Chapter 12
TWELVE
TYLER
There was a woman asleep on his couch, and Tyler couldn’t stop smiling.
The house was still, quiet in the way that only existed before the day began—before the coffee maker beeped, before Emma’s feet padded across the hallway.
Outside the kitchen window, the sunrise had turned Maple Falls into watercolor: a soft wash of purple with thin streaks of gold breaking through like the sky was cracking open.
He stood at the counter with a mug in hand and glanced toward the living room. Robyn was asleep on the couch, curled under the throw blanket. Her hair had slipped loose, spilling across the pillow, and her face looked softer in sleep—less guarded. Less like she was always thinking two steps ahead.
Tyler should’ve woken her the minute he’d noticed the time.
He should’ve been practical. He had thirty minutes before he had to get Emma up for school, and his sleepy eight-year-old didn’t need to walk downstairs and find Robyn on his couch.
Not yet. Not when he hadn’t even figured out how to explain it without making it feel too big or too complicated.
But he hadn’t moved.
He’d just stood there for a few seconds, watching her breathe, feeling protective in a way that surprised him. Like the universe had dropped something precious into his living room and he’d been told, very clearly, not to mishandle it.
He poured coffee anyway—quietly, carefully—then grabbed a second mug. His favorite one, the one he’d used since college.
Tyler crossed the room, the floorboards barely creaking beneath his socks. He stopped beside the couch and looked down at her, his mouth curving.
She looked so peaceful. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.
Robyn stirred immediately, blinking. Her gaze landed on him and went wide.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, pushing up on one elbow. Her voice was raspy with sleep. “Tyler. I… I fell asleep.”
“You did,” he said gently, holding out the mug. “But you also looked like you needed it.”
Robyn stared at the coffee like it might explode. “It’s… What time is it?”
“Just before seven.”
She made a small, horrified sound and started to sit up fully, the blanket sliding down her lap. “I didn’t mean to… I swear I didn’t even wake up. I’m so sorry. I should go. I should’ve—”
Tyler caught the blanket before she could start folding it, because of course she would try to tidy his living room while half-asleep. “Hey.” His voice came out softer than he meant it to. “Leave it.”
Robyn froze, cheeks pink. “I just… I don’t want you to think I’m—”
“I don’t.” Tyler nudged the mug toward her again. “Coffee? It’s not a latte, but I added that fancy creamer that you like.”
She took it with both hands, her fingers brushing his. Her gaze flicked up to his face.
Tyler managed not to smile like an idiot.
Robyn took a cautious sip, then sighed—quiet and involuntary. “Okay. That is… very good.”
“You did recommend the gingerbread creamer,” he reminded her, recalling their conversation weeks ago after one of their many coffee runs. Tyler used to take his coffee black, but even he had to admit, he liked the spiciness the gingerbread creamer added.
Robyn shifted, gathering her purse and shoes. Tyler gestured toward the kitchen with his chin.
“Come on,” he said. “We’ve got a few minutes.”
She followed him in socked feet, coffee mug in hand. The kitchen was dim except for the glow of the sunrise spilling through the window. Tyler set his own mug down and leaned back against the counter.
Robyn looked a little more awake now, looking down at her mug, her brow furrowed.
She held it up between them as if seeing it for the first time. “This is a Harvard University mug.”
Tyler blinked. “Yeah, it’s my alma mater.”
Robyn’s mouth fell open. “Tyler.”
“What?”
“I went to Harvard.” She stared at him like he’d just confessed to being a secret celebrity. “I graduated there.”
“No way.”
“Yes way.” Robyn turned the mug again. “What years were you there?”
“I started in 2015 and finished in 2019.”
Robyn’s eyes widened. “We were there at the same time.”
For a second, the kitchen felt even quieter. Tyler let out a slow breath. “That’s… insane.”
“Who was your literature professor? Please tell me you had Dr. Radcliffe.”
Tyler barked a laugh. “Of course I had Dr. Radcliffe. The man destroyed my confidence in a single semester.”
Robyn made a sound that was part laugh, part groan. “He did the same to me. I still hear his voice every time I type a semicolon.”
Tyler stared at her, warmth spreading through his chest. “How did we not meet?”
Robyn’s eyes flicked away for a second, like she was running through old memories. “I worked at the campus bookstore my sophomore year.”
Tyler froze. “I worked there too.”
Robyn snapped her gaze back to him, her eyes wide behind her glasses. “You did?”
“Junior year,” Tyler said slowly. “Fall semester.”
Robyn blinked. “I was spring semester.”
They stared at one another, a crease forming between her eyebrows, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was—what if they’d met all those years ago?
Then Robyn laughed softly. “So, we missed each other by… months.”
“Months,” Tyler echoed, and it hit him in a strangely emotional place.
He was about to say something when a sound upstairs cut through the moment.
A door opened, followed by light and quick footsteps. Then a small voice, muffled through the hallway, called out, “Mochi! You’re gonna trip me!”
Tyler’s whole body went alert.
Robyn’s eyes widened, and she went perfectly still too, coffee mug hovering halfway to her mouth. She looked about the room, as if searching for the closest exit.
Tyler pointed toward the side door, the one they’d used last night.
Robyn was already on the move.
Tyler met her at the landing and angled his body to block the kitchen from view, keeping his tone low.
Robyn moved to hand the coffee mug back to him.
“No, take it to go. It’s evidence,” he murmured.
Robyn lifted the mug, eyes sparkling despite the urgency. “Copy that,” she whispered.
Tyler didn’t think Emma would notice the second mug of coffee on the counter, but with her, he never knew. She’d surprised him more than once with how observant she was.
Robyn stepped onto the back porch, then turned back toward him. Her hair was still a little messy, her cheeks still pink, and the sight of her standing there in his doorway with his college mug in her hands made the heat in his chest bloom.
“I’ll see you at the bookstore,” she whispered. Tyler’s shift started a couple of hours after the store opened.
He nodded. “We’ll pick up the clue hunt. One of us watches the counter, one of us digs through the history section.”
Robyn’s smile tipped into something softer. “Deal.”
He kissed her, quick. She gave him one last look, then slipped down the steps.
Tyler stayed in the doorway and watched her cross the small yard, coffee in hand, moving fast.
Halfway down the sidewalk, a figure came into view: Anita, Zach’s mom, powerwalking past in her bright purple windbreaker, a hot-pink headband holding back her pixie cut.
Anita’s gaze flicked to Robyn.
Then to Tyler.
Then to the coffee mug.
Her smile spread with the satisfaction of someone who had just been handed a winning lottery ticket.
“Well,” Anita called, voice carrying cheerfully through the morning air. “Look at you two, up early and… well rested.”
Robyn’s face went crimson. She gave a polite little wave with the mug like she was holding a flag of surrender and quickened her pace.
Anita kept walking, but her eyes stayed on Tyler as she passed, her expression saying, Oh, honey. The whole town is going to eat this up.
Tyler exhaled, closing his eyes for a beat.
So much for secrecy.
Behind him, Emma called again, louder this time. “Dad! Mochi’s trying to eat my sock!”
Tyler stepped back into the house, letting the door swing shut behind him.
And as he headed for the stairs, he couldn’t stop thinking about that mug.
About Harvard and missed semesters. The way Robyn had looked at him like the universe had just nudged them together and said, “Finally.”
He’d tell Emma soon. Not today.
But soon.
The question was how. And what came after?
Emma adored Robyn; that much was obvious from the way she gravitated toward her.
But adoring someone and understanding that your dad was falling for them were two very different things.
What if it confused her? What if it made her ask about her own mom again—questions he still didn’t have good answers for?
And worst of all, what if Emma didn’t like it? What would he do then?