Page 1 of Defining Us

ONE

A romance novel?

Mallory Moran struggled to school her features. He normally read thrillers. Sometimes a horror novel or memoir was placed onto the circulation counter, but he’d never branched out any further than that. As a librarian, judging a patron’s reading habits was the greatest faux pas, but suppressing her reaction was the ultimate challenge. To be fair, she adored a good romance novel and had even read this exact one with her book club last month. Nevertheless, the idea ofthis manreading a shamelessly steamy book made her head spin.

Perhaps he didn’t realize it was a romance. The recent trend of discreet covers could be difficult to navigate if one didn’t know any better.

“Your hair is lighter.”

The statement hung in the air, her ears ringing as if a bomb had detonated. They’d never exchanged anything other than basic pleasantries—How are youandFine, thanksandHave a good dayandThanks, you too—so her eyes rose to gawk at him in disbelief.

When she didn’t immediately respond, his frown deepened. He tended to scowl, which should have unnerved her, butshe found it oddly soothing. After falling victim to a man whose captivating smile masked devastating lies and master manipulations, she considered glowers to be far more welcome.

Mallory was staring. But, in her defense, it was easy to get caught up in every aspect of him—his strong jaw, pillowy lips, and the ink-black hair that curled at the nape of his neck when it was humid, highlighting the sprinkle of silver strands. Even his grease-stained hands enthralled her on a regular basis. Yes, she could ogle him all day if given the chance, hence why she typically lowered her head to avoid eye contact when he approached the circulation desk every Friday afternoon.

People in small towns talked, so she’d pieced together bits of information about him. Other than his general reading habits, she knew his name was Joel Foster, he owned the town’s auto repair shop, and she had a dreadful crush on him.

A child’s shriek interrupted the excruciating silence between them, followed by gentle motherly scolds from the nearby children’s section. It was enough to shake Mallory out of her stupor.

“Yes, it is,” she choked out. “A little. I got highlights.”

“It looks nice,” Joel said plainly. Matter of fact, even. Not a hint of flirtation to be heard. But it was enough to completely unravel her.

In the spirit of the upcoming summer season, she’d splurged on a blond balayage. No one at work had commented on the change, but she chalked it up to how the highlights naturally blended into her light-brown hair. But he’d noticed, and that only added fuel to the fire that was her silly infatuation.

It was embarrassing to harbor a crush at her age. Such things were better suited to schoolgirls loitering at their lockers, counting down the days until they’d get their braces removed. Crushes weren’t for thirty-six-year-old women. But considering everything she’d endured the last few years, Mallory chose totake it as a sign that she wasn’t a lost cause. That her ex-husband hadn’t broken her completely.

Heat rushed to her face as she fumbled with opening the front cover of the book. After quickly scanning the barcode, she tucked the checkout receipt between the pages. But instead of her habit of placing the book on the mahogany counter and sliding it toward him, she actually handed it over. And then the moment she’d purposefully avoided for months happened.

Their fingers brushed.

Her inner swooning eighteenth-century maiden was activated, the simple touch of his skin enough to send her to an early grave. All the warmth centralized in her face shot down like a bullet train and pooled between her legs. The level of arousal was staggering enough that she quickly withdrew her hand and cradled it against her torso as if she’d been burned.

But he hadn’t grasped the book fully, and it tumbled to his feet. She watched with horror as it fell, the entire sequence so distressing it was almost in slow motion. In a futile effort to stop the inevitable, she reached over the desk to catch the novel, only to knock over a container of pens and the tiered tabletop literature stand of programming flyers. Everything scattered to the ground, culminating with the booming slap of the book as it hit the original hardwood floors, the sound reverberating through the quiet library.

Thatwas a surefire way to kill the sexual desire pumping through her veins.

“Oh my God,” she bemoaned. “I’m so sorry.”

He held up a hand to silence her, then bent over to retrieve the wayward items, starting with the leaflets. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

What a disaster. She’d spent many lonely nights dreaming about the impossible moment when they’d finally discard their routine of rudimentary small talk. How the woman she’d oncebeen would reemerge to charm him with some witty repartee, and his frown would transform into a lustful smile, and they’d escape to the stacks for a torrid tryst.

Instead, she’d made a fool of herself.

When he rose to his full height and placed the pens back in the container, she recalled the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Since she was of small stature, everyone was tall in her eyes. In actuality, Joel was likely just shy of six feet, but he was as burly as a bull. His sheer physicality was a sharp contrast to the sereneness of the library, and one peep of him strolling through the stacks made her rush in the other direction as if the hounds of hell were at her heels.

Despite that adverse reaction and quick getaway, she’d also imagined him pushing her against the shelves to run his teeth down the length of her neck. Nothing better than good old cognitive dissonance.

Later that night, she’d ordered her trusty vibrator and soon indulged in a library-set fantasy, with him as her leading man. Facing him the following week had been difficult, but there’d been no avoiding it—he was a creature of habit and never missed a Friday visit to the library.

And the fantasies hadn’t stopped there. Although, if anything could douse her lusty daydreams completely, it would be today’s spectacle.

“Thank you,” she murmured, gesturing halfheartedly to clarify. “About my hair. No one else noticed.”

He did a double take, his eyes narrowing. “You’re kidding me.”

Irritation was threaded into the timbre of his baritone voice. Mallory shook her head in silent reply, not keen on aggravating him further. The muscles in his throat strained like he wanted to say more, but all that emerged was an indignant scoff.

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