Chapter 6
SIX
TYLER
The bookstore had gone quiet. The overhead speakers had cycled through their playlist twice already, and the pumpkin pie book nook smelled like cinnamon and cold coffee.
It was just Tyler and Robyn now. Mrs. C.
had been the last to leave, Robyn practically ushering her out the door so she could lock up.
Outside, night had settled over Oak Way, the streetlights flickering on one by one. A soft autumn rain had started to fall, tapping lightly against the front windows and turning the bookstore into a warm little pocket of light and quiet.
Tyler loved this time of year—how the world went dark early, how the air smelled like wet leaves and crisp apples, how Maple Falls looked like it had been lit from the inside.
The book club had carried out their plates and napkins and crockpots with plenty of excitement for tomorrow’s hike.
But still, they left behind crumbs, a crumpled napkin here, a stray fork there, and trash that had to be taken out.
Tyler saw to those tasks while Robyn pushed the tables back and tucked in the chairs.
He glanced toward her as she tidied the space, her sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair falling in loose waves around her face. The overhead lights made the copper in her chestnut hair glow, and all Tyler could think of was how beautiful she looked in that moment.
With just the two of them in the store, the atmosphere shifted into a deeper kind of quiet that made every sound sharper. The rain tapping against the window. The hum of the furnace. The faint creak of old wood settling.
Tyler exhaled and looked around the closed bookstore. At Robyn. And reminded himself to stick to his boundaries. He should leave soon. His friend Jackson had asked him to meet him for a beer at The Kettle, and Zoe was still watching Emma. He didn’t want to get home too late.
But first, he remembered the shelf that was slanting. In the home improvement section of all places. He was rarely here when the shop was closed as he needed to pick his daughter up from school. Now was the perfect time to see to it before the entire shelf collapsed.
He grabbed the small toolbox Meg kept behind the counter and crouched down in front of the shelf. It took just a moment to realize all that it needed was an extra bracket. The weight of the shelf had caused the previous screw to pull out.
“Thank you.” Robyn’s voice floated over. “I noticed it the other day and then forgot about it.”
He focused on the bracket and started tightening the screw, the metal squeaking faintly as it caught.
The rain kept tapping at the window.
He felt her step closer, the shift in the air. Robyn moved into his peripheral vision, hands clasped behind her back as she leaned in to inspect his handiwork.
He tightened the last screw and sat back on his heels, lifting his gaze to hers.
Robyn was close enough that he could see the tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. The warmth of her filled the space between them like a living thing.
Tyler pushed to his feet, slow.
Neither of them stepped back.
The air felt charged, as if the whole bookstore had narrowed down to this one aisle, this one breath, this one second where Tyler’s instincts were screaming at him to do the smart thing.
Then Robyn’s hands—almost as if she didn’t realize she was doing it—settled at his waist.
That was his undoing.
Tyler lifted his hands to her face, cupping her cheeks with a gentleness that didn’t match the force of what he felt. His thumbs brushed the edge of her jaw as he leaned in and took her mouth with his.
He thought it would be tentative.
It wasn’t.
The kiss hit like a lightning strike—hot and immediate, like their bodies had been waiting for permission. Robyn made a small sound against his mouth and fisted his shirt, rising onto her toes.
Tyler’s hands slid from her cheeks to her waist, pulling her in until there wasn’t space for doubt. He turned them instinctively, guiding her back until her shoulders met the bookshelf. Not hard, just firm enough to hold her there, as if the whole world might try to steal her away if he let go.
Robyn’s fingers slipped into his hair.
Tyler lost whatever thin thread of restraint he’d been clinging to.
He kissed her again, deeper, the kind of kiss that stole breath and ruined common sense.
His palm flattened against the small of her back, anchoring her, while his other hand skimmed up her side.
Over the curve of her waist, the line of her ribs, until he felt her shiver.
He broke away just enough to drag his mouth along her jaw, then to the side of her neck, breathing her in. Pumpkin spice still clung faintly to her, sweet and warm, tangled with something that was purely Robyn: clean skin and soft perfume and the quiet pull of her.
Tyler forced himself to stop. Robyn’s eyes were wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He swallowed. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
“That was…” he started.
“Incredible,” Robyn whispered, stealing the word straight out of his mouth.
Tyler let out a rough little laugh. His hands were still on her waist.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” he admitted quietly, “for an embarrassing amount of time.”
Robyn’s breath caught. “Me too.”
Tyler’s chest tightened. He leaned in, not to kiss her again, but close enough to keep her there with him. “I want…” He stopped, because what he wanted had a dozen edges. He wanted her. He wanted more. He wanted a world where this didn’t have an ending. But Robyn wasn’t staying in town for long.
Besides, reality had a name, and she called him Dad. Emma, with her pink-painted glittery nails, llama pajamas, and an unending supply of animal facts, deserved the world. She had to come first.
Tyler eased back just a fraction, enough to meet her eyes. “We should be careful,” he said, voice rough. “Not because I don’t want this. I do.”
Robyn swallowed. “I do too.”
“I just have to think things through a bit more. It’s Emma. I don’t want something to get back to her until we know what this is.”
Robyn took his hand in hers and looked down at his pink-painted nails, also courtesy of Emma. Her expression softened, something tender flickering across her face. “I understand. I don’t want to confuse her,” she said. “Or hurt her.”
Tyler nodded. “So… we date,” he said, the word strange and perfect at once. “Quietly, just us. We see what this is.”
“And when we’re sure,” Robyn said, “we tell Emma first. Before anyone else.”
“Agreed.”
Tyler met her eyes and stayed rooted to the spot, proving to himself he could show restraint.
But Robyn kissed him again anyway. Her hands slid up his chest, bunching lightly at his shirt, and Tyler felt the impact of it all the way down to his toes.
He made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and then he was kissing her back without thinking. The kiss was deep and reckless and he could have easily gotten carried away.
Tyler forced himself to break away.
“Alright,” he said, holding up one hand in a time-out. “Alright.”
Robyn blinked up at him, lips swollen, eyes bright.
Tyler took a step back—another step.
Jesus.
His pulse thudded in his throat. His hands felt useless at his sides, like they’d forgotten how to do anything except touch her. He dragged in a breath that didn’t help at all.
“We should probably talk about”—he gestured vaguely between them—“boundaries.”
Robyn let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Probably.”
“Because I have an eight-year-old who could walk into any room in my house at any time,” he said. “And because if we don’t slow down, I’m not going to be able to think straight long enough to figure out how any of this works.”
Robyn folded her arms, and he suspected it was to keep herself from reaching for him again. “We take it slow.”
“Slow,” he repeated.
“No sleepovers.”
“No sleepovers.”
“And we keep it PG until we’ve figured out what this looks like with Emma in the picture. How it fits. Because she has to come first,” Robyn added.
Tyler exhaled. “She comes first.”
Robyn nodded, and the look on her face told him she understood exactly what was at stake. It also made him want to kiss her again, which wasn’t helpful.
He didn’t.
How in the world would they ever take things slow when he’d been consumed by her for weeks? When every day was a struggle and every night—no, he couldn’t think about nighttime. Not when the object of his desire was a breath away.
He had a feeling taking things slow was going to fail spectacularly. And what a beautiful failure it was going to be.