Page 2 of Defining Us

Eventually, he tucked the book underneath his arm, then rubbed his hands against his jeans. “Have a nice weekend.”

Back to the usual script.

“You too,” she muttered.

Soon he was out the door, her heart rate returned to normal, and the day continued.

But no, she wasn’t a complete lost cause. Because, hours later, her fingers still sizzled with the memory of his touch.

The painof the past could barrel at someone like a monster truck, and it was usually in the most inopportune places. For Mallory, it was prompted by a particular scent. As she sat in the rustic tavern alongside her book club, the smell of her ex-husband’s cologne tingled her nostrils. Her spine turned to ice, and she glanced around warily.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” said her friend and boss, Vivian.

She hadn’t, thankfully. The skinny hipster who’d walked past wearing her ex’s cologne looked nothing like him. Pushing down the distress, she focused on Vivian and forced a smile. “Just a bit tired.”

Vivian considered her carefully before jumping back into one of the numerous conversations happening around the table. The ten women of varying ages and backgrounds were packed around a rectangular high-top table. Several wine glasses littered the space, plus two cheese and charcuterie boards that were nearly picked clean. It was Thursday night, and the bar was bustling, with soulful songs playing over the sound system.

When Mallory started as the library’s circulation supervisor, the director, Vivian, took her under her wing. And after years of struggling to establish a book club with regular attendance, Vivian had dubbed Mallory a genius when she suggested meeting at a popular bar a few towns away instead of in the library’s all-purpose room.Equal parts bookish discussion and night on the town, she’d called it, and Vivian had been wild over the idea.

The group had thrived over the past few months. Not to mention how it helped ease some of Mallory’s crushing loneliness. Book club reminded her of how things used to be—when she had heaps of friends, never-ending plans, and the world at her feet.

Untilhehappened.

The club spent the first half hour discussing that month’s book, but now that they’d all indulged in some libations, town gossip was the ruling topic.

“Guess who I saw walking down Main Street yesterday,” Vivian said to the cluster of women, tucking a strand of brassy red hair behind her ear.

Karla, the head barista at the bakery below Mallory’s apartment, perked up. “Who?”

“Christine.”

“You’re lying!”

“Swear to God.” Vivian lifted her hand as if under oath and then snatched her wine glass, sipping the liquid with a speaking look.

“Who’s Christine?” Mallory asked, glimpsing around at everyone for clues.

Despite nearly a year in town, she felt like the odd woman out during moments like these. It was one thing to be raised in a small town or move there to start a family, but it was another thing entirely to infiltrate one as a single adult.

After spending her adult life in an urban metropolis, she’d never expected to settle upstate in a town charming enough to be named Honeysuckle. It had been an adjustment—cars instead of subway trains, the whistle of wind instead of trucks hitting potholes—but she finally considered the small town her home. And the center of her world was the Honeysuckle Public Library, a picturesque Dutch Colonial stone structure on Main Street, surrounded by a garden of colorful wildflowers and honeysuckle bushes.

Inside, the stacks were cramped, and some of the amenities were outdated, but cozy nooks and crannies adorned the space. Armchairs were nestled in corners, paintings by local artists were affixed to the walls, and there was even the original stone fireplace from when the building was first constructed as a home in 1798. The entire place was the very definition of quaint. A bona fide dream come true.

And the weekly appearance of a hot mechanic was a bonus.

“You know Joel Foster?” Ariana asked, reading her mind. As the principal of Honeysuckle’s sole elementary school, she found adult outings like book club essential. “He runs the auto body shop in town?”

“Oh, uh, yes. I know of him, I mean. I don’t know him personally. He comes into the library sometimes, that’s all,” Mallory finished pitifully before gulping her semidry riesling.

The amused look on Vivian’s face proved that her explanation wasn’t anywhere near as smooth as she’d hoped it would be.

“Christine’s his ex-wife,” Karla told her. “They broke up, what, three years ago?”

Julie, the recently retired circulation supervisor whom Mallory had succeeded, grabbed a grape from the cheese board. “Maybe four.”

Instead of irrational jealousy, solace settled over Mallory. Divorce was a common occurrence nowadays and didn’t hold the same stigma it used to, but her status as a divorced woman produced an overwhelming sense of otherness at times. Hearing that Joel was also divorced created an uncanny comfort in her bones, as if they belonged to the same exclusive yet painful club.

Ariana raised her eyebrows. “You think she’s trying to win him back?”

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