Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
TYLER
Tyler would’ve given anything to stay with Robyn last night. He would’ve tucked her into bed beside him, wrapped his arm around her waist as he kissed her goodnight, and held her there until morning. But Emma was waiting for him at home with Zoe.
At the door, he’d stolen one more kiss and forced himself to step back. “Come over tomorrow morning for breakfast, before the store opens. Emma leaves at eight for school. I’m going to talk to her first, about us,” he’d said.
“Are you sure?” Robyn had asked, searching his face like she was afraid she was asking for too much.
“The whole town already knows how I feel about you,” Tyler had replied with a dry smile. “And yeah. I think it’s time Emma did too.”
Robyn exhaled slowly. “Alright then. I’ll text you in the morning when I wake up.” She’d gone up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
Now, in the soft light of morning, he replayed that moment as he stood at his stove, the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg curling through the kitchen.
He could still see her in his mind’s eye, the way she’d looked when he left, wrapped in that fluffy bathrobe, hair damp from the tub, candlelight brushing warmth across her face, while he cracked one egg, then another, into the mixing bowl.
He whisked in milk, cinnamon, nutmeg, and a splash of vanilla until the mixture turned the warm, comforting color of every cozy morning he wanted with her.
It wasn’t yet nine o’clock, but Emma was already at school, her plate rinsed and tucked into the dishwasher after a quick breakfast. Tyler had planned on having a heart-to-heart with his daughter, testing the waters to see how she felt about Robyn, when Emma had surprised him with her insights as soon as he’d mentioned Robyn’s name.
“You get all googly-eyed when you look at her, Dad,” Emma said over her toast and jam.
“I do not.” Tyler had leaned against the counter, mug in hand, trying for dignity and probably failing. “I think you’re exaggerating.”
“Am not. Anyway… I like her. She should be your girlfriend.”
Tyler almost dropped his mug.
“She’s nice. And she laughed at my llama joke, even though it wasn’t that funny.”
“It was a little funny,” Tyler said.
She gave him a look over the rim of her glass. “Dad.”
That was apparently all the argument she felt she needed.
“You should ask her out, though. Before someone else does. That’s the way these things work,” Emma said confidently.
“Is it now?” Tyler wasn’t sure if he should be alarmed or amused.
“Uh-huh.” Emma got up from the table and took her plate to the sink. “That’s what Chloe says. She has an older sister who’s sixteen.”
“Ah,” Tyler replied, as if that explained it. “Well, I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
Now, with Emma off at school, the house felt quieter than usual, not empty exactly, just waiting.
His phone buzzed on the counter.
Robyn had just texted that she’d be there by 9:30 a.m., enough time for them to eat and hang out before the bookstore opened at eleven.
Tyler smiled to himself. He set a skillet on the stove, added a pat of butter, and watched it melt, the edges browning and bubbling as the pan heated.
This was what he wanted. Not just the bath and the candles and the way she’d said his name like it meant something. He wanted this part too. The everyday mundane. French toast on a Thursday and the coffee pot steaming on the counter.
Robyn’s knock on the side door came just as he flipped the first slice. Tyler wiped his hands on a dish towel and went to answer it.
Robyn stood on his porch in jeans, ankle boots, and a soft gray sweater, her hair pulled back into a loose twist, held in place by a tortoiseshell clip.
He’d come to realize it was a favorite of hers, which wasn’t a surprise, as it matched her glasses perfectly.
There was no makeup he could see, just faint shadows under her eyes and the kind of vulnerability that made his chest pull tight.
She lifted a hand in a small wave. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He stepped back to let her in, warmth and cinnamon spilling past him like an invitation. “Come in. You’re just in time.”
The entryway opened to the back mud room with Emma’s boots, cleats, and a soccer ball rolled off in the corner before giving way to the kitchen.
Robyn paused at the island, taking in the plate of sliced strawberries, the fresh whipped cream, the French toast browning in the pan, the two mugs waiting by the coffeemaker.
“You went all out,” she said softly.
“I don’t know. You haven’t tried it yet,” Tyler said, downplaying the effort.
She met his gaze, gratitude flickering there. “It doesn’t matter. Thank you.”
He shrugged, suddenly aware of the batter on his forearm and the fact that he’d just thrown on a Henley and jeans without thinking. “Seemed like the least I could do after hijacking your bath last night.”
Color rose in her cheeks. “You did not hijack my bath. You, um… upgraded it.” She laughed then, and Tyler found himself doing the same.
He finished the French toast while she poured coffee, moving around each other in an easy, almost domestic rhythm that felt startlingly natural.
She found the sugar without asking. He passed her the cream without looking.
When he reached for the cinnamon, her hand brushed his, and instead of jerking away like they’d been caught, they both just… paused.
It hit him again, that sense of rightness he’d felt with her in the tub, in his arms, in front of the entire town the night before. This wasn’t an autumn fling. It was something that had sunk its roots deeply into his life.
They sat at the small kitchen table, plates steaming between them. Tyler watched as Robyn cut into the first bite, her expression turning almost comically serious as she chewed.
“Okay,” she said at last, pointing her fork at him. “You can cook me breakfast anytime. This is so good.”
He relaxed a little, taking his own bite. “I’ll let my mom know you approve. It’s her recipe.”
“I approve very much,” Robyn said. Then, quieter, “Your mom must be pretty great.”
“She is,” he said. “She’ll like you.”
Robyn’s fork hesitated halfway to her mouth. “That feels like a… big future-tense sentence to just throw out there over breakfast.”
“Yeah.” Tyler let the word sit for a moment. He could’ve backpedaled, made a joke, changed the subject, but he didn’t. “Emma told me that I should ask you out, make you my girlfriend.”
Robyn grinned. “Did she now?”
“She very much approves.”
Her eyes searched his, like she was checking for a punchline and not finding one. “Tyler…”
He set his fork down, suddenly unable to keep pretending this was normal small talk. “Look, I know a lot is hanging over you right now,” he said gently. “Your parents. Yale. The internet doing what it does. You’ve got more spinning plates than anyone should have to juggle.”
“That’s one way to put it,” she muttered.
“But last night…” He exhaled, steadying himself. “Last night didn’t feel temporary to me.”
Robyn visibly swallowed.
“I don’t want this to just be a temporary thing,” he said, voice low.
“I don’t want to look back and say, ‘Hey, remember that one fall when we kissed under every tree in Maple Falls and then you went back to Connecticut and that was it.’” His mouth twisted.
“I want you in my life. However we make that work. However long it takes to figure out the details.”
She stared at him, coffee forgotten between her hands. He could almost see the struggle happening behind her eyes, logic weighing itself against the very obvious fact that she wanted to be here as much as he did.
“Tyler,” she said finally, her voice very soft, “there’s a decent chance I might get hauled in front of some committee and told to pack up my office anyway.”
“Okay,” he said. “If that happens, we handle it.” He kept his expression neutral, but it wasn’t easy.
Because there was a flicker, small and shameful, that he didn’t like looking at too closely.
If Yale did let her go, she wouldn’t have to leave in five weeks.
She might stay. They’d have more time. The thought made something in his chest lift and sink at the same time.
He shoved it down hard. Wanting her here didn’t mean wanting her to lose something she loved so much.
“We?” she echoed.
He reached across the table and laced his fingers through hers.
“We,” he repeated, making himself mean it.
“If Yale decides they don’t want a brilliant professor who also happens to write wildly successful romance novels, that’s their loss.
You’ll still have options.” His thumb brushed her knuckles. “And you’ll still have me… and Emma.”
Tears shimmered at the edges of Robyn’s eyes. “Look at you, getting me all emotional over breakfast,” she whispered.
He huffed out a laugh. “Sorry. I’ll stick to approved topics. Weather, sports, pumpkin pies—”
At that, a tiny, strangled groan escaped her. “Pumpkin pies. We still haven’t found the last installment of Isabel’s story. Eight days. That’s all we’ve got left.”
“There it is,” he said gently. “There’s my overachiever.”
She squeezed his fingers. “I just… I want to do right by Isabel. And the bookstore. We have to find the perfect buyer. Estevez certainly isn’t it.” She couldn’t even say his name without scrunching her nose. “And I hate leaving things to the last minute. I don’t leave things to chance.”
“You know, I hadn’t realized that,” Tyler said jokingly, turning back to his breakfast.
Robyn squeezed his hand once more, then pulled free to pick up her fork. “Okay,” she said, taking a breath. “Next step. After this French toast, we figure out how to solve a century-old pumpkin pie mystery before Halloween.”
He watched her take another bite, watched the way her shoulders sat a little lower, her breathing a little easier. They didn’t have everything figured out. This wasn’t a declaration with a ring and a moving truck. But they were being honest. Open.
And for now, that felt like exactly the right place to be.
Her phone buzzed again. She glanced at the screen and groaned. “Book club chat has officially gone bananas.” She showed him her phone. “Pumpkin emojis everywhere. And I think Mayor Bloomfield just volunteered us for newspaper research.”
“Then,” Tyler said, standing to top off her coffee, “it looks like our afternoon plans after the bookstore closes just found us.”
Robyn looked up at him, eyes warm, a future he could only hope for reflected there.
And outside, the October light brightened over Maple Falls, as if the town itself were leaning in, waiting to see what they’d do next.