Page 96 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Conversations began to taper off, and laughter died down. People shifted, turning toward the small reading nook the book club had transformed for the night with a velvet chaise, gauzy black fabric draped over a side table, and a candelabra of flickering “wax” candles perched on a stack of old hardcovers like a gothic altar. Even the floorboards seemed to hush as the crowd gathered closer.

Outside, the crowd quieted as they surrounded the oversized screen Elsie had set up in the town square, livestreaming the event.

Someone whispered, “It’s starting,” and the words rippled outward like a wave.

And then Robyn stepped forward, and everything else fell away.

Her red velvet dress skimmed her figure, deep and rich as mulled wine. A dark corset cinched her waist, and a velvet choker sat at her throat. She looked like a woman who knew exactly what kind of story she was standing in the middle of.

Mesmerizing, he thought. Absolutely mesmerizing.

FORTY-THREE

ROBYN

Robyn stood at the front of the bookstore with her copy of Isabel’s story in her hands and tried very hard not to faint.

The crowd was bigger than she’d expected. Bodies were shoulder to shoulder between the shelves, faces turned toward her, phones held high, recording her every move. Even the paper bats overhead seemed to be staring.

Robyn’s corset didn’t help. It looked gorgeous, yes. It also made breathing rather… difficult.

She took one shallow inhale and immediately regretted every decision she’d ever made.

Okay. Great. Fantastic. She was going to pass out in front of the entire town—on camera—while dressed like a tragic heroine. Yale would love that for her.

She shifted her weight, fingers tightening around the booklet. Robyn wasn’t prone to panic attacks, but if she was ever going to have one, now was the time.

And then her gaze found Tyler.

He stood just beyond the first cluster of people, near the counter. Black trousers, a loose white shirt open at the throat, and that sweeping overcoat that had no business being as devastating as it was.

He was so solid. That was the thing she kept coming back to, the thing she hadn’t expected when she first arrived in Maple Falls and definitely hadn’t planned for. The steadiness of him.

For a second, he didn’t smile. He just looked at her, anchoring her with nothing but his eyes.

She thought of Heathcliff and Catherine. Of love that burned so hot it scorched everything around it, ending in haunting grief.

And she smiled. Because their love was nothing like that. Tyler Marlowe was not a tragic ending.

Then he gave her a small nod, which Robyn read as, You’ve got this.

She took a relaxing breath, her shoulder dropping just a fraction.

She let herself return a small, private smile then turned back to the crowd and cleared her throat.

The microphone wasn’t necessary in a room this quiet. But it was there, so she leaned in anyway.

“Thank you for coming to Midnight in Maple Falls,” she said, voice a little thinner than usual, but it held. “What I’d like to share with you tonight is an excerpt from a long-lost romance my great-grandmother wrote decades ago.”

A ripple went through the crowd: anticipation, curiosity, the thrill of being in on something.

“This story was discovered by our local book club,” Robyn continued, glancing toward Mrs. C. and Edith, who both looked like they might explode with pride. “It’s a beautiful, heartfelt book… and I’m honored to read the opening for you.”

She cleared her throat again—more for herself than anyone else—then opened to the first page.

For a beat, her eyes skimmed the lines.

And then she began.