Room to dream a grumpy s.., p.1
Room to Dream: A Grumpy Sunshine Small Town Gay Romance (The Fixer Upper), page 1
ROOM TO DREAM
FIXER UPPER #3
QUINN WARD
Copyright © 2025 by Quinn Ward
Edited by Abbie Nicole
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
A Note From Quinn
About Quinn
ONE
Finn O’Riley’s phone buzzed from somewhere under the stack of invoices he’d been sorting for the past hour. The papers nearly tumbled to the floor in his haste to answer before his daughter’s call went to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart.”
“Hey, Dad. Mom called.” Brooklyn’s voice carried that familiar blend of annoyance and hurt she’d perfected over the years. “While I was in math because why would she bother calling when I can actually answer the phone without getting in trouble? She says she wants to talk about winter break, but her phone went straight to voicemail when I tried calling back.”
Finn pinched the bridge of his nose, keeping his tone even. He worked hard to never say anything negative about his ex-wife in front of Brooklyn, but times like this made it difficult to find anything charitable to say. He knew damned well she’d called while Brooklyn wasn’t available on purpose. “Did she say anything else?”
“Just that she’s looking forward to seeing me and hopes we can go on a girls’ trip, as if it’s a regular occurrence for us to spend time together. I guess I’ll find out whenever she remembers to call again.” A pause, then, “Oh, and I’m at Isabel’s. Marcus said he could drive me home, but I told him you wouldn’t mind picking me up whenever you’re done working.”
The bitterness in her tone stung, but not as much as it would if he didn’t know she and Isabel would have been hanging out even if he were sitting at home doing nothing. He tried to remember she was a typical teen and that not every hint of attitude was actually directed at him. “That’s not a problem at all. I’ll be there around eight, okay?”
“Yeah. We’re working on our science project. And before you ask, yes, we’re actually working.” That last part came with a sigh, but the edge in her voice softened.
“I never doubted you,” Finn said, hoping she’d hear the smile in his voice.
“Liar,” she said, but she sounded like she was smiling too. “See you soon.”
He was telling the truth. Brooklyn was almost too focused on her grades. Sometimes, he wished she’d let go and be a normal teenager, but she was determined to get college scholarships. Who was he to argue with that? “Love you, Brooklyn.”
“Love you too.”
Finn stared at the phone after the call ended, thumb rubbing idle circles over the case. He hated how practiced they’d both become at sounding fine. At fifteen, Brooklyn shouldn’t have to pretend her mother’s halfhearted attempts at parenting didn’t hurt. And he shouldn’t have to swallow the urge to call Holly and tell her to either show up properly or back out of their lives before she caused even more emotional damage.
Someone approaching from behind pulled him from his thoughts. Keaton, already halfway into his jacket, stood there with a raised eyebrow. “You’re still here? You know you can finish those tomorrow, right?”
Finn shrugged, gesturing to the nearly completed bank report on his screen. “Brooklyn’s at Isabel’s. Figured I’d knock this out while it’s quiet. Otherwise, I’ll be in here before dawn tomorrow to make sure you have everything you need for your meeting with Davies.”
The local business banker was a notorious hardass. With as reluctant as he was to sign off on loans, one might think it was his personal money he was parting with. Anderson Homeworks was growing quickly, almost too quickly for its current staffing. They needed to buy new trucks and equipment and hire more employees if they were going to continue their expansion.
“You work too much.” Keaton grinned, leaning against the doorframe. “Just make sure you get out of here early enough to spend some time with your kid.”
“I will. Night, Keaton.”
“Don’t stay too late,” Keaton called over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him.
There’d been a time when Finn was the one reminding Keaton to step away from work, but ever since he’d started dating Jules, he’d gotten much better at clocking out. Even if home for him was just a short walk to the second floor of the Anderson Homeworks building. While they hadn’t even been together a year yet, Finn knew Keaton was already on the hunt for a place for the two of them with a small garden out back for Jules. The sweetness of it all made Finn’s teeth ache.
Finn closed out the last spreadsheet, double-checking the totals before saving. There was a certain satisfaction in wrapping up the numbers, knowing Keaton had all the details he would need for tomorrow’s meeting. He leaned back, rolling his shoulders, and let the quiet settle around him.
The work was done. Mostly. But he didn’t reach for his bag right away.
Instead, he opened a document he kept in a password-protected folder. He read over the last paragraph he’d written, tweaking a phrase here, tightening a sentence there. It wasn’t much—just a scene where his protagonist, Eli, finally admitted his feelings to the man he’d been circling for five chapters.
Eli’s fingers trembled against Wyatt’s wrist. “I’ve wanted to touch you like this since the moment you walked into that bar,” he confessed, voice rough with desire. “I just never thought you’d let me.”
Finn adjusted the dialogue, making it more raw, more honest. Under the pen name Rhett Wilder, he’d published eight novels that had developed a modest but devoted following. His readers had no idea that the steamy scenes they devoured were written by a single father who balanced spreadsheets by day and explored the complexities of desire by night. His characters gave him the freedom to explore a side of himself he’d never shown anyone, not even his closest friends.
He lingered, adding a line about the way Wyatt’s breath hitched, deleting two sentences that felt clinical, filling the space with the kind of hope and heated anticipation he only allowed himself on nights like this. His characters could have what he couldn’t—passionate embraces, whispered confessions, the freedom to want without worrying about school schedules and mortgage payments.
“I’ve been yours since day one,” Wyatt murmured, turning his hand to lace their fingers together. “You just needed to see it.”
Eventually, Finn glanced at the clock. Time to go.
He closed the document, saving it without rereading, and turned his attention to the clutter on his desk. He almost missed the sticky note wedged beneath his keyboard—a scrawl about Eli and Wyatt’s first sexual encounter, words that felt too raw to look at for long. He folded it, tucking it into his wallet, and shook his head. He was usually much more careful about leaving anything related to his side projects where someone at work might find them.
The Fitzgerald house was loud with laughter when he pulled up. Marcus answered the door, coffee mug in hand. “You’re just in time. The girls are about to blow up my kitchen with their experiment.”
Finn grinned, stepping inside. “Should I be worried?”
“Only if you value your eyebrows,” Marcus deadpanned. “The kitchen’s not actually in danger. Want coffee?”
“Always.”
Later tonight, he’d regret accepting the offer, but he needed the company of someone who understood what his life was like. His other friends tried to be supportive, but they were far too eager to tell him what an idiot Holly was, how much she was missing out on. Finn knew all that. Sometimes, he just needed to be around someone who understood how unhelpful those comments were.
Finn followed him to the kitchen, where Brooklyn and Isabel were hunched over a glass tank full of wires and plants.
“Dad, check this out.” Brooklyn waved him over. “It’s a self-sustaining ecosystem with automated sensors. We’re presenting it for the science fair.”
“Impressive,” Finn said, genuinely. “You two built this?”
Isabel nodded. “Mr. Wilson said we might actually have a shot at regionals.”
Brooklyn shrugged, but her eyes shone. “It’s not that big a deal. But it’s cool.”
“Are you kidding? Be proud of what you’ve accomplished. Both of you.”
Finn gave Brooklyn’s shoulder a gentle squeeze on his way past. He knew better than to try for a hug or a kiss on the forehead these days. She was far too old for that now.
Marcus handed Finn a mug, then leaned against the counter. “You’ve got a great kid, Finn. She’s a good influence
Finn met Brooklyn’s eyes, catching the flicker of pride she tried to hide. “Thanks, Marcus. I think they’re good for each other.”
The girls started cleaning up, debating the best way to store their project so they could finish it another day. Finn sipped his coffee, letting normalcy settle around him. The warmth of the mug against his palms was grounding. He watched Brooklyn gesture animatedly as she insisted her storage idea was best, her expressions so much like his own that it sometimes startled him.
“So, Brooklyn mentioned Holly called?” Marcus asked quietly, his voice pitched just low enough to stay between them. “She didn’t seem too excited about the idea of going out of town with her mom.”
Finn’s jaw tightened, that familiar knot forming in his chest—part frustration, part bone-deep weariness. “Yeah. Brooklyn missed the call. She’s trying not to care, but—” He trailed off, glancing at his daughter. The careful way she held her shoulders told him everything her words wouldn’t. Seven years of this dance had taught him to read the signs. “I’ve never met someone who can try too hard and not put in the effort all at once.”
Marcus nodded. “It’s tough.”
“Sometimes I think it’d be easier if she just…” Finn didn’t finish the thought. Didn’t need to. The words hung there… If she just stayed away completely. If she just committed to being present. If she just made a decision one way or the other instead of this half-in, half-out approach that left Brooklyn constantly braced for disappointment.
“Yeah.” Marcus’s eyes drifted to Isabel, who was laughing at something Brooklyn said. “I have similar thoughts about Isabel’s mom. I shouldn’t wish she’d just go away, but it’s like she knows right when Isabel’s starting to do better, and then she drops in again, undoing the progress the therapist and I have made with her.”
There was understanding in Marcus’s expression that made Finn’s throat tighten. They’d both been left holding the pieces of broken families, trying to reshape them into something whole for their daughters. The solidarity in that shared experience was worth more than all the well-meaning advice from people who’d never had to navigate these waters.
Brooklyn appeared in the doorway, backpack slung over her shoulder. Her eyes met Finn’s, a silent question there. “Ready, Dad?”
“Yeah.” Finn set his mug down, the momentary peace of the kitchen already slipping away. “Thanks, Marcus. And thanks for letting Brooklyn come over.”
“Anytime. Have a good night, you two.”
As they walked to the car, Brooklyn launched into a rundown of their project. Finn listened, asking questions when she paused for breath. He loved these unguarded moments, words tumbling out faster than he could keep up.
“…and then Isabel figured out we could use the Arduino to regulate the water cycle, which is why we need the extra sensors, but Mr. Wilson thinks—” She stopped suddenly. “You’re actually listening, aren’t you?”
“Always am.” Finn glanced at her as he turned onto their street. “Why?”
She shrugged, looking out the window. “Most parents just nod and say ‘that’s nice.’”
“Well, I’m not most parents.” He pulled into the driveway. “And what you’re doing is actually interesting.”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. “You’re such a nerd, Dad.”
“Guilty as charged.”
When they got home, Brooklyn headed straight upstairs, calling, “I’ll be down in a sec, just need to do something.”
Finn reheated leftover lasagna, setting two plates on the table. He’d made it from scratch on Sunday—his grandmother’s recipe with the extra layer of cheese in the middle that Brooklyn loved. It was their tradition: Sunday cooking for the week ahead, Brooklyn perched on a stool at the counter, alternating between helping and scrolling through her phone.
Brooklyn reappeared, hair damp from a quick shower, phone in hand. She’d changed into the oversized Blackhawks sweatshirt he’d bought her last Christmas, the one she claimed was “too big” but wore almost every night anyway.
“Anything else from your mom?” Finn asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. He’d learned years ago that his own feelings about Holly needed to stay locked away where Brooklyn couldn’t see them.
She shook her head, dropping into her seat. Her shoulders hunched slightly, a telltale sign she was bothered more than she wanted to admit. “Whatever. It’s fine. Honestly, if she forgets, which she probably will, I won’t have to figure out how to tell her I don’t want to spend my entire winter break with her. Isabel and Mason are talking about going skiing on New Year’s Eve, and they invited me along.”
He probably should have lectured Brooklyn about how she needed to spend time with her mom and that there was plenty of time the rest of the year for her friends, but he figured this was partly Brooklyn’s way of coping with her flighty mother. Instead, he reached across the table and squeezed her hand briefly, long enough to connect, short enough not to annoy her. “You want garlic bread?”
She grinned, finally, the tension easing from her face. “Cheesy?”
“Of course,” Finn scoffed, already moving to the freezer where he kept the homemade garlic bread he prepared in batches. “What kind of amateur operation do you think I’m running here?”
Brooklyn rolled her eyes, but her smile widened. “You’re such a dad sometimes.”
“All the time, actually,” he corrected, sliding the bread into the oven. “It’s my full-time job.”
“Pretty sure your full-time job is making spreadsheets for Uncle Keaton.”
“That just pays the bills. The dad thing—” he tapped his chest “—that’s the career.”
They ate in companionable silence, the kind that only came from years of just the two of them. Brooklyn demolished her garlic bread first, then methodically separated the layers of her lasagna before eating them one by one—a habit she’d had since she was five. Finn pretended not to notice when she snuck a photo of her plate for her Instagram story. He’d learned to pick his battles.
“How’s the English essay coming?” he asked, refilling her water glass without being asked.
“Almost done. Just need to fix the conclusion.” She hesitated, then added, “Mr. Thompson said my analysis of the symbolism was really strong.”
Pride swelled in Finn’s chest. He wondered if it was strange to her that he was good friends with Noah, her English teacher, who was also his friend Luke’s fiancé. “That’s great, kiddo. You’ve always had a good eye for that stuff.”
“Yeah, well.” She shrugged, but he caught the pleased flush on her cheeks. “I still think The Great Gatsby is overrated.”
“Blasphemy,” Finn teased, clutching his chest in mock horror. “Next, you’ll be telling me you don’t like To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“It’s fine,” she conceded, gathering their empty plates. “But Scout is annoying.”
“You take that back,” Finn gasped, following her to the sink with their glasses.
Brooklyn laughed, bumping her shoulder against his arm as they stood side by side. “You’re such a nerd.”
“Says the girl who built a self-sustaining ecosystem for fun.”
“It’s for science class!”
“Uh-huh.” He flicked water at her, and she retaliated by snapping him with the dish towel. “And I’m sure your classmates’ projects are all going to the science fair, right?”
He knew they weren’t. But Isabel and Brooklyn had started their project with more in mind than simply fulfilling the requirements for their science class. Overachievers, both of them.
“I’m going to head up to finish my homework,” Brooklyn said as she cleared the table. Once the dishwasher was running, she disappeared up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t forget to sign my permission slip for the museum trip. It’s on the bulletin board.”
“Already done,” he called back. He’d signed it that morning while she was getting ready for school, along with writing a check for her yearbook and ordering the specific calculator her math teacher required.
Finn cleaned up the kitchen, wiping down counters that were already clean, straightening magnets on the fridge. The routine was comforting, each small task a reminder that he was doing okay at this parenting thing, even on the days when it felt impossible. He’d built his entire life around making sure Brooklyn had stability, consistency, and at least one parent she could count on without question.
