Page 23 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Tyler glanced up when he heard her car door close, his expression shifting into that easy, happy look that made something in her chest loosen. “Hey,” he called softly. “Sorry—just finishing up.”

Robyn walked over, and then stopped short, because the garden was honestly amazing.

Pumpkins the size of bowling balls sat like proud orange boulders between sprawling vines. There were massive squashes tucked into leaves, gourds in every shape and color, and clusters of miniature white pumpkins.

“Okay,” Robyn said, staring. “Your gourds are… really something.”

Tyler’s mouth twitched, and Robyn felt heat go straight to her face. “I—” She cleared her throat. “I like your garden.”

“Thank you,” he murmured, clearly enjoying every second of this.

She told herself she wasn’t going to think about Tyler’s gourds in any other context. But that would be a complete, shameless lie.

Her writing had been… spicier lately. Tyler had no idea he was providing inspiration, but her readers certainly weren’t complaining.

Tyler shut off the hose and set it aside. “I’m about to harvest everything,” he said, nudging one of the pumpkins gently with his boot. “It’s been a passion project.”

She smiled like a person who had never had an inappropriate thought in her life. “It’s impressive. Liam would be jealous.”

“Glad you like them,” Tyler said, and he winked.

Robyn nearly melted into the soil.

“Come on,” Tyler said, nodding toward the house. “Let’s go in through the back.”

She followed him around the garage to the house’s side entrance and laughed, reaching up to pull a butterfly barrette out of his hair.

Tyler turned, and she held out the barrette. “Emma’s, I presume?” She smiled.

“Ah yes, we were playing barber shop. It turns out, butterflies are the accessory of the season,” Tyler replied as he kicked off his muddy boots and then opened the door.

Robyn loved that about him, that he wasn’t embarrassed to rock pink-painted nails or to be caught with barrettes in his hair.

When they walked in, a little fluffy white kitten came trotting into the kitchen, meowing eagerly.

“Oh my gosh.” Robyn crouched automatically. “Hi, there, Mochi.”

The kitten rubbed against her hand.

“Emma told me so much about you,” Robyn said softly, scratching behind the kitten’s ears. “And I can see why she’s obsessed.”

Tyler led Robyn from the entryway landing into the kitchen.

“I wasn’t sure about adopting one of Zoe’s kittens,” he said, “but it turned out to be the right move. Emma dotes on her. And I like that it gives her something that’s hers. She loves taking care of her.”

Robyn’s chest melted the way it always did when she saw Tyler being the world’s best dad. “That’s really sweet.”

The kitten meowed again, then darted away, her welcoming duties complete.

Tyler turned toward the fridge. “Okay. First important question.” He leaned his hip against the counter. “What do you want to drink?”

“Water,” Robyn started automatically, because she was predictable and responsible and⁠—

Tyler raised an eyebrow.

Robyn sighed. “Fine. What are my options?”

His smile widened, clearly pleased by her answer. “I have hot apple cider. I can spike it if you want. I’ve got maple bourbon old fashioneds, honey whiskey sours, a cranberry mule, and”—he opened the fridge—“pumpkin spice cream soda. Don’t judge, Emma likes them.”