Page 53 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

“She’s nice. And she laughed at my llama joke, even though it wasn’t that funny.”

“It was a little funny,” Tyler said.

She gave him a look over the rim of her glass. “Dad.”

That was apparently all the argument she felt she needed.

“You should ask her out, though. Before someone else does. That’s the way these things work,” Emma said confidently.

“Is it now?” Tyler wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed or amused.

“Uh-huh.” Emma got up from the table and took her plate to the sink. “That’s what Chloe says. She has an older sister who’s sixteen.”

“Ah,” Tyler replied, as if that explained it. “Well, I’ll keep your advice in mind.”

Now, with Emma off at school, the house felt quieter than usual, not empty exactly, just waiting.

His phone buzzed on the counter.

Robyn had just texted that she’d be there by 9:30 a.m., enough time for them to eat and hang out before the bookstore opened at eleven.

Tyler smiled to himself. He set a skillet on the stove, added a pat of butter, and watched it melt, the edges browning and bubbling as the pan heated.

This was what he wanted. Not just the bath and the candles and the way she’d said his name like it meant something. He wanted this part too. The everyday mundane. French toast on a Thursday and the coffee pot steaming on the counter.

Robyn’s knock on the side door came just as he flipped the first slice. Tyler wiped his hands on a dish towel and went to answer it.

Robyn stood on his porch in jeans, ankle boots, and a soft gray sweater, her hair pulled back into a loose twist, held in place by a tortoiseshell clip. He’d come to realize it was a favorite of hers, which wasn’t a surprise, as it matched her glasses perfectly. There was no makeup he could see, just faint shadows under her eyes and the kind of vulnerability that made his chest pull tight.

She lifted a hand in a small wave. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He stepped back to let her in, warmth and cinnamon spilling past him like an invitation. “Come in. You’re just in time.”

The entryway opened to the back mud room with Emma’s boots, cleats, and a soccer ball rolled off in the corner before giving way to the kitchen. Robyn paused at the island, taking in the plate of sliced strawberries, the fresh whipped cream, the French toast browning in the pan, the two mugs waiting by the coffeemaker.

“You went all out,” she said softly.

“I don’t know. You haven’t tried it yet,” Tyler said, downplaying the effort.

She met his gaze, gratitude flickering there. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you.”

He shrugged, suddenly aware of the batter on his forearm and the fact that he’d just thrown on a Henley and jeans without thinking. “Seemed like the least I could do after hijacking your bath last night.”

Color rose in her cheeks. “You did not hijack my bath. You, um… upgraded it.” She laughed then, and Tyler found himself doing the same.

He finished the French toast while she poured coffee, moving around each other in an easy, almost domestic rhythm that felt startlingly natural. She found the sugar without asking. He passed her the cream without looking. When he reached for the cinnamon, her hand brushed his, and instead of jerking away like they’d been caught, they both just… paused.

It hit him again, that sense of rightness he’d felt with her in the tub, in his arms, in front of the entire town the night before. This wasn’t an autumn fling. It was something that had sunk its roots deeply into his life.

They sat at the small kitchen table, plates steaming between them. Tyler watched as Robyn cut into the first bite, her expression turning almost comically serious as she chewed.

“Okay,” she said at last, pointing her fork at him. “You can cook me breakfast anytime. This is so good.”

He relaxed a little, taking his own bite. “I’ll let my mom know you approve. It’s her recipe.”

“I approve very much,” Robyn said. Then, quieter, “Your mom must be pretty great.”

“She is,” he said. “She’ll like you.”