Page 11 of Defining Us

You should quit your job and move out of Honeysuckle.

You’ll never belong anywhere again.

Each sentiment was more out of control than the next, and although part of her knew none of it was true, that sensibility was held hostage by the strength of her anxiety.

When he gently took her hand, her mind shifted. He tapped the pad of his callused finger against her palm over and over, and her consciousness latched on to that steady action. The continual pressure against the softness of her skin had a soothing effect, and soon her heart rate began to stabilize.

“Breathe. Good. That’s it. There you go,” he reassured her, keeping their hands linked. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Sometimes.” The confession was quiet as her eyes fluttered open. “But it’s been a while. Not since…”

Not since she’d moved to Honeysuckle. Further proof that she’d made the right decision to restart her life in this charming little town.

“Do you want to sit? I can get you water, or?—”

She shook her head as assertively as she could manage. “No. I should…I should go.”

“I know it’s not far, but if you need me to drive you home, I can?—”

A shrill ring broke into their hushed conversation, making her jump. She glanced over at the cell phone sitting on his desk and laid eyes on the caller ID.

Christine.

The name was a gut punch, knocking the wind out of her. More memories undulated her already fragile thoughts—the secretary, the waitress at the pub around the corner, their wedding planner, the bottle girl during the bachelor party, the friend from college, this woman, and that woman, and every woman.

It had been so easy to forget about Joel’s reunion-seeking ex-wife, thanks to all their eventful moments over the past few days—including how incredibly thoughtful he’d just been. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t allow these lingering feelings to cloud the progress she’d made the last few days. She’d be doing herself a disservice if she continued to get tripped up by him.

So she pulled away from his supportive grip, her arm dropping to her side. “No, it’s okay. I can drive.”

He silenced the call, sending it to voicemail. “If you’re sure?”

A weary nod was her reply as she turned the knob and stepped out of the office. “I’m sure. Thank you, Joel.”

The faint words of “You’re welcome” reached her ears as the door floated shut.

FOUR

Instead of spendingSunday obsessively reliving her panic attack, Mallory worked a shift at the bakery and turned to the dating app in her spare time. She’d hit it off with a guy named Tyler, a teacher thirty minutes away from Honeysuckle, and they’d already progressed from messaging on the app to exchanging texts. The conversations were pleasant enough, but it was difficult to gauge chemistry through the phone, so plans were made to meet for drinks that Saturday night.

Saturday promised to be a busy day since it was also the library’s used-book sale. Considering Mallory only had a few days to scrounge up silent auction donations, she hit the ground running. Beginning Monday afternoon, she spent her lunch breaks bouncing from business to business in Honeysuckle and the surrounding towns, shamelessly soliciting contributions. Her landlord supplied a one-hundred-dollar gift card to Black Cat Bakery. The pizza joint offered a free slice per month for the next calendar year. And the yoga studio donated a complimentary enrollment in their six-week beginner workshop. Each business owner was eager to help, which boosted her confidence every time she walked into anotherstorefront. It was the perfect exercise to continue pushing herself outside her comfort zone.

It wasn’t until Wednesday afternoon that she faltered. Because once she reached the end of Main Street and laid eyes on Foster Auto Body, flashbacks from that weekend thrashed at her. She’d been dreading his Friday library visit, well aware there was no avoiding him. But seeing Joel a few days earlier would be akin to ripping a Band-Aid off, and her therapist constantly emphasized the need to conquer her tendency to cope via avoidance. Better to face the music now instead of stew in anticipation—that’s what the old Mallory would do, at least. With an encouraging breath, she headed toward his establishment.

The building bustled with activity as she approached. All three garage doors were open, and the sounds of power tools and men shouting commands fluttered over the warm breeze. A burgundy SUV was hoisted in a car lift, with two mechanics working on the undercarriage, while a rusty sedan waited nearby for a new set of tires. The strong smell of motor oil permeated the air, intertwined with the aroma of sweaty men working in the early summer heat. The entire scene was intimidating, and she’d be better suited heading to the main office door, but Mallory wandered closer.

Even with all the commotion, Mallory only had eyes for Joel. He stood near the built-in shelving units lining the wall on the far side of the garage, clad in navy-blue coveralls. The top half of the garment was tied around his sturdy waist, exposing the gray undershirt that clung to his upper body. He hoisted a tire onto his shoulder, and she sweltered at such masculine strength. Her hungry eyes trailed his muscles, engrossed in how they contracted and released with exertion.

Their eyes connected the instant he turned, affixing over the hustle and bustle of the garage. His dark eyebrows rose insurprise, which she acknowledged with an apologetic smile and her quintessential small wave. He placed the tire down, leaning it against the side of the sedan. Small patches of sweat had seeped into his undershirt, and a thin sheen of perspiration covered his brow. Work gloves adorned his hands, so he used his forearm to wipe away the moisture as he drew nearer.

“Everything okay with your car?” he asked in greeting.

“Oh, yes. It’s fine. Perfect, even. Runs like a dream.”

One day she’d figure out how to reply to him with a straight answer, but apparently, that day was not today. She took a second to regroup.

“I’m here on library business,” she told him.

“Oh?”

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