Page 93 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Tyler swallowed. “What you don’t know is… it didn’t just break my heart. It broke my sense of safety.” He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, except there was no humor in it. “I didn’t realize how much I built my whole life around preventing that from happening again.”

Robyn’s eyes flicked to him.

“I convinced myself I was fine,” Tyler said. “That I’d healed. That I’d moved on.” His jaw tightened. “But the truth is, I just stopped letting myself want anything, anyone, that could leave.”

Robyn’s fingers tightened around her glass.

Tyler looked down at the porch boards. “And then you showed up,” he said quietly. “And you made me want something again.”

He shook his head, frustration flashing at himself more than anyone. “So when you said Yale wanted you—when you looked happy about it—my brain went, There it is. She’s leaving. It’s happening again. And I…” He closed his eyes briefly. “I hated that feeling so much I tried to kill it before it could kill me.”

Robyn’s voice was soft. “By pushing me away.”

Tyler’s throat tightened. “Yeah.”

The swing creaked gently beneath them.

Robyn stared out at the street for a beat, then spoke, her voice steadier than her eyes.

“My parents have expectations,” she said. “Not the normal kind. The… impossible kind.”

Tyler turned toward her fully, listening.

Robyn swallowed. “When Krista left—when I was sixteen—everything shifted. The house got quiet in a different way. And suddenly it felt like it fell to me to be… perfect.” She gave a small, sad smile. “I did the extra foreign language classes. The piano lessons. SAT prep. All of it.”

Tyler’s brow furrowed. “Because you wanted to?”

Robyn hesitated. “Partly. I am driven. I like achieving things.” Her gaze dropped to her glass. “But also because it made them proud. And because if I was perfect, maybe the family wouldn’t crack any more than it already had.”

Tyler felt something twist in his chest.

“Being a professor at Yale is a huge part of my identity,” Robyn continued. “It’s proof I did it. Proof I didn’t disappoint anyone. Proof that I’m… enough.” Her voice wavered. “And writing?” She huffed a tiny laugh. “Writing under a pen name is easier than being me. My pen name doesn’t have parents. My pen name doesn’t have a department chair. My pen name doesn’t have to be the good daughter.”

Tyler reached out without thinking and covered her hand with his. Her fingers were cold.

Robyn looked at their hands, seeming at war with herself. “I don’t want to lose you,” she admitted.

Tyler’s chest tightened. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

They sat in that truth for a moment.

“What do you actually want, Robyn?”

Robyn’s eyes filled again, but she didn’t look away this time.

“I want you,” she said, voice small but certain. “And I want Emma. And I want… this.” She gestured vaguely, like the whole town was included. “And I also want to be proud of my work. I want to build the class. I want to teach. I want to not feel like I’m throwing myself away to keep someone else.”

Tyler nodded slowly.

She swallowed, blinking back tears. “I don’t know what it looks like yet,” she whispered. “I don’t know how to fit it all together.”

Tyler squeezed her hand gently. “Then we figure it out,” he said, voice steady. “Not tonight. Not perfectly. But together.”

Robyn exhaled a shaky breath.

The swing creaked softly, and Tyler leaned his forehead against hers for just a second. They didn’t solve everything, but for tonight, they chose each other.

FORTY-ONE