Page 29 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Anita kept walking, but her eyes stayed on Tyler as she passed, her expression saying, Oh, honey. The whole town is going to eat this up.

Tyler exhaled, closing his eyes for a beat.

So much for secrecy.

Behind him, Emma called again, louder this time. “Dad! Mochi’s trying to eat my sock!”

Tyler stepped back into the house, letting the door swing shut behind him.

And as he headed for the stairs, he couldn’t stop thinking about that mug.

About Harvard and missed semesters. The way Robyn had looked at him like the universe had just nudged them together and said, “Finally.”

He’d tell Emma soon. Not today.

But soon.

The question was how. And what came after? Emma adored Robyn; that much was obvious from the way she gravitated toward her. But adoring someone and understanding that your dad was falling for them were two very different things. What if it confused her? What if it made her ask about her own mom again—questions he still didn’t have good answers for?

And worst of all, what if Emma didn’t like it? What would he do then?

THIRTEEN

ROBYN

The bookstore was unusually slammed for a weekday, and Robyn hadn’t sat down since she’d unlocked the doors at nine. The bookstore’s collaboration with Emily’s bakery had turned into its own little tourist attraction with people cradling takeaway cups of coffee and thick wedges of pumpkin pie as they browsed, the nook so packed that some people had actually formed a line waiting for a place to sit.

Emily had been kind enough to bring down an extra couple of pies, because they were going to sell out before noon at this rate. Robyn wished she’d had more time to chat with her friend, but they’d barely managed a quick hug before Emily had to dash back to the bakery.

She should’ve felt like she was winning. The bookstore was buzzing, the till ringing, people buying loads of books instead of simply browsing. But Robyn’s neck ached, she’d skipped breakfast, and the to-do list she’d scrawled on a napkin at 6 a.m. was already laughably behind schedule. She still needed to call back Meg with the latest figures, restock the front display, and update the book club WhatsApp. She’d crossed out write and added a question mark, then crossed that out too.

Mr. Darcy, apparently sensing her fraying nerves, had abandoned his usual sunny spot on top of the history bookshelf and was currently weaving around her ankles behind the counter. Every time Robyn paused long enough to exhale, he head-butted her shin and gazed up at her with wide green eyes, as if to say, You’re doing fine. Also, I would like a treat.

She bent down and scratched his ears. “Hi, buddy, thank you for the love.” She fished a little heart-shaped treat out of the bag she kept behind the counter, and he eagerly crunched it up.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. It was Meg.

“Hey, sorry, I saw you called. Meant to call you back.” Robyn wedged the phone between her shoulder and ear while she slid a stack of bookmarks into their display. Cinnamon and coffee hung in the air, warm and sweet.

“That’s alright,” Meg said, a little too bright, which usually meant she was trying not to sound stressed. “Remember that buyer I told you was going to do a walk-through?”

Robyn’s stomach tightened. “Yeah. Do we have a date set up?” She moved behind the counter to fetch her planner and write the date down.

“Uh.” Meg exhaled. “They’re on their way now.”

Robyn froze mid-reach. “What?”

“I know, I know—sorry.” Meg’s voice came faster. “With the time difference, I missed a call, and then it turned into phone tag with the realtor. She apologized, and I told her it should be fine because the buyer is really interested, and I don’t want to risk losing them. There’s no reason they can’t walk through today, right?”

Robyn turned slowly, taking in the crowd—tourists, locals, a couple of regulars clustered around the new release table. On paper, it was the perfect moment for a buyer to see the place thriving.

In reality, it felt like inviting someone to a party where they planned to shut the music off.

“No,” Robyn said carefully. “It’s fine. I’m just… I’m the only one here right now, so I don’t know how helpful I can be.”

As if the universe couldn’t resist impeccable comedic timing, the front bell chimed.

Tyler stepped inside, seemingly relaxed in a cable-knit sweater that looked like it belonged in an ad for “cozy man who will ruin your life in the best way.” His sandy hair was still a little mussed from the morning air, glasses catching the light when he glanced around, and the faintest trace of cedar and coffee clung to him.