Page 10 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

He was craving everything so badly: the connection, the shared moments, the quiet intimacy that came from someone knowing you, seeing you, and showing up every day.

His mind slipped back to Robyn, wondering what it would be like to learn her body, what she would feel like under his touch, her nipple going stiff as his palm grazed it before taking her into his mouth. The way her back would arch, chasing the touch, or how she might grip his hair, holding him in place.

Tyler shut the laptop with a decisive click, pushing away from his desk before letting the fantasy go any further.

He turned, staring out the window, as if the darkness of the night might hold all the answers.

But all he saw was his own reflection. And the moon, bathing the backyard in a soft glow, offering up the faintest, most aggravating spark of hope. How much longer could he hold out?

FIVE

ROBYN

Robyn wasn’t sure what to expect from the first official Maple Falls Book Club meeting. Mr. Darcy wasn’t either, and he hid out on the top of the steps, leading up to her apartment above, watching her and Tyler curiously. His tail flicked back and forth in an unsteady rhythm.

“It’s just a book club meeting,” Robyn told her kitty while setting out the fresh carafe of coffee to go along with the jug of apple cider she’d bought. She set them along the back table, beside the disposable cups and plates she’d found in the back of a cupboard, while Tyler pushed together the tables and chairs, his cream cable-knit sweater pulling across his shoulders each time he reached for another chair. When he glanced back at her, his dark eyes were warm with quiet amusement. Robyn had to remind herself that she was preparing for a book club meeting and absolutely not here to flirt with her coworker.

In her mind, it would be a simple get-together to talk about Isabel’s story and open the first clue. Nothing major, just a handful of friends talking about books and discovering some Maple Falls history.

What arrived instead was a full-blown autumnal potluck in the middle of the bookstore, sending Mr. Darcy scrambling back upstairs.

Kit, the chef from the nearby Cinnamon Spice Inn, breezed in first, her chin-length black hair tucked under a red beanie, a leaf stuck in the folded hem of her jeans, carrying a plastic pie carrier. “Okay,” she announced, setting it down with reverence, “I’ve been experimenting.” She popped off the plastic lid.

“Which means we’re in luck,” Robyn said, walking over to peek.

“Hopefully. It’s a cranberry cream cheese tart. It might be too tart, though.” Kit looked down at the dessert, an eyebrow raised.

Robyn had no idea what she was talking about. Just looking at the tart, with its graham cracker crust, silky smooth filling, and bright cranberry compote topping, set her mouth watering. “I’m sure it’s perfect.”

Emily, who ran the local bakery, came in next with two boxes weighing down her arms.

Tyler met her and took the boxes, and she unfurled her warm, woolen scarf. “Hope there’s room for more sweets,” she said, retwisting her blonde hair up and securing it with the elastic band she kept around her wrist. “I brought pumpkin snickerdoodles and glazed maple leaf cookies.”

Cassidy, owner of the Maple Falls chocolate shop, arrived shaking a bakery box. “Espresso-infused chocolates,” she said. “For those of us who need a little pick-me-up.”

Madison, food writer and manager of the Cinnamon Spice Inn, and her boyfriend, local handyman Zach, were next, setting down two bottles of apple spice wine. Madison arranged everything just so, as if she was about to photograph it all for a magazine spread.

And then Mrs. Bishop and Mrs. C. bustled in together, carrying two crockpots.

“I couldn’t decide between meatballs or mini-weenies,” Mrs. Bishop said, setting her pot down with a thump. “So I brought both.”

Robyn stood behind the counter, watching the spread take over the pumpkin pie book nook, and tried not to laugh at how extra Maple Falls could be.

By the time everyone had filled a plate—cranberry tart, cookies, meatballs, brown sugar-glazed cocktail sausages, caramel apples from Liam, who’d slid in at the last minute—Mrs. C. clapped her hands, calling the meeting to order.

“Alright,” she said. “Let’s begin.”

Robyn taught college students for a living. She discussed literature in lecture halls, chaired panels, presented at conferences. So why did a handful of neighbors in a bookstore nook make her feel like she was about to be graded?

Mrs. C. lifted her chin. “As you all know, we’ve come into possession of a manuscript written by Robyn’s great-grandmother Isabel.”

“But only the first installment,” Mrs. Bishop cut in.

Mrs. C. shot her a look. “Yes. The first five chapters. The rest has been hidden somewhere in Maple Falls.” Then she looked directly at Robyn. “Do you still have the envelope?”

“I do,” Robyn said, the words coming out a touch too formal. She glanced toward the front counter, where she’d left the envelope earlier, wax seal unbroken. “Did you want to open it now?”

“No,” Mrs. C. said immediately.