Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
TYLER
“You’re telling me I get to have ice cream for dinner?
” Emma asked as Robyn turned off the main road and onto the narrow lane that led into Hidden Hills campground.
The paper birch trees lining the roadway were showing off their brilliant golden-yellow leaves while a white-breasted nuthatch called out into the early evening air.
Tyler hid a smile. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, bracing a hand on the dash as they bumped over a pothole. “This is a very special, limited-time-only loophole.”
Emma made an impressed little “hmm” sound, clearly filing that away for later negotiation.
The campground opened up in front of them, quieter than Tyler had ever seen it.
If they turned right, the road curved down toward the main loop—past the registration cabin and country store, the empty RV pads, and the bathhouse.
Now, in late October, everything was mostly shut down.
The big rigs and pop-up campers were gone, the picnic tables stacked, the fire rings cold.
Only a handful of diehards would hang on through hunting season.
Robyn flicked on her blinker out of habit and veered left, onto a dirt track lined with pines. The trees closed in for a moment, then the road opened into a clearing where a small cabin sat tucked back from the lane, smoke curling from the chimney and maple leaves scattered across the yard.
“Who lives here?” Emma asked, face pressed to the window.
“This is my grandparents’ place. But I spent a lot of summers here while my parents were off on European vacations and Mediterranean cruises.” Robyn looked up in her rearview mirror.
“You mean they sent you away while they went on fancy vacations?” Emma was incredulous.
“They sure did, but you know what? My sister and I loved it here,” Robyn replied.
Tyler could hear the fondness in her voice, the way it softened around the edges.
He tried to picture younger versions of Robyn and Krista running feral through these trees while their parents hopped from one European vacation to another.
It fit—this place fit her—more than the polished Yale image she carried.
They parked in the driveway, and Tyler got out just as Emma piped up again, apparently still stuck on the important parts. “So… ice cream for dinner is a yes?”
Robyn laughed, coming around the front of the car. “You are very focused.”
“We made a deal,” Tyler reminded her. “Ice cream if you’re good.”
“I’ll be sure to be extra good,” Emma replied solemnly. “I already was,” she added, swinging her backpack over one shoulder. “I even did my math.”
Robyn’s mouth tilted. “Then, yes. Ice cream is happening.”
That earned a small fist pump.
They started across the yard together. Walt was off to the side, half-hidden behind a row of arborvitaes, wrapping the shrubs in burlap and tying the fabric off with twine. He wore a faded U.S. Navy ball cap, a sweatshirt, and jeans that looked permanently stained with dirt.
“Hey, Gramps,” Robyn called, lifting a hand. “How was your trip?”
Walt straightened slowly, then broke into a grin when he spotted them. Robyn went up on her toes to kiss his cheek.
“Oh, it was alright. You know how your grandma and Aunt Grace can be. I couldn’t get a word in between them.” He chuckled.
“Whatcha doing?” Emma asked, curiosity beating out shyness as she stepped closer to the shrubs.
“Got to cover these bushes,” Walt said, patting one of the wrapped arborvitaes. “If I don’t, the deer will eat them right down to the stump.”
“They will?” Emma’s eyes went round, like she was trying and failing to imagine a deer going to town on a hedge.
Then something clicked. “Llamas do that too. They love evergreens—especially Christmas trees. Zoe said that after Christmas we can bring our tree to the farm and they’ll feed it to Daisy and Tinsel.
” She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t know if they like to eat… What are these called again?”
“Arborvitaes,” Walt supplied.
“Arbor… vities,” Emma repeated solemnly.
Tyler bit back a smile.
“I don’t know if llamas like those,” Emma went on, “but we could try someday.”
Walt chuckled, the sound rusty but pleased. Then he glanced past her to Robyn and Tyler. “Well now, what can I do for you two? Your grandma’s got a roast in the oven. Could I persuade you to stay for supper?”
“Wait,” Emma said, scandalized. “Does that mean I don’t get to eat ice cream?”
Tyler spoke up to explain. “We promised her ice cream if she was good while we visited.”
“And I promised I’d be extra good. Ms. Alice makes the best vanilla ice cream in the whole wide world.”
“Then I guess we better go inside and see if we have some for dessert,” Walt replied, leading the way.
“Well, this is a surprise,” Alice said as they came in through the back door and into the kitchen.
One hand was on her cane while the other arranged a plate of brownies.
Her silver hair was twisted up in a style that reminded Tyler so much of Robyn’s that he almost did a double-take.
Although Robyn’s features were warm, Alice’s were striking in a different way, with her fair skin and ice-blue eyes.
The kitchen smelled of pot roast and mashed potatoes, and underneath it, the rich sweetness of chocolate still warm from the oven.
Walt, trailing behind them, pointed a finger at her with practiced exasperation. “I told you I’d take care of the brownies. You need to sit and rest. It’s not going to do you any good if you overdo it,” he said, clearly referring to the hip she’d broken a couple of months ago.
“Oh, I’m alright,” Alice replied breezily, with a twinkle in her bright blue eyes. “Feeling just fine. Just moving a bit slower than I’d like.”
Then her attention slid to Emma, softening into something tender.
“Gram, this is Emma. She loves your ice cream at the Hideaway,” Robyn explained.
“Is that so? And how are you, Miss Emma?”
Emma straightened like she was being addressed by royalty. “I’m good,” she said. “Dad said I could have some of your ice cream if that’s alright. It’s the best in the whole wide world.” She paused, then added with total sincerity, “I can’t imagine having to wait all winter to have some again.”
Alice laughed, delighted. “Well, you can come over anytime for ice cream—if your dad says it’s okay. I always keep some fresh in the freezer.”
Walt patted his stomach with a grin. “And don’t I know it,” he said.
Emma beamed, looking downright thrilled. Alice moved carefully toward the freezer while Walt hovered a little too close, ready to catch her if she so much as breathed wrong. She waved him off with a look, then opened the freezer and pulled out a tub.
A few minutes later, Emma was settled at the kitchen table with a generous scoop of ice cream, humming happily to herself as she took the first bite.
Robyn moved in close to Alice then, one hand lightly touching her grandmother’s arm, checking in without making a fuss about it. “How are you feeling today?” she asked quietly.
“Good,” Alice said, squeezing her fingers once. “A good day.”
Robyn’s shoulders eased, just a fraction.
Once Emma was occupied—and once Tyler had accepted the mug of coffee Walt pressed into his hand like it was non-negotiable—Robyn filled her grandparents in on what they were doing.
She explained the book club, Great-Grandma Isabel’s manuscript, the latest pumpkin pie clue, and the microfilm discovery.
When she finished, Robyn took a breath and said, “So… I was hoping you still have your mother’s pumpkin pie recipe.”
“Oh, I’m sure I do,” Alice said automatically, already shifting her weight as if she meant to go find it herself.
But Walt was faster. “Your recipe box?” he asked, heading straight for a lower cupboard.
He knelt, opened it, and pulled out a large wooden box about the size of a jewelry chest. The wood was worn smooth at the edges from years of use.
Walt set it on the counter with a satisfied thump. “Here we go.”
Tyler watched as Alice lifted the lid. Inside were rows and rows of recipe cards. Some neatly written, some typed, and more than a few with little stains that made Tyler think of floury hands and hurried kitchens and holidays of his childhood.
Alice motioned Robyn closer. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Fifteen minutes later, Alice clicked her tongue and said, “Well, what do you know? Here it is.” She plucked the card out of the row, and after a glance to make sure it was the right one, handed it over to Robyn.
“Does it have the next clue you need?” Emma asked, finishing her ice cream.
“Umm… I’m not sure.” Robyn read the ingredients. “Flour, fresh pumpkin puree, heavy cream, brown sugar…” It seemed like an ordinary pie recipe, except for the Blue Ribbon Winner written on the top.
Robyn turned it over and read the back again, slower this time.
Tyler studied her face, waiting for some flicker of recognition, but after a few seconds, her expression only tightened with concentration. Nothing about the card seemed to leap out as a clue.
Then she went still.
Tyler followed her gaze to a line in the directions.
Bake in a wood-fired stove until the crust is golden.
The words wood-fired stove had been circled in darker ink, as though someone had gone back later and pressed the pen harder. Beside the circle, a tiny arrow pointed toward the words, along with a little pumpkin doodle that looked oddly cheerful among the measuring cups and teaspoons.
Robyn inhaled sharply, and Tyler felt the jolt of her excitement move through him.
He smiled, looking over at her as her complexion lit up with the next clue.
God, she was gorgeous. No doubt about it.
And the way she lit him up, lit his life up?
There was no question about it. He was one hundred percent madly in love with her.
But what would happen in five weeks when she left town?