Page 2 of The Pumpkin Pie Book Nook

Robyn shook her head, forcing herself back to sanity. They’d managed to keep things strictly professional for six weeks.

There was no reason she couldn’t last six more.

“Take a break from Yale,” she muttered under her breath. “Sell the bookshop. Do not fall in love with the hot single dad.”

She took a steadying breath, schooled her features, and met him at the table.

“Hey, I was just thinking about you,” Tyler said in his usual casual cadence, the one that suggested he had all the time in the world on his hands. Unlike Robyn, who was used to running from faculty meeting to lecture hall to office hours like a leaf caught in a gale.

“You were?” Robyn blinked up at him, trying to keep the surprise out of her voice, wondering if he thought about her as often as she thought about him. Probably not, because he was on her mind a lot. Daytime, nighttime, in her dreams…

“I thought maybe Emily might’ve kidnapped you at her bakery,” Tyler said with that slow smile of his, shaking his head as he accepted his coffee. It was his reusable mug, the one Emma had made for him, the side decorated with a rainbow and a cheery little Best Dad Ever.

Tyler’s fingers brushed hers—a fraction of a second, really, but it was enough for Robyn to want to lean in toward him.

She forced herself to take a step back.

“Ha, no. But she did bake some pumpkin cinnamon scones, and they are to die for. If she wants an official taste tester, I hate to say it, but you’re on your own here.”

“I’m wounded,” Tyler replied with mock offense, taking a sip and setting down his coffee before moving on to unload another box of books. “And here I thought you liked working with me.” He lifted his eyes, meeting hers. There was a spark in them, the gold in his coffee-colored eyes turning liquid.

But before she could open her lips, the bookstore door chimed, and Mrs. Bishop bustled out onto the sidewalk with her friend Mrs. C. at her heels.

“Yoo-hoo, kids!” Mrs. Bishop announced. “Look what we’ve found.”

The two older women had volunteered—insisted, really—on tackling the back inventory to help clear out old stock for the sale. Mrs. Bishop wore a burgundy knitted cardigan with not one but two pins on the collar: a gold leaf on one side and a pumpkin on the other.

Now she held up a small, thin book, her eyes bright with excitement.

“What is it?” Robyn asked, trying not to be annoyed at the interruption.

“An old book,” Mrs. C. said, matter-of-fact as always.

“A book?” Tyler repeated, his attention snapping fully into place. Robyn could almost see the editor part of him wake up and sit forward. Tyler only worked part-time at the bookstore, but his whole working life revolved around books. Namely fantasy ones with as many dragons as possible.

Robyn reached for the book carefully. It was handbound, the cover wrapped in soft, worn linen, a gold ribbon threaded through the spine. Faded, elegant lettering curled across the front.

Tyler leaned in at the same moment, his shoulder brushing hers. A quick and electric jolt shot straight through her.

Robyn fought to ignore it. Her eyes lifting to his. “I doubt it has any dragons,” she teased.

“Tragic,” Tyler said gravely.

Mrs. Bishop clutched the book. “No, this is even better!”

“Better?” Robyn tilted it toward the light and stopped short. Printed beneath the title, The Spell of October, was Robyn’s great-grandmother’s name, Isabel Valente. The woman who opened this bookstore seventy-five years ago.

“Mm-hmm,” Mrs. C. said, reading Robyn’s thoughts. “Your great-grandmother wrote it.”

“And!” Mrs. Bishop declared, her index finger punctuating the air. “She’s left us a mystery.”

Tyler leaned in closer at that. His hand dropping around Robyn’s waist as he dipped lower to read the cover. Robyn was locked in place by the heat of his palm and the nearness of his body, every sensible thought slipping away. She wanted him to move away. She wanted him to pull her closer. Mostly, she wanted him to never stop touching her.

She didn’t dare look up at him. Not when she was certain every reckless thing she wanted was already written across her face.

“Wow, um… that’s something,” Tyler said, clearing his throat as he stepped back.

And Robyn was left with another mystery that needed to be solved: How soon could she get his hands on her waist again?