Page 50 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

“I’m fine,” Robyn tried automatically.

“I know,” Tyler murmured, because he did know. “But still.”

He set his untouched glass down on the coffee table and slipped into the bathroom, and eyed the tub. Mind made up, he ran the water, filling the small space with steady sound. Steam rose quickly, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of everything.

On a shelf above the tub he spotted a canister of bath salts—lavender and vanilla—and a few candles lined along the back ledge.

He grabbed the salts and held them up when he stepped back into the loft.

“Do you mind?” he asked, showing her the canister.

Robyn blinked up at him from the couch, the blanket gathered around her shoulders. Then she smiled. It was the first real smile he’d seen in hours.

“No,” she said. “Not at all. Those are my favorite.”

Tyler nodded once, like that was all he needed. He went back into the bathroom, poured the salts into the bath, and lit a few candles, placing them around the room.

Then he took one of her towels, draped it over the radiator to warm it, and glanced back at the tub as it filled, steam curling upward like a promise.

Okay, he thought. We’re going to get you out of your head.

Just for a little while.

When he stepped back into the main room, Robyn was on the couch exactly where he’d left her, wrapped in the blanket with her wineglass cradled between her hands like it was a heat source. Her cheeks were still flushed, eyes shiny in the lamplight, and even though she was trying to look composed, Tyler could see the way she kept swallowing, like the day was still stuck in her throat.

“Okay,” he said gently, “bath is ready.”

Robyn blinked, as if she’d forgotten men could be this kind. “You didn’t have to⁠—”

“I know,” Tyler said, and let a small smile curve his mouth. “I wanted to.”

“Thank you,” Robyn said, moving to stand.

“I can just see myself out—” Tyler started to say. It took everything in him to offer it. Because he was gone for her, so far past simple attraction he barely recognized himself anymore. The idea of leaving, when what he really wanted was to get in the bath with her and stay there until neither of them could think straight, felt like its own kind of torture. But this wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what Robyn needed.

He turned to go, but she caught his wrist, her fingers loose but insistent. “Wait.” Her voice was soft, tired. “Join me? Please?”

They shared a look, full of promises of what was to come, and Tyler took her hand, allowing her to lead the way.

TWENTY-THREE

ROBYN

Robyn was strangely calm as she led Tyler to the bathroom. It should have felt monumental, but it didn’t. It felt inevitable. The next step.

Steam wrapped around them as she shut the door, softening the edges of the room.

Tyler moved deliberately, giving her every chance to change her mind. When his fingers found the hem of her sweater, he paused and waited until her eyes met his.

She nodded.

He lifted the fabric away without ceremony, pausing only to press a soft kiss to her mouth. Then her neck. The tender spot behind her ear. Back to her lips again as he unhooked her bra. He looked at her the way he always did—like she was Robyn, and what he saw pleased him deeply.

Her hands went to his shirt next, tugging gently, uncertain where to start but determined to return the same care. Tyler let her, stepping closer as she pushed the material off his shoulders. Her palms met his skin, and he exhaled a shaky breath. Robyn understood the feeling; it wasn’t from surprise, but from how real it felt.

They shed the rest in the same unhurried quiet, a trail of clothes disappearing into steam and the flicker of candlelight across wet tile. Tyler stepped into the tub first, then offered his hand—steady, patient. Robyn followed, sinking down with a soft exhale that felt like something loosening inside her chest.

She settled back against him, her spine to his chest, fitting there like she’d always belonged. His arms came around her and she shivered—not from cold, but from the simple, unearned safety of being held.