Brooklyn’s expression shifted, concern replacing casual friendliness. “He told you, didn’t he?”
The direct question caught Ollie off guard. He turned away from the books, straightening an already-perfect display. “About what?”
“Come on, Ollie. About being Rhett Wilder.” Brooklyn’s voice was gentle but matter-of-fact. “He said he was going to tell you today, and now you both look like someone kicked your favorite puppy.”
Ollie’s hands stilled on the book spines. Of course Finn had mentioned it to her—he’d said as much during their conversation. “Yeah. He told me.”
“And you’re freaking out about it.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m not freaking out,” Ollie said automatically, then caught Brooklyn’s skeptical look. “Okay, maybe I’m freaking out a little. It’s just…a lot to process.”
Brooklyn leaned against the counter, studying him with that too-perceptive gaze she’d inherited from Finn. “He was terrified to tell you. Like, actually terrified. I haven’t seen him that scared since I was little and had to go to the emergency room for stitches.”
The comparison made Ollie’s chest tighten. “He didn’t trust me enough to tell me before now.”
“It’s not about trust,” Brooklyn said, her voice taking on a patience that seemed far too mature for her age. “He was convinced everything would change once people knew. And you’re kind of obsessed with Rhett Wilder’s books, so that probably made it worse.”
“I’m not obsessed,” Ollie protested weakly.
Brooklyn gave him a look that was pure Finn. “You literally have a shrine to his books in here. And then there’s the fact you pimp them out to anyone who will listen.”
Heat crept up Ollie’s neck. “He never said anything. I feel like an idiot. I recommended his booksto him. That would have been a great time for him to say something.”
“Of course he didn’t. He was probably dying inside every time you gushed about how amazing Rhett Wilder is.” Brooklyn’sexpression softened. “Look, I get why you’re upset. Just…cut him a bit of slack, okay? It would be ironic if my dad writing some of your favorite romance novels wound up being the thing that drove a wedge between the two of you.”
“When you put it like that…” She had a point, especially with the way he’d been comparing his relationship to the books he loved so much.
Brooklyn studied him for a long moment, then shrugged. “For what it’s worth, my dad’s been moping around all afternoon too. You’re both being ridiculous.”
The converted storefrontthat housed Jules’s art studio smelled like acrylic paint and the peppermint incense they burned to “encourage creative flow.” Canvases in various stages of completion lined the walls, and mismatched furniture created cozy conversation areas throughout the space.
Jules looked up from their easel as Ollie pushed through the door, taking in his disheveled appearance with one glance.
“Well,” they said, setting down their brush, “you look like someone who’s had a very interesting day. Tea? Wine? Something stronger?”
“Tea,” Ollie said, collapsing onto the paint-splattered couch. “Definitely tea.”
Jules moved to the small kitchenette in the corner, filling an electric kettle. “So. What’s got you looking like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Finn is Rhett Wilder.”
The words fell into the quiet studio like stones into still water. Jules froze, kettle in hand, before slowly turning to face him.
“I’m sorry, what now?”
“Finn. Is. Rhett Wilder.” Ollie scrubbed his hands over his face. “The author I’ve been gushing about for months. The books I’ve hand-sold to half the town. My boyfriend writes them.”
Jules set the kettle down with deliberate care. “Okay, I need you to back up and start from the beginning. Because either I’m having a stroke or you just told me that your stuffy office-manager boyfriend is actually a bestselling romance author.”
“That’s exactly what I told you.” The words came out in a rush now, the dam finally bursting. “He came to the store today to tell me, and I started freaking out about the showcase because Meghan Jackson canceled. When he offered to get me another author, I figured it was him trying to be the fixer as usual. He said he could get me someone who’d draw a crowd. Rhett Wilder. Because heisRhett Wilder.”
Jules sank into the chair across from him, eyes wide. “Holy shit.”
“Right?” Ollie let out a hysterical laugh. “And the worst part is, I don’t know how to feel about it. I’m proud of him— God, I’m so proud. His books are incredible. But I’m also…” He trailed off, struggling to find the words.
“Hurt,” Jules supplied gently. “Because he didn’t trust you enough to tell you.”
“Every time I recommended his books to customers while he was right there, every time I gushed about Rhett Wilder’s writing—he just let me make a fool of myself.”
