Page 85 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Emma’s eyes widened. “Does that mean you’re famous?”

Robyn laughed again, glancing toward Emma. “It means I get to talk about books for a living.”

“That sounds like being famous.”

Tyler managed a smile. He wanted to be happy for her. He really did. He was happy for her. But the word that kept repeating in his head wasn’t program or course or congratulations.

It was leave.

Robyn shifted closer to Tyler, face bright. “They want me to send them a course description by the end of the week. Like a pitch. I’m going to work on it tonight after I eat. I’m so excited I feel⁠—”

She cut herself off, perhaps realizing she was rambling, and laughed softly at herself.

Tyler’s throat went dry.

Robyn reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, flipping open to her planner app.

“I made a list,” she said, already swiping, “of ways we could make the long-distance thing work.”

Tyler’s stomach sank.

He glanced toward Emma—Cole had walked by with his Irish Setter, Captain, and she had drifted over to give the pup a quick pet—but her ears were absolutely in range. Emma had the hearing of a bat when it came to anything that sounded like change.

Robyn turned her phone so Tyler could see. A document stared back at him.

Plan (Tyler + Robyn)

Tyler stared at it like it might bite him.

“Okay,” Robyn said, “hear me out. I know it sounds impossible, but it doesn’t have to be. I could come back here on long weekends. Yale has fall break. Thanksgiving. And there’s a week in December where my schedule is light if I stack my seminars on Tuesdays.”

Tyler swallowed. “Robyn⁠—”

“And,” she kept going, voice warm and hopeful, “you and Emma could come visit me. Not all the time, obviously. But sometimes. New Haven isn’t that far. It’s, what⁠—”

“Ten hours,” Tyler said flatly.

Robyn blinked. “Eight if you⁠—”

“It’s ten,” Tyler repeated, because he’d already done the math in his head fifteen times.

Robyn’s smile wavered. “Okay. Ten. Still. People do this.”

Tyler leaned back against the brick wall beside the café window, arms folding tight. He felt it happening: his chest closing, the old familiar shutdown sliding in like a door locking from the inside.

People did this.

People did a lot of things.

People also left and forgot the people they were supposed to love.

Robyn’s voice softened, careful now, like she could feel him slipping away and was trying to hold him with gentleness. “We could set a schedule. FaceTime every night. Or every other night. And we’d plan visits, so it doesn’t feel like it’s always up in the air.”

She swallowed. “I don’t want this to end, Tyler.”

There it was.

The sentence that should’ve made him melt.