Page 92 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

He’d told himself it was fine. That he didn’t need anything extra. That being Emma’s dad was enough because it was, it always would be, but some nights, when the house was quiet and Emma was asleep, he could feel the empty space where “someone” was supposed to fit.

So, he filled it with fiction. With other people’s love stories. With worlds that could never hurt him.

And then Robyn had walked into his life, and he’d wanted her so badly it scared him.

Tyler stared out at the street, the porch swing creaking softly beneath him, beer resting untouched on the step.

Headlights swept across the lawn as a car pulled into the driveway.

Tyler stilled. Robyn parked, cut the engine, and sat for a second like she was gathering herself. When she finally stepped out, she was bundled in a sweater and jeans, ankle boots scuffing the gravel. Her hair was pulled back, but loose strands had escaped. Her eyes were red, as if she’d been crying—or trying not to.

Tyler stood before she even reached the steps.

Robyn took two steps toward the porch and then stopped, her breath visible in the cold.

Tyler didn’t wait for words. He went down the steps and wrapped her in his arms.

Robyn made a broken little sound, wrapping her arms equally around him, leaning into him like an anchor.

“I’m sorry,” Tyler said into her hair, voice rough. “Robyn, I’m so sorry.”

Robyn shook her head against his chest, but it was the kind of shake that didn’t mean no—it meant she didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“I feel like it’s my fault,” she whispered, voice thick. “Emma running. I… if I hadn’t⁠—”

“No.” Tyler pulled back just enough to look at her. “No. Don’t do that.”

Her eyes glistened.

Tyler’s throat tightened. “That wasn’t you,” he said firmly. “That was me. I overreacted. I put adult fear in the air, and Emma breathed it in. That’s on me.”

Robyn blinked hard. “Tyler…”

He exhaled, trying to steady himself. “Come sit with me?” he asked quietly. “We should talk. While she’s asleep.”

Robyn nodded, wiping under one eye with the heel of her hand. “Okay.”

He guided her up the steps and inside, moving like the house was made of glass. He kept his voice low, every instinct tuned to Emma’s door down the hall.

In the kitchen, he set the beer back in the fridge and reached for the wine instead—because this felt like a wine conversation.

“White or red?” he whispered.

Robyn’s laugh came out shaky. “Whatever you have.”

Tyler poured her a glass, then grabbed the throw blanket off the couch and motioned toward the porch again. It was quieter out there. Safer. Less chance of waking Emma.

They stepped back outside and settled onto the swing, Robyn tucked under the blanket with her wine cradled in both hands. Tyler sat close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. He could feel her warmth and the tremor she was still trying to hide.

For a minute, neither of them spoke.

The porch light cast a soft circle around them. The street beyond was dark and still. Somewhere down the block, a wind chime clinked.

Tyler stared at his hands, then finally said what he’d been avoiding for years.

“Emma’s mom left when Emma was little,” he began, voice low. “You know that.”

Robyn nodded, her gaze fixed on her wine.