Page 38 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

It was still the morning after. The light in the bedroom was soft with the sunrise, but her characters didn’t slide neatly into domesticity the way she’d planned. The heat lingered between them like it had seeped into the sheets. And suddenly it wasn’t her characters she was seeing—it was Tyler, half-asleep and warm beside her, sandy hair mussed against the pillow, the duvet low on his hips. That slow, lazy grin he’d give her before pulling her back in. The low rumble of his voice against her ear, not quite awake, not quite willing to let her go.

She let the scene unfold the way it wanted.

It wasn’t frantic or rushed. No, this was slow, deliberate intimacy, and it made her pulse kick up as she wrote. Her hand sliding under Tyler’s waistband, feeling the muscles of his stomach tense under her fingertips. The scrape of his stubble against her collarbone, then lower, his mouth tracing a path down the center of her chest that made her breath catch between her teeth.

She wrote the way Tyler’s thumb would trace along her hipbone, unhurried, like they had all morning and he intended to use every minute of it. The way his lips would follow, pressing warm against the dip of her waist, the soft skin below her navel, murmuring something against her that she felt more than heard. The way she’d thread her fingers into his hair, and he’d look up at her with those brown eyes, half-lidded and dark with want, and she’d forget every word she’d ever known.

She wrote herself pulling him back up, kissing him until they were both breathless, the full length of his body pressed against hers, his weight grounding her and undoing her at the same time. The way his hand would slide beneath her thigh, hitching her leg higher, drawing her closer until there was nothing left between them. The slow, devastating moment where he’d pause with his forehead against hers, breath ragged, asking without words, and she’d answer by arching into him, pulling him in, letting him know that she wanted this, wanted him, with every part of herself she’d been too careful to offer anyone else.

Robyn’s fingers moved across the keys, steady and certain, even as a familiar warmth curled through her chest and down her spine. It was unbelievable, really, the way fiction could make her body react as if it were memory. As if she could type a feeling into existence and make it real.

She wrote, letting the scene carry itself forward until the chapter landed where it needed to land, and her characters were left satisfied and smiling in the aftermath.

When she finally leaned back, her skin glowing, a smile on her face, she felt content and triumphant at once. She reached for her wineglass, took a slow sip, and let herself ride the last edge of that writer’s high, her apartment warm around her, the street below dimming into evening.

And then her phone buzzed.

Robyn glanced down, still in the world she’d just built, and saw the message from Elsie pop up with an enthusiastic caption.

you two are so cute!!!

Before she could reply, more photos followed: shots from the time capsule dig, the canister in the sunlight, the ribbon-tied pages in Robyn’s hands⁠—

And then the last image loaded.

Her and Tyler. Close enough that it didn’t look accidental. His hand at her back, her face turned up toward him. The moment was innocent, and emotional, and showed off how real this was.

Part of her still wanted to keep it private, like they’d agreed. To tuck it away in her mind like a pressed leaf between the pages of a book, something she could pull out later when she needed proof that this had been real. But the other part of her, the braver part that had been growing ever since she arrived in Maple Falls, wanted to claim it. Show the world how happy she was. Perhaps that’s why she’d wrapped her arm around his waist this afternoon in front of their friends.

But then she thought about Emma, and why she and Tyler had decided to take things slow and figure it out as they went. She thought about how quickly Maple Falls noticed everything, turning small moments into stories. It was just a photo, but they looked like a couple who belonged in the same frame.

Robyn saved it to her camera roll and then started scrolling through her own photos, letting the days replay themselves: Emma holding up the giant maple leaf that covered her entire face; the close-up of her butternut squash ravioli with the parsley scattered on top like confetti; the bookstore looking immaculate and golden, the pumpkin pie book nook glowing with twinkle lights and a stack of books beside a perfect slice of pie; the lake at sunset with geese cutting overhead; street décor and window displays, mums and pumpkins and cornstalks tucked into every doorway like Maple Falls was determined to out-autumn itself.

It was… a lot of beauty for one town to hold.

Almost without thinking, she began arranging them into a post on her social—one picture after another, a little highlight reel of fall with pasta, books, the perfect round pumpkins, and that warm, cozy life she’d been slipping into as if it had always been waiting for her.

When she reached the last photo—the one of her and Tyler—her thumb hovered.

She should leave it out. But Elsie had already shared it, or chances were she would soon. And Emma wasn’t on social media, was she? Couldn’t they just trust that the town would know better than to tell a little girl about something so grown-up?

She decided to go ahead and ask Tyler, sending him the photo. Maybe it was time for them to take the next step.

Too much?

She waited rather impatiently for his reply, the text bubbles appearing and disappearing.

Finally his reply popped up.

Not too much. Tag me.

Robyn took a deep breath and added the photo.

She posted the story to her personal Instagram account—the one that was mostly pasta and bookstore vibes, with the occasional Maple Falls photo sprinkled in—then typed a caption before she could second-guess herself.

Maple Falls kind of day

Within seconds, hearts and replies started popping up.