Page 3 of Defining Us

Vivian scoffed. “Wouldn’t you if your ex looked like that?”

Laughter and titters rippled over the group, whereas acid burned in Mallory’s stomach. Ah,therewas the jealousy. She’d barely spoken to the man—last week’s pitiful encounter notwithstanding—but the possibility of Joel reconciling with his ex-wife made her stomach twist like a churning sea.

But at the end of the day, crushes were irrational.

Before Mallory could subtly probe for more information, Vivian tilted her head and said, “Wait a second. Mallory, did you do something to your hair?”

Everyone turned toward her, and realization dawned. Compliments flew, and the conversation soon changed topics. An hour later, the waiter cleared the table, and chairs scraped the barroom floor as everyone stood to depart, exchanging hugs and goodbyes.

“Make sure to place your vote for next month’s book by Monday morning,” Vivian called out. “Stop by the circulation desk to submit your choice if you haven’t already.”

A chorus of replies followed, everything fromThanks for the reminderandDid it alreadytoCan we get some steamier options next time?

When Mallory walked back to her car, Vivian’s piece of town gossip pushed her thoughts toward a subject she’d been actively avoiding. Her therapist broached the topic of dating during their last session, but she hadn’t given serious thought to gettinginvolved with another man. Her emotions were too raw, her self-esteem still too battered.

But it went beyond simply dating again. Once upon a time, she’d been a true social butterfly, full of zest and moxie. Hell, she was even considered downright impulsive a vast majority of the time. But that devil-may-care attitude had brought her to a certain bar on a certain day and into the path of a certain man. The perfect target for a love bomb, and she’d fallen hook, line, and sinker. Heartache and trauma had followed, but she desperately missed the woman she’d once been. Oftentimes she wondered if that part of her was dead completely or buried somewhere deep inside, waiting to be resurrected.

But when it came to the topic of men, the crush on Joel had formed as a safety net of sorts. Secretly indulging in an innocent infatuation allowed her to view a man as a romantic partner again, as opposed to a manipulative monster bent on destroying her self-worth.

Granted, her vibrator would probably argue with the label ofinnocent infatuation,considering how overworked the poor toy was.

Nevertheless, continuing to construct a fantasy world around Joel wasn’t healthy. And as she sat in the silence of her vehicle, keys dangling in the ignition, she had to admit that it was time to get back in the saddle and squash this ridiculous fixation once and for all.

Time to breathe life back into the woman she once was.

She grabbed her phone and downloaded a popular dating app she’d heard Karla mention before. The bio she crafted was simple enough.

Mallory Moran, 36.

Librarian. Looking for genuine connection and kindness.

After uploading a few photos to the profile, she tossed her phone into her purse, eager to ignore it until the next morning.While proud of herself for dipping her toes back in, it wasn’t wise to immediately dive into the deep end.

Impulsive-ish. That’ll do for now.

The engine sprang to life as she turned the key before pulling out of the parking lot, heading back toward Honeysuckle. It was after dusk, and her yellow headlights cut through the dark, illuminating her path as she steered down the long and winding country roads. It had taken several weeks to get comfortable with driving after spending much of her life relying on public transit, but she now enjoyed the freedom it provided.

What shedidn’tenjoy was how her car suddenly went haywire, the dashboard lights flashing as the vehicle jerked in an abnormal manner. Alarm surged through her as she pulled to the side of the road, wincing at the clanking sounds that roared from under the hood. Then the car stalled completely, and she rested her head against the steering wheel for a few seconds, praying under her breath.

She tried the ignition.

No dice.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

Relief burst from her lungs when she grabbed her phone. One bar of service. Not much, but it was something. Dead zones were a normal occurrence upstate, and after years in the city, she still hadn’t adjusted to how easy it was to be totally unplugged from the world.

Her hands trembled as she unlocked the home screen and scrolled to the maps app. It took a while to generate, her heartbeat pounding the whole time, and she shrieked with triumph when the pin finally dropped. She made a mental note of her current location, then drew the map toward the main hub of Honeysuckle.

And there it was—Foster Auto Body.

It was after normal working hours, so she had no clue whether anyone would answer, but she was desperate with a capital D. Ringing sounded in her ear as the call connected.

As luck would have it, a male voice that wasnotJoel’s picked up. “Foster Auto Body, how can I help you?”

“Yes, hi. This is Mallory Moran, and?—”

“Oh, sure. The librarian. How’s it going?”

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