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Author Robin Pine and Thistlewood House

AUTHOR BIO

Robin Pine (they/she) writes romance books about Queer, Trans and Nonbinary folks getting our HEAs. As a nonbinary bisexual person, they believe in the power of seeing ourselves in the stories we enjoy — especially stories of love and hard-won happiness. When they're not writing, you’ll typically find them with a book, watching something spooky, or finding new ways to live more like a hobbit. They live in Canada with their husband and wonderful son.

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THISTLEWOOD HOUSE

BOOK DETAILS

Category: Fiction

Genre: Contemporary LGBTQ+ Romance

Logline: Oliver Wicklow. The man Rylan was too shy to go after, but could never forget. Could this be their second chance?

Publication Date: July 25, 2025

Retail Price: $4.99 CAD / $3.99 USD

Itch.io Exclusive Price: $2.99 USD

Format: Ebook

Word Count: 33,000 Words

Where to Buy: Amazon  Kobo  Itch

BLURB

OLIVER

Thistlewood House is my life. I always knew I would return to my hometown of Willowburn to run the historic museum. It’s my safe place, where I always know what to expect. What took me by surprise was how the place never quite bounced back after the pandemic. Now it’s just as beautiful as it’s always been, but attendance is down and the former monastery is at risk of being forgotten. Until I find explicit sketches proving the long-rumoured clandestine relationship between the famous Friar Randall and the local physician. This is just what the museum needs to make a fresh splash. Now I just need the right art conservator to restore the sketches for display.

RYLAN

Oliver Wicklow was my dream man back in university. But I was scrawny and painfully shy then, so I never made a move. Since my dad’s accident, most days he doesn’t remember who I am, and I’ve been stressed and lonely in a way I never imagined. The care home is bleeding me dry, so when Oliver contacts me out of the blue to assist with an important restoration, I jump at the well-paying gig. But the blunt, resilient, enigmatic man I remember is even more alluring now. And with each day I descend deeper into his historic little world in the woods — and feel a strange sense of belonging with the other “Thistles” who work here — I risk getting so lost I won’t be able to find my way out again. And maybe… I won’t want to.

The Thistlewood House series explores the queer love found by the quirky staff of this crumbling old museum. In these interconnected standalone novellas, you’ll find a lot of hurt/comfort and a spectrum of relationships, with a focus on trans and nonbinary folks. This story is an MM romance featuring a trans hero. For readers 18+.

EXCERPT

RYLAN

Ever since mom left, choosing adventure over stability, I’ve kept most people at arm’s length. Dad is my best friend. He used to be my whole world, really. And then he got hurt.

And now he’s starting to forget me.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m disappearing. Like a mist dissipating as the morning wears on.

It’s five o’clock, so I pack up my things — and my maudlin thoughts — and head out. I don’t see anyone on my way up into the foyer of Thistlewood House. Sighing, I resolve to end my first week here with no fanfare.

But when I step outside and start up the path toward the motel, a voice stops me from behind. “Hey, Rye!” Bryony calls out. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I turn in surprise to see all of them walking off down another path winding around the back of the house. Bryony leans against the stone wall, one ankle casually kicked across the other as if she was waiting for me.

My eyes flick to Oliver, who doesn’t trail behind on this walk. He strides up at the front, guiding the others toward the leafy shadows ahead. He glances over his shoulder at me with a ghost of that same grin from the trail. It’s a look of welcoming challenge. It says, you’re not gonna miss this, are you?

I don’t even glance back up the path I’d been traversing. Pulling my woolly, old man cardigan tighter around me, I turn and jog back toward Bryony, her smile growing the closer I get. When I get to her, she slings her arm around my neck and jostles me affectionately. “You’re gonna love this.”

Oliver leads us down a path trodden into the fluffy grass, the shadow of a paved track overgrown with time. His jacket flares softly around his legs. Across the field, nestled in the tree line is a stone archway. I can’t see what lies beyond it.

The evening sun is clouded over and low in the sky, the air damp and filled with the smell of impending rain. Crickets already trill from the grass, surrounding us with their tinkling song. “Is this where you guys kill me?” I joke.

Rose cracks off a laugh ahead of us and shoots a smile back at me. “Rye thinks he’s our virgin sacrifice!”

A few fireflies start to wink to life around us, giving the field a faintly ethereal quality. “So I’m ‘Rye’ now?” I ask quietly, a flutter of nervous excitement rushing through me from the nickname. Still, my brain won’t let me accept it without voicing a smidgen of doubt. “I just got here.”

Griffin scoffs. “It’s been a week. That’s a whole month in Thistlewood years.”

Rose throws him a flat look. “None of those words made sense together. Clearly, I got all the brains when we were born.”

“Shame about the looks though,” Griffin fires back.

“Little do they know,” Bryony whispers to me, “they’re both unbearable.”

My shoulders shake with laughter as Rose whips around. “Hey! Don’t talk about my brother like that.”

“Don’t talk about my sister like that,” Griffin echoes, though he tosses a sly grin over his shoulder at Bryony. He and Rose bump shoulders so firmly, he stumbles.

We reach the archway and my eyes widen when I see crooked headstones jutting from the ground on the other side. “Okay, actually though, where the hell are we?” I ask, smiling.

Oliver turns and props both hands on the raven skull of his cane. “It’s Friday, friends,” he announces calmly to the group. “Our newest Thistle seems confused, so I’ll explain. At the end of every week, we hike out here to Brother Randall’s grave and toast to his memory.”

He inhales deeply, tapping his cane on the ground. “We adopted Randall a long time ago. But it’s not just rumours anymore. He’s a legend and he was one of us,” Oliver says, his eyes landing on me.

The air feels thick with meaning. The friar means so much to them and knowing beyond a doubt that he was queer, defying the restrictions of his time — and his religious calling — to seek joy where he could, it’s not surprising that this ritual carries a fresh emotional weight. 

“Let’s go,” Oliver says, turning to breeze through the archway. As the others move after him, I surge forward, riding an invisible tide of intrigue.

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