Chapter 7
SEVEN
ROBYN
On paper, it was a perfect evening. Vivaldi on the speaker, garlic and shallots softening in the pan, the bookstore closed and quiet beneath her feet.
Meg’s studio apartment felt cozier at night, making the rest of the world easy to forget.
Robyn stood at the stove stirring risotto.
She hadn’t eaten much at the book club, just a bit of Cassidy’s chocolate and Kit’s tart for dessert.
She’d been too caught up in the discussion and in her thoughts about Tyler to think about eating.
But now she was making her favorite comfort dish, perfected during a semester in Italy when she’d had nothing to worry about except train schedules and cheap wine.
It should have been relaxing. She was trying very hard to let it be relaxing.
Thankfully, the recipe required just enough attention to keep her mind from spiraling. Butter melted low and slow, so it didn’t brown. Mushrooms sautéed until their edges crisped. Cream whisked in patiently, the sauce thickening until the kitchen smelled earthy and warm.
Mr. Darcy chirped, weaving between her ankles, begging for some of the cream.
Robyn poured a couple of tablespoons onto a saucer, practically on autopilot, her mind still wrapped up in the way Tyler had kissed her.
Weeks of restraint, finally giving way. The careful distance they’d kept between them collapsing in about three seconds flat.
They were going to take it slow. Robyn understood why. His daughter. Her sabbatical. Her life was hundreds of miles away in Connecticut, her return ticket to Yale already purchased, waiting for her to board at the end of the semester whether she wanted to or not.
And yet, the chemistry between them wasn’t the kind you could just ignore. It moved through her like a live wire, impossible to forget. Maybe it was just raw sexual energy. Maybe it was something bigger. Either way, she wouldn’t know until she let herself fall—really let go.
That thought was both exhilarating and slightly terrifying, like stepping onto a frozen lake and trusting it to hold.
She looked down at her phone, seeing the screen light up. It was Meg.
She answered the phone, tucking it between her shoulder and her ear while she stirred the butter with a wooden spoon. “Hey, Meg. How’s Paris?”
Meg’s sigh crackled through the speaker.
“Romantic, exhausting, and full of people who somehow manage to look chic while popping out to buy bread. But I’m calling about the store.
I just wanted to check in and give you a heads up—there’s a potential buyer coming through in two days.
The realtor is setting it up. I don’t have the exact time yet, but I wanted you to know as soon as I did. ”
Robyn’s grip tightened on the spoon. She watched the butter go glossy, the shallots turning translucent, and told herself to sound supportive. This was what Meg wanted. Meg needed the sale for her new life. Meg had earned her fresh start.
“Oh,” Robyn said carefully. “Well… that’s exciting. I guess.”
“You guess?” Meg repeated.
Robyn grimaced at the pot. “I’m happy for you,” she insisted quickly, reaching for the lemon. “I am. It’s just… Maple Falls is getting under my skin in a very inconvenient way.”
There was a beat of silence, then Meg’s voice sharpened into delight. “Oh. Ohhh. Wait. Is this about Maple Falls, or is this about a certain bookseller with sandy hair and the world’s most irritatingly wholesome smile?”
Robyn nearly dropped the lemon. Heat rushed to her face, which was ridiculous considering Meg couldn’t see her. “It might be about both.”
Meg made a triumphant sound. “Robyn. Spill.”
Robyn dragged the zest along the grater, the bright citrus scent blooming into the air as she did.
“We kissed,” she confessed, and the words made her pulse spike all over again.
“And—Meg. Oh my God. Fireworks doesn’t even begin to cover it.
It was… unreal. It was just a kiss, and I feel like I’ve been walking around slightly electrified ever since. ”
Meg’s laugh was quick and delighted. “Well. That sounds promising.”
“It is,” Robyn agreed, “but also alarming, because I’m me. You know how I am. I love lists, and plans, and knowing what’s going to happen. I don’t have a play-it-by-ear bone in my body.”
“Mm-hmm,” Meg said dryly. “And you also have a history of dating men who treat romance like a performance and you like an accessory.”
Robyn winced, because it was true, and because it still stung. She tipped in the lemon zest and watched it melt into the butter.
“I still hate your ex,” Meg said flatly, with the unwavering loyalty of a woman who would throw hands in an academic courtyard if need be.
“Get in line,” Robyn muttered, stirring.
“Krista can’t stand him either. And I don’t know what I was thinking—letting myself be somebody’s self-deprecating punching bag so he could feel bigger in comparison to my…
everything.” She swallowed. “He was all grand gestures and curated dates and expensive restaurants that made me feel like I had to earn my seat at the table. Everything had to look impressive, and he made it sound like I was lucky he was tolerating me at all.”
Meg was quiet for a moment, the kind of quiet that wasn’t silence so much as fury contained.
“And Tyler?” Meg asked, softer now.
Robyn looked down at the pan, at the simple, ordinary food coming together in her kitchen, and realized that was exactly it—Tyler felt like ordinary in the best way. Not ordinary like dull. Ordinary like safe. Like real.
“Tyler makes me feel… calm,” she said, surprised at how quickly the word arrived.
“Like I don’t have to perform. He actually listens, Meg.
He’s not just waiting for his turn to talk or finding flaws in what I’m saying.
And when we kissed, it didn’t feel like he was trying to win something.
It felt like…” She swallowed, the heat in her chest shifting into something softer.
“It felt like he wanted me. Not the version of me that looks good on paper.”
Meg exhaled. “Okay, that’s pretty good…”
“It is,” Robyn agreed. “And that’s why we’re trying to be smart about it. He has Emma, and I’m only here on sabbatical. We don’t want to rush into something and then realize we’ve built a little fantasy out of pumpkin spice and twinkle lights.”
“So you talked about taking it slow,” Meg said.
“We did,” Robyn said, and the admission made her throat tighten in a way that wasn’t nerves this time. It was gratitude. “And I… I actually felt relieved. He wasn’t trying to sweep me off my feet. He was offering me a hand and asking me to walk with him instead.”
Meg made a satisfied sound. “Good. Slow is smart. Slow is sustainable.”
Robyn laughed, adding the rice to the sauce and allowing it to soften. “Listen to you. Since when did you become the patron saint of sensible romance?”
“Since I moved to Paris and realized half the city is powered by doomed love affairs and cigarettes,” Meg said.
“That would do it,” Robyn said with a laugh, pouring herself a glass of Chardonnay. The dry wine would cut through the creaminess of the sauce and hopefully ground her a bit. She still had words to try and get in tonight.
“So. Buyer arrives in two days… Is everything all good at the store?” Meg asked, changing the subject.
Robyn quickly filled Meg in on the new book club, the handbound manuscript, Isabel’s letter, and how most of Maple Falls had got involved in a real-life scavenger hunt set long ago by her great-grandmother.
Meg made an appreciative sound. “Kisses with Tyler. Pumpkin spice lattes. And a mystery? Robyn, you are clearly living your best life.”
Robyn laughed. But her mind flicked to the For Sale sign downstairs, to the reality of scheduled walk-throughs and realtors and decisions being made without her. To the fact that her time here had an end date whether she liked it or not.
“Alright, well, I’d better run. I’ll talk or text you as soon as I hear something on the walk-through. Sound good?” Meg started to say.
“Sounds good.”
“And Robyn?”
Robyn paused, wooden spoon hovering over the pan. “Yeah?”
Meg huffed a small laugh. “I’m about to say something deeply hypocritical, so brace yourself.” Her tone softened anyway. “It’s good not to rush. But don’t talk yourself out of it, either. No pros and cons list. Just… let it unfold, okay? Trust your instincts. They’re better than you think.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Robyn hung up with Meg and stared at the steam curling up from the risotto and thought of Tyler’s hands on her waist.
What were her instincts telling her?
If she listened, if she really listened, her instincts were saying the same thing they had for weeks.
Tyler could change her life.
And if she let herself step past the logic that said they could never work, he would wreck her in the most spectacular way possible.
The scariest part was that her heart seemed willing to risk it.