Page 58 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

“Got to cover these bushes,” Walt said, patting one of the wrapped arborvitaes. “If I don’t, the deer will eat them right down to the stump.”

“They will?” Emma’s eyes went round, like she was trying and failing to imagine a deer going to town on a hedge. Then something clicked. “Llamas do that too. They love evergreens—especially Christmas trees. Zoe said that after Christmas we can bring our tree to the farm and they’ll feed it to Daisy and Tinsel.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know if they like to eat… What are these called again?”

“Arborvitaes,” Walt supplied.

“Arbor… vities,” Emma repeated solemnly.

Tyler bit back a smile.

“I don’t know if llamas like those,” Emma went on, “but we could try someday.”

Walt chuckled, the sound rusty but pleased. Then he glanced past her to Robyn and Tyler. “Well now, what can I do for you two? Your grandma’s got a roast in the oven. Could I persuade you to stay for supper?”

“Wait,” Emma said, scandalized. “Does that mean I don’t get to eat ice cream?”

Tyler spoke up to explain. “We promised her ice cream if she was good while we visited.”

“And I promised I’d be extra good. Ms. Alice makes the best vanilla ice cream in the whole wide world.”

“Then I guess we better go inside and see if we have some for dessert,” Walt replied, leading the way.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Alice said as they came in through the back door and into the kitchen. One hand was on her cane while the other arranged a plate of brownies. Her silver hair was twisted up in a style that reminded Tyler so much of Robyn’s that he almost did a double-take. Although Robyn’s features were warm, Alice’s were striking in a different way, with her fair skin and ice-blue eyes.

The kitchen smelled of pot roast and mashed potatoes, and underneath it, the rich sweetness of chocolate still warm from the oven.

Walt, trailing behind them, pointed a finger at her with practiced exasperation. “I told you I’d take care of the brownies. You need to sit and rest. It’s not going to do you any good if you overdo it,” he said, clearly referring to the hip she’d broken a couple of months ago.

“Oh, I’m alright,” Alice replied breezily, with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “Feeling just fine. Just moving a bit slower than I’d like.”

Then her attention slid to Emma, softening into something tender.

“Gram, this is Emma. She loves your ice cream at the Hideaway,” Robyn explained.

“Is that so? And how are you, Miss Emma?”

Emma straightened like she was being addressed by royalty. “I’m good,” she said. “Dad said I could have some of your ice cream if that’s alright. It’s the best in the whole wide world.” She paused, then added with total sincerity, “I can’t imagine having to wait all winter to have some again.”

Alice laughed, delighted. “Well, you can come over anytime for ice cream—if your dad says it’s okay. I always keep some fresh in the freezer.”

Walt patted his stomach with a grin. “And don’t I know it,” he said.

Emma beamed, looking downright thrilled. Alice moved carefully toward the freezer while Walt hovered a little too close, ready to catch her if she so much as breathed wrong. She waved him off with a look, then opened the freezer and pulled out a tub.

A few minutes later, Emma was settled at the kitchen table with a generous scoop of ice cream, humming happily to herself as she took the first bite.

Robyn moved in close to Alice then, one hand lightly touching her grandmother’s arm, checking in without making a fuss about it. “How are you feeling today?” she asked quietly.

“Good,” Alice said, squeezing her fingers once. “A good day.”

Robyn’s shoulders eased, just a fraction.

Once Emma was occupied—and once Tyler had accepted the mug of coffee Walt pressed into his hand like it was non-negotiable—Robyn filled her grandparents in on what they were doing. She explained the book club, Great-Grandma Isabel’s manuscript, the latest pumpkin pie clue, and the microfilm discovery.

When she finished, Robyn took a breath and said, “So… I was hoping you still have your mother’s pumpkin pie recipe.”

“Oh, I’m sure I do,” Alice said automatically, already shifting her weight as if she meant to go find it herself.

But Walt was faster. “Your recipe box?” he asked, heading straight for a lower cupboard.