Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
TYLER
Robyn tugged Tyler’s hand and led him away from the crowd. Away from the streetlights and the public declarations into the quiet, tucked-away solitude of her life above the shop.
Tyler’s heart was hammering. He’d thought about this moment for months.
Every late night in the bookstore, every accidental touch, every moment he’d made himself step back and be sensible.
He’d wanted her since the first time she’d looked up at him over the rim of those ridiculous glasses with a coffee in one hand and a book in the other.
Wanting her had only gotten worse until the feeling thrummed in his veins like a second pulse.
Tyler had been in the loft once or twice when Meg lived there for a quick drop-in to ask a work question or carry a box up the stairs. Meg was his boss, but their friendship had developed easily over inventory lists and Saturday shifts.
Now the space felt different.
Not because Robyn had filled it with anything dramatic.
She hadn’t. There were no framed prints or gallery walls of memories, only a few small touches that made it unmistakably hers: the textured throws draped over the back of the couch, one white faux fur, one chunky knit, and another soft, cream-colored blanket.
And her bed caught Tyler’s gaze.
It was made up with a thick white comforter patterned with tiny roses and an absurd number of pillows. So many pillows.
The whole loft smelled like Robyn too. Amber and apricots, warm and sweet, layered over the constant, comforting scent of paper and ink that rose up through the floorboards from the bookstore below.
Robyn didn’t turn on many lights. The glow from the streetlamps outside filtered in through the windows, mixing with the soft lamplight in the corner and making everything feel private, hushed, like the world had agreed to give them a moment.
Robyn turned and cupped his face in her hands as if she needed to feel him there—solid, real—and kissed him.
Tyler kissed her back immediately, and whatever restraint he’d managed to hold onto downstairs frayed at the edges.
He backed her gently until her shoulders met the door, not hard, never hard, just close enough that he could feel her breath and the tremor running through her from trying to hold herself together all night.
He could taste the salt of her tears still lingering, could feel the tension she hadn’t fully let go of yet, and something fierce and protective rose in him.
Tyler didn’t want to just kiss her because he wanted her, needed her—though God, he did. He wanted to kiss away the fear. To show her, with his mouth and his hands and every careful touch, that he believed in her. That he admired her. That he wasn’t going anywhere.
Robyn made a soft sound against his lips, her fingers tightening in his hair. Tyler’s chest tightened too—not with panic, but with certainty.
He wanted her to know, without having to explain it, that he cared for her exactly as she was. All of her brilliance. All of her perceived flaws. All of it. Even now, when her hands were still shaking and the tears hadn’t quite dried at the corners of her eyes.
The moment they broke apart, Robyn looked as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. As if she needed something to do with her hands. Something practical she could hide behind.
Tyler caught the way her gaze skittered, searching for the next thing she could control—and he could still feel the tremor in her fingers from the adrenaline she hadn’t fully come down from.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” she asked quickly. “I can get us a glass of wine.”
She was already moving before he could answer, bending toward a small rack by the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of Merlot, and fumbling with the corkscrew for a solid minute.
“Hey,” Tyler said gently. “Let me.”
He took the bottle from her along with the corkscrew, uncorking the bottle with practiced ease, and poured two glasses, handing one back to her.
“You’ve had a hell of a day,” he said quietly, watching her swallow that first sip like it might anchor her.
Robyn’s breath shuddered. “I don’t even know what my next steps are,” she admitted, voice thin around the edges.
“Come here,” he said, keeping his voice calm as he guided her toward the couch. “Sit.”
Robyn let him, almost collapsing into the cushions, and Tyler tucked the blanket around her the way he did with Emma on nights when she’d had a rough day.
“I’m fine,” Robyn tried automatically.
“I know,” Tyler murmured, because he did know. “But still.”
He set his untouched glass down on the coffee table and slipped into the bathroom, and eyed the tub. Mind made up, he ran the water, filling the small space with steady sound. Steam rose quickly, fogging the mirror, softening the edges of everything.
On a shelf above the tub he spotted a canister of bath salts—lavender and vanilla—and a few candles lined along the back ledge.
He grabbed the salts and held them up when he stepped back into the loft.
“Do you mind?” he asked, showing her the canister.
Robyn blinked up at him from the couch, the blanket gathered around her shoulders. Then she smiled. It was the first real smile he’d seen in hours.
“No,” she said. “Not at all. Those are my favorite.”
Tyler nodded once, like that was all he needed. He went back into the bathroom, poured the salts into the bath, and lit a few candles, placing them around the room.
Then he took one of her towels, draped it over the radiator to warm it, and glanced back at the tub as it filled, steam curling upward like a promise.
Okay, he thought. We’re going to get you out of your head.
Just for a little while.
When he stepped back into the main room, Robyn was on the couch exactly where he’d left her, wrapped in the blanket with her wineglass cradled between her hands like it was a heat source.
Her cheeks were still flushed, eyes shiny in the lamplight, and even though she was trying to look composed, Tyler could see the way she kept swallowing, like the day was still stuck in her throat.
“Okay,” he said gently, “bath is ready.”
Robyn blinked, as if she’d forgotten men could be this kind. “You didn’t have to—”
“I know,” Tyler said, and let a small smile curve his mouth. “I wanted to.”
“Thank you,” Robyn said, moving to stand.
“I can just see myself out—” Tyler started to say.
It took everything in him to offer it. Because he was gone for her, so far past simple attraction he barely recognized himself anymore.
The idea of leaving, when what he really wanted was to get in the bath with her and stay there until neither of them could think straight, felt like its own kind of torture.
But this wasn’t about what he wanted. It was about what Robyn needed.
He turned to go, but she caught his wrist, her fingers loose but insistent. “Wait.” Her voice was soft, tired. “Join me? Please?”
They shared a look, full of promises of what was to come, and Tyler took her hand, allowing her to lead the way.