Page 30 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

He met Robyn’s eyes and smiled. Robyn felt her return smile light up her entire body.

Meg was still talking. “Okay, good. If you’re sure…”

Robyn kept her voice steady. “I’m sure. Call you after they leave?”

“Absolutely.” Meg hesitated, and for a second, the Paris dream threaded through the line: new city, new start, the thing Meg wanted badly enough to trade Maple Falls for it. “Thank you,” she said softly. “Really.”

Robyn swallowed. “You got it.”

She hung up and immediately felt Tyler beside the counter, close enough that she could feel his presence without him touching her.

“What’s up?” he asked, voice low.

“Meg’s buyer is doing a walk-through. Like… right now.”

Tyler’s expression shifted. He was still calm, but his eyes sharpened. “Today?”

“Apparently, Meg got caught in realtor phone tag.” Robyn lowered her voice. “I know she needs the sale to fund her new start in Paris. I know she does. I just…” She glanced toward the book nook, where someone was laughing quietly over a book, cheeks flushed from pie and coffee and the simple happiness of being here. “I just wish it wasn’t happening.”

“I know.” Tyler’s tone gentled. “I feel the same way.”

Robyn’s throat tightened with a familiar frustration—this tug-of-war between the kind of world she wrote, where everything had a happy ending, and the kind of world she lived in. In her books, the beloved bookstore would always be saved. In real life, beloved bookstores got sold because rent was real and dreams came with price tags.

It didn’t take long for the buyer to appear.

He walked in like he already owned the place. Dark hair slicked back, sharp black suit with a crisp white shirt open at the collar. His realtor followed half a step behind. She was tall with polished heels that clicked on the floorboards in a way that made Mr. Darcy flatten his ears. The man’s gaze swept the store without stopping on anything long enough to actually see it. The customers, the shelves, the book nook, the window display Robyn had spent an hour on that morning—all of it assessed and dismissed in a single slow pan.

Robyn stepped forward, plastering on her best welcome-to-our-cozy-haven smile.

“Hi,” she said, offering her hand. “Welcome to our bookstore. I’m Robyn—the manager. And this is Tyler, one of our associates.”

The buyer shook their hands with a firm grip. “Estevez Rodriguez,” he said, his voice smooth, practiced.

Robyn swore she heard Mr. Darcy hiss from somewhere nearby.

Estevez glanced toward the front windows and the town square beyond them. “Charming town you have here.”

“It really is,” Tyler said easily.

“Yeah, Maple Falls is… special,” Robyn added, and she meant it. “Is there anything specific you’d like to see? The storage area, the back office, inventory…”

Robyn let the question trail because she wasn’t entirely sure what her role was supposed to be in the slow dismantling of her favorite place.

The out-of-town realtor, with her sleek blonde bob and tailored pantsuit stepped in with an overconfident smile. “I’ll take it from here,” she said smoothly. “We’ll let you know if we have any questions.”

Robyn and Tyler stepped back behind the counter, pretending to reorganize a stack of paperbacks while they listened.

Estevez moved through the aisles, gaze pausing briefly on the crowded book nook—and then sliding right past it.

“I noticed there isn’t an organic grocery option in town,” he said, voice carrying in the quiet gaps between customers. “Maple Falls would be ripe for it.”

The realtor let out a light laugh. “I hear you. Bookstores are… a thing of the past now, aren’t they?”

Robyn’s fingers tightened around a notepad so hard the paper bent. Behind her, Mr. Darcy hissed as though he’d understood every word.

Estevez continued, already building his vision out loud. “Local farmers could supply produce. Seasonal rotation. Fresh goods. I could keep the small coffee bar in the back—keep the foot traffic.”

The realtor nodded eagerly. “There’s a farm shop just a couple of shops down. But he mostly focuses on honey and products like candles and jams. Not quite what you’re thinking.”