “Sit. Talk.”
Finn dropped into a chair at the kitchen table, the same spot he’d occupied for countless childhood confidences and teenage crises. “Meredith called this morning. About the award ceremony.”
Understanding dawned in Maggie’s eyes. She was the only person besides his agent who knew about Rhett Wilder, having been his first reader from the beginning. It was beyond weird knowing his mom liked reading gay romance novels, but she’d been eager to give her opinions. “Ah. And they want the mysterious author to make an appearance.”
“Yeah.” Finn ran a hand through his hair. “Three weeks from now. Black tie, acceptance speech, the whole nine yards.”
“And you’re panicking because…?”
“Because if I do this, everyone’s going to know,” Finn said, the words rushing out. “Brooklyn, Brendan, the whole town. Ollie.”
Maggie sat across from him, sliding a plate of cookies between them. “Would that be so terrible? Your books are beautiful, Finn. They’ve helped people. Why are you so afraid of claiming them?”
It was a question he’d asked himself a thousand times, one he still didn’t have a clear answer for. “It’s complicated.”
“Try me,” his mother said, pushing the cookies closer. “Chocolate might make it easier for you to think clearly.”
Finn took one automatically, the warmth of it grounding him. “What if Brooklyn’s embarrassed? Her classmates finding out her dad writes gay romance would open her up to all new levels of bullying.” He swallowed hard. “And Ollie can’t stop talking about Rhett Wilder’s books at the store. Recommends them toanyone who shows the slightest interest in romance. What if he feels betrayed that I didn’t tell him?”
