Page 77 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

The spark to create flickered in her chest. Robyn nearly didn’t recognize it.

She stilled, almost afraid to move in case she scared it off. She’d been so tangled in pressure and expectation lately that she barely recognized the feeling.

Because the spark wasn’t just about words.

It was about him.

Tyler, asleep in her bed, who made her laugh when she was spiraling. Tyler, who didn’t look at her like she was a problem to solve or a disappointment waiting to happen. Tyler, who made her feel like maybe she didn’t have to earn love by being perfect.

Her heart twisted, aching in that sweet, terrifying way.

She was in love with him.

There. She’d finally said it to herself.

And of course she was. Because falling for Tyler felt less like tumbling and more like slowly realizing she’d been holding her breath her whole life, and he’d taught her how to breathe again.

And it wasn’t just him. She loved Emma too. Emma, the sweetest eight-year-old with a curious mind and a big heart. The little girl who wanted to bake cookies for her friends when they were hurt, who knew a million facts about llamas, and somehow seemed to come up with a dozen more every day.

But love didn’t magically fix logistics.

Yale was still Yale. Her career was still waiting. Her parents’ expectations still loomed like a ceiling she’d been taught never to push against.

What would they say if she told them she’d fallen for a man in a small town while she was supposed to be “getting her life back on track”? What would they say if she admitted she didn’t want to go back to the version of herself who only existed to impress other people?

Robyn’s fingers hovered above the keys again.

She glanced over at Tyler one more time, letting herself take him in: his relaxed mouth, his lashes resting against his cheeks, the way his hand lay open on the sheets like it was waiting for hers.

Then she turned back to her laptop and took a deep breath.

And instead of opening her AfterHoursAuthor dashboard again, instead of forcing herself back into Isabel’s unfinished ending, she clicked New Document and began to type.

THIRTY-SIX

TYLER

Now this is domestic bliss, Tyler thought as he woke up in Robyn’s bed.

Robyn was curled against him, all soft warmth and sleepy weight, her back tucked into his chest. Mr. Darcy was sleeping at their feet. Tyler stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, as if movement might break the spell. He leaned in just enough to catch the apricot scent of her hair and felt something inside him loosen—something that had been clenched for longer than he’d realized.

He could’ve stayed cocooned like this forever while Maple Falls woke up outside the window.

The world filtered in gently: the beeping of a delivery truck backing up somewhere below, followed by voices drifting up from the sidewalk—three people talking over each other. A dog barked once, sharp and territorial, then a car rolled past out front.

Tyler blinked, still heavy with sleep, and his gaze landed on the clock on the side table.

He stared.

Then blinked again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

9:17 a.m.

Tyler couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept past nine o’clock. It was definitely before Emma was born. Before early morning cartoons and soccer Saturdays and the particular kind of dad-brain that woke you up at the slightest creak in the hallway.

He thought of Emma then, spending the night at a friend’s house. The birthday party. The sleepover. The way her social life had become this whole bustling little universe of its own.

She was only in second grade, but sometimes Tyler caught himself feeling like he’d blinked and she’d grown up anyway.