Page 14 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Robyn folded her arms, and he suspected it was to keep herself from reaching for him again. “We take it slow.”

“Slow,” he repeated.

“No sleepovers.”

“No sleepovers.”

“And we keep it PG until we’ve figured out what this looks like with Emma in the picture. How it fits. Because she has to come first,” Robyn added.

Tyler exhaled. “She comes first.”

Robyn nodded, and the look on her face told him she understood exactly what was at stake. It also made him want to kiss her again, which wasn’t helpful.

He didn’t.

How in the world would they ever take things slow when he’d been consumed by her for weeks? When every day was a struggle and every night—no, he couldn’t think about nighttime. Not when the object of his desire was a breath away.

He had a feeling taking things slow was going to fail spectacularly. And what a beautiful failure it was going to be.

SEVEN

ROBYN

On paper, it was a perfect evening. Vivaldi on the speaker, garlic and shallots softening in the pan, the bookstore closed and quiet beneath her feet. Meg’s studio apartment felt cozier at night, making the rest of the world easy to forget. Robyn stood at the stove stirring risotto. She hadn’t eaten much at the book club, just a bit of Cassidy’s chocolate and Kit’s tart for dessert. She’d been too caught up in the discussion and in her thoughts about Tyler to think about eating. But now she was making her favorite comfort dish, perfected during a semester in Italy when she’d had nothing to worry about except train schedules and cheap wine.

It should have been relaxing. She was trying very hard to let it be relaxing.

Thankfully, the recipe required just enough attention to keep her mind from spiraling. Butter melted low and slow, so it didn’t brown. Mushrooms sautéed until their edges crisped. Cream whisked in patiently, the sauce thickening until the kitchen smelled earthy and warm.

Mr. Darcy chirped, weaving between her ankles, begging for some of the cream. Robyn poured a couple of tablespoons onto a saucer, practically on autopilot, her mind still wrapped up in the way Tyler had kissed her. Weeks of restraint, finally giving way. The careful distance they’d kept between them collapsing in about three seconds flat.

They were going to take it slow. Robyn understood why. His daughter. Her sabbatical. Her life was hundreds of miles away in Connecticut, her return ticket to Yale already purchased, waiting for her to board at the end of the semester whether she wanted to or not.

And yet, the chemistry between them wasn’t the kind you could just ignore. It moved through her like a live wire, impossible to forget. Maybe it was just raw sexual energy. Maybe it was something bigger. Either way, she wouldn’t know until she let herself fall—really let go.

That thought was both exhilarating and slightly terrifying, like stepping onto a frozen lake and trusting it to hold.

She looked down at her phone, seeing the screen light up. It was Meg.

She answered the phone, tucking it between her shoulder and her ear while she stirred the butter with a wooden spoon. “Hey, Meg. How’s Paris?”

Meg’s sigh crackled through the speaker. “Romantic, exhausting, and full of people who somehow manage to look chic while popping out to buy bread. But I’m calling about the store. I just wanted to check in and give you a heads up—there’s a potential buyer coming through in two days. The realtor is setting it up. I don’t have the exact time yet, but I wanted you to know as soon as I did.”

Robyn’s grip tightened on the spoon. She watched the butter go glossy, the shallots turning translucent, and told herself to sound supportive. This was what Meg wanted. Meg needed the sale for her new life. Meg had earned her fresh start.

“Oh,” Robyn said carefully. “Well… that’s exciting. I guess.”

“You guess?” Meg repeated.

Robyn grimaced at the pot. “I’m happy for you,” she insisted quickly, reaching for the lemon. “I am. It’s just… Maple Falls is getting under my skin in a very inconvenient way.”

There was a beat of silence, then Meg’s voice sharpened into delight. “Oh. Ohhh. Wait. Is this about Maple Falls, or is this about a certain bookseller with sandy hair and the world’s most irritatingly wholesome smile?”

Robyn nearly dropped the lemon. Heat rushed to her face, which was ridiculous considering Meg couldn’t see her. “It might be about both.”

Meg made a triumphant sound. “Robyn. Spill.”

Robyn dragged the zest along the grater, the bright citrus scent blooming into the air as she did. “We kissed,” she confessed, and the words made her pulse spike all over again. “And—Meg. Oh my God. Fireworks doesn’t even begin to cover it. It was… unreal. It was just a kiss, and I feel like I’ve been walking around slightly electrified ever since.”