“No,” Finn said immediately. “I’m proud of them. They’re good books. It’s just…” He trailed off, struggling to articulate the tangle of fears that had kept him silent. “I’ve kept this part of myself separate for so long. It was mine, you know? Something just for me, when everything else in my life was about taking care of other people.”
Brooklyn nodded slowly. “I get that. But Ollie’s not justother peopleanymore, is he?”
“No,” Finn admitted softly. “He’s not.”
“And you’re not going to lose him by telling him the truth,” Brooklyn said with the absolute certainty of youth. “He’s, like, stupidly into you. It’s actually kind of gross how in love the two of you are.”
A reluctant smile tugged at Finn’s lips. He considered protesting her observation about them being in love, but it was the truth. He loved Ollie, even if he hadn’t said the words yet, and he was pretty sure Ollie felt the same. “Thanks for that assessment.”
“I’m serious, Dad.” Brooklyn leaned forward, her expression earnest. “Ollie looks at you like you hung the moon for him or something. Finding out you write books he already loves isn’t going to change that.”
The simple observation, delivered with such confidence, loosened something in Finn’s chest. “You’re pretty damned smart, you know that?”
“Yeah, I know. I get it from listening to you when you’re not being an idiot.” She took another sip of her hot chocolate, then asked, “So, are you going to tell him?”
Finn nodded, the decision crystallizing as he spoke. “I promise I’ll tell him soon.”
“Good.” Brooklyn stood, gathering her mug. “Because if you don’t, I might. This tea is too hot not to share.”
“Brooklyn—” Finn began, alarm flaring.
She grinned, the teasing light back in her eyes. “Relax, Dad. I’m kidding. Mostly.” She headed for the doorway, then paused, looking back at him. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty cool that you write books that represent someone other than straight white couples. That matters.”
“Wait,” Finn called after her, sudden anxiety spiking through him. “Brooklyn, you can’t tell anyone else. Not your friends, not at school—nobody.”
She turned back, leaning against the doorframe. “Dad, I’m not going to broadcast it on the morning announcements or anything.”
“I’m serious,” Finn said, his voice tightening. “If word gets around your school that your dad writes…you know…explicit romance novels?—”
“Gay romance,” Brooklyn corrected, rolling her eyes. “It’s not a bad word. You’d be surprised to know how many people read books like that. I’d bet some of my friends even have your books on their phones. Which is why Iwon’tsay anything because then it gets weird.”
“I know it’s not,” Finn sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But you know how teenagers can be. I don’t want you dealing with any fallout because of what I write.”
Brooklyn’s expression softened. “Dad, I’m not embarrassed by your books. And anyone who would give me crap about it isn’t someone whose opinion I care about anyway.” She paused, her voice growing more earnest. She gave him a peck on the cheek and a quick hug before rinsing her mug.
As she disappeared up the stairs, Finn remained at the kitchen island, her words echoing in his mind. Her simple validation, offered without judgment or expectation, settled over him like a balm.
He pulled out his phone, staring at the blank screen. He should text Ollie, invite him over, finally have the conversation he’d been avoiding. But the words wouldn’t come—not yet. Not tonight, with the weight of the conversation with Brooklyn still settling around him.
Tomorrow, he promised himself. He’d tell Ollie tomorrow, face-to-face. No more hiding, no more distance. Just the truth, and whatever came after.
TWENTY
Finn stood outside Shelf Care Central, clutching a small package and fighting the urge to turn around and drive home. Through the window, he saw Ollie behind the counter, phone pressed to his ear, fingers tangled in his hair. Even from here, Finn could read the tension in his shoulders, the tight set of his mouth.
Brooklyn’s right. If he finds out from someone else, it’ll be worse.
The thought propelled him forward. The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, the familiar scent of books and coffee wrapping around him like a comfort he might not deserve much longer.
“Hey,” Finn said, approaching the counter. “I got you that marketing book you’ve been talking about.” Yes, it was silly to buy a bookstore owner a book, but Finn hadn’t been able to think of any other gesture to ease his way into their talk.
Ollie barely glanced at the package as Finn set it down. “Thanks,” he said, distracted, ending his call with a frustrated sigh. “Sorry, I’m in the middle of a complete disaster.”
“What’s going on?” Finn asked, his own agenda forgotten in the face of Ollie’s obvious distress.
“Meghan Jackson just canceled on the romance showcase.” Ollie’s voice cracked slightly. “Family emergency. Her mother’s in the hospital.” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving it standing at wild angles. “Which I completely understand, and I feel terrible about her mom, but she was our headliner. People bought tickets specifically to meet her.”
Finn’s stomach clenched. The showcase had been Ollie’s passion project for months, his chance to celebrate the genre he loved most. “Can you find another author?”
