Page 49 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Right now, Robyn didn’t care who saw. She didn’t care what the internet was doing to her name. She didn’t care what Yale might think tomorrow.

In Tyler’s arms, with his mouth warm against hers and his hands steady at her waist, everything felt, impossibly, like it might be okay.

And if the world could feel this right with him holding her together, what if she let herself believe it could last?

TWENTY-TWO

TYLER

Robyn tugged Tyler’s hand and led him away from the crowd. Away from the streetlights and the public declarations into the quiet, tucked-away solitude of her life above the shop.

Tyler’s heart was hammering. He’d thought about this moment for months. Every late night in the bookstore, every accidental touch, every moment he’d made himself step back and be sensible. He’d wanted her since the first time she’d looked up at him over the rim of those ridiculous glasses with a coffee in one hand and a book in the other. Wanting her had only gotten worse until the feeling thrummed in his veins like a second pulse.

Tyler had been in the loft once or twice when Meg lived there for a quick drop-in to ask a work question or carry a box up the stairs. Meg was his boss, but their friendship had developed easily over inventory lists and Saturday shifts.

Now the space felt different.

Not because Robyn had filled it with anything dramatic. She hadn’t. There were no framed prints or gallery walls of memories, only a few small touches that made it unmistakably hers: the textured throws draped over the back of the couch, one white faux fur, one chunky knit, and another soft, cream-colored blanket.

And her bed caught Tyler’s gaze.

It was made up with a thick white comforter patterned with tiny roses and an absurd number of pillows. So many pillows.

The whole loft smelled like Robyn too. Amber and apricots, warm and sweet, layered over the constant, comforting scent of paper and ink that rose up through the floorboards from the bookstore below.

Robyn didn’t turn on many lights. The glow from the streetlamps outside filtered in through the windows, mixing with the soft lamplight in the corner and making everything feel private, hushed, like the world had agreed to give them a moment.

Robyn turned and cupped his face in her hands as if she needed to feel him there—solid, real—and kissed him.

Tyler kissed her back immediately, and whatever restraint he’d managed to hold onto downstairs frayed at the edges. He backed her gently until her shoulders met the door, not hard, never hard, just close enough that he could feel her breath and the tremor running through her from trying to hold herself together all night.

He could taste the salt of her tears still lingering, could feel the tension she hadn’t fully let go of yet, and something fierce and protective rose in him.

Tyler didn’t want to just kiss her because he wanted her, needed her—though God, he did. He wanted to kiss away the fear. To show her, with his mouth and his hands and every careful touch, that he believed in her. That he admired her. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

Robyn made a soft sound against his lips, her fingers tightening in his hair. Tyler’s chest tightened too—not with panic, but with certainty.

He wanted her to know, without having to explain it, that he cared for her exactly as she was. All of her brilliance. All of her perceived flaws. All of it. Even now, when her hands were still shaking and the tears hadn’t quite dried at the corners of her eyes.

The moment they broke apart, Robyn looked as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. As if she needed something to do with her hands. Something practical she could hide behind.

Tyler caught the way her gaze skittered, searching for the next thing she could control—and he could still feel the tremor in her fingers from the adrenaline she hadn’t fully come down from.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked quickly. “I can get us a glass of wine.”

She was already moving before he could answer, bending toward a small rack by the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Merlot, and fumbling with the corkscrew for a solid minute.

“Hey,” Tyler said gently. “Let me.”

He took the bottle from her along with the corkscrew, uncorking the bottle with practiced ease, and poured two glasses, handing one back to her.

“You’ve had a hell of a day,” he said quietly, watching her swallow that first sip like it might anchor her.

Robyn’s breath shuddered. “I don’t even know what my next steps are,” she admitted, voice thin around the edges.

“Come here,” he said, keeping his voice calm as he guided her toward the couch. “Sit.”

Robyn let him, almost collapsing into the cushions, and Tyler tucked the blanket around her the way he did with Emma on nights when she’d had a rough day.