Brooklyn wrapped her hands around the mug, her expression cautious. Her face suddenly went pale, the teasing light in her eyes extinguished. “Oh god. Dad, are you sick? Is it something serious? Cancer? Is that why you’ve been so mopey and distant?”
The panic in her voice hit Finn like a physical blow. “No! Brooklyn, no, I’m not sick.” He reached across the counter, covering her trembling hand with his. “I’m fine. Completely healthy.”
“You swear?” Her voice was small, younger than her fifteen years. “Because if you’re trying to protect me from bad news?—”
“I swear on my pickle jar,” Finn said firmly, using the phrase that had been their ultimate promise since she was little. Just like she had when she was younger, Brooklyn laughed at the absurd phrase. “I am not sick. There’s nothing wrong with my health.”
Brooklyn sagged with relief, her breathing evening out. “Jesus, Dad. Don’t scare me like that.” She pulled her hand free to wipe at her eyes. “So what is it then? What’s so complicated that you can’t just tell me?”
Guilt twisted in Finn’s stomach. He’d terrified his daughter by not having the courage to tell the truth. Even worse, now it seemed ridiculous to be so worried. He and Brooklyn had a good relationship, so it was unlikely she’d hate him for lying. She might be hurt, but it wasn’t an unforgivable offense.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just…” He took a steadying breath. “I’ve been writing. Books. For a few years now.”
Brooklyn blinked at him. “Books? Like, actual published books?”
“Yes. Under a pen name.” The words felt strange in his mouth. The secret he’d kept so carefully was finally spoken aloud to someone who mattered.
“That’s…” Brooklyn’s brow furrowed as she processed this information. “That’s actually really cool, Dad. But why is that such a big deal? Why all the secrecy? You could have told me that day when I saw something open on your computer and you admitted to writing.”
Finn felt heat creep up his neck. “The books I write are…romance novels. Between men. It was a way for me to work through my own sexuality while doing something I enjoyed. At first, I didn’t know if it would lead anywhere, but then, as peoplestarted buying them, I worried about how it would affect you if anyone in town knew. I never want anyone giving you a hard time about something I’ve done.”
Brooklyn’s eyes widened, and Finn watched as understanding began to dawn across her features. She set her mug down carefully, her gaze never leaving his face.
“Wait.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “What name do you write under?”
There was an empty pit in Finn’s stomach. His daughter was quick, and he knew the second she’d figured it out. There was no point in hesitating, yet saying the name felt impossible. “Brooklyn?—”
“Dad.” Her voice was sharper now, more insistent. “What pen name?”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with anticipation. Finn could see the wheels turning in her mind, could practically watch her connecting the dots.
“Oh my god.” Brooklyn’s mouth fell open, her eyes going wide with shock. “You’re not… Are you Rhett Wilder?”
Finn felt the blood drain from his face.
“Oh my god.” Brooklyn’s mouth fell open. “You are! You’re Rhett Wilder! That’s why you get all flustered whenever Ollie talks about him at the bookstore!”
Finn sank onto the stool across from her, his legs suddenly unsteady. “Yes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I am.”
For a long moment, Brooklyn just stared at him, her expression cycling through shock, disbelief, and finally—to Finn’s surprise—amusement.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” She shook her head, a startled laugh escaping her. “Dad, this is like a romance novel come to life. Why haven’t you told him? He’s going to lose his mind when he finds out!”
Finn’s fingers tightened around his mug. “It’s not that simple.”
“It kind of is,” Brooklyn countered. “You just say, ‘Hey, Ollie, surprise! I’m actually that author you’re obsessed with.’ Boom. Done.”
“And then what?” Finn asked, the fear he’d been carrying for weeks finally spilling out. “He feels like I’ve been lying to him this whole time? Like I’ve been making a fool of him while he talks about how much he loves my books?”
Brooklyn’s expression softened. “Is that what you’re worried about? That he’ll be mad?”
“I’m afraid he’ll think it was a lie,” Finn admitted, the words coming easier now that they’d started. “That I was hiding it from him deliberately. And I don’t want to lose him.”
“He’ll be mad at you for keeping it from him,” Brooklyn said, her voice matter-of-fact. “And probably embarrassed that he got all googly-eyed about Rhett—about you—to you. But I don’t think he’ll leave. Not if he’s anything like I think he is.” She paused, her eyes serious beyond her years. “But if he finds out from someone else, it’ll be so much worse.”
The simple truth of it settled over Finn like a weight. “I know.”
“So again, why haven’t you told him?” Brooklyn asked, gentler now. “Are you embarrassed about the books?”
