Page 6 of Defining Us

“I’m sorry,” she apologized in a hushed tone. “That was rude.”

“It’s fine. Not a fan of that one, I guess?”

“No.” She paused, wanting to explain, but was unsure if it was appropriate. To his credit, he didn’t push, and perhaps that was what compelled her to admit the truth. “That was the first dance at my wedding. I never even liked the song, but my ex insisted on it.”

The air in the car turned heavy. When he didn’t answer immediately, she slammed her eyes closed. Painful memories emerged like a riptide, threatening to take her under—the passive-aggressive insults, masterful gaslighting, and insidious belittlement.

And the women.

The women he had insisted were just friends, acquaintances, perfect strangers. The women he said she was crazy to worry about when, really, she’d been right all along.

“I understand,” Joel eventually murmured, his words quelling the mental echoes of her past.

An undercurrent lined his delivery, suggesting that his reply wasn’t an empty mollification. Maybe he really did understand. That helped Mallory regain her composure, but the sting of the song lingered, and all she could do was focus on the roadway ahead of them. They didn’t speak again until the truck reached the exit leading toward the main business area of Honeysuckle.

“Where should I drop you?” he asked, putting on the blinker and smoothly making the turn.

“Black Cat Bakery is fine. I live in the apartment upstairs.”

In next to no time, he pulled up outside her building. Mallory unbuckled her seat belt and finally faced him. Moonlight filtered into the truck and emphasized the faint five o’clock shadow on the slopes of his cheekbones. Compassion blossomed in his eyes, but it never morphed into pity, and that was the sole reason why she held his gaze.

The way he studied her was different—his frown wasn’t as pronounced, his brow not as furrowed. He stared with quiet contemplation, as if she was a puzzle he was finally starting to piece together. And while dozens of questions bounced in his soulful brown eyes, he waited for her to take the lead.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, tugging idly at a strand of her long hair. “And for coming out so late.”

“It’s no problem. I’ll try to take a look at your car tomorrow. We have a few customers ahead of you, but I’ll do my best to get to it.”

“Should I stop by and fill out some paperwork? Make a payment? I’m not really sure how this works.” She laughed sheepishly and scratched her head. “I’m used to subway delays, not broken-down cars.”

There was that small smile again. Butterflies flapped violently in her stomach as he shifted in his seat and pulled a business card from his back pocket. And, once again, their fingers grazed as he passed it over. At least this time she didn’t pull away like she’d foolishly grabbed a hot plate. Instead, she calmly slipped the business card into her purse and then removed her car key from her keychain.

Now it was her turn to hand something over and endure another brush of skin. But this time, he hesitated for a fraction of a second, wiping his hands once more on his jeans beforehe took the key. His fingers were long and broad, the nails cut to the quick. They were always streaked with grease despite his attempts to clean them, and dirt lingered beneath the nails, but they were proof of physical labor. Evidence of a man who wasn’t afraid to get the job done. His hands were as captivating as the rest of him.

“We’ll settle payment when the work is done. You can call the shop for an update,” he said, placing her key in his pocket for safekeeping. “The number’s listed there. Or I can just touch base when I see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she sputtered.

“At the library?”

Tomorrow was Friday. She’d nearly forgotten. Two Joel encounters in one week. Would wonders never cease? At least she could partake in full conversations with him now, even if they were fraught with awkwardness.

Progress. Give yourself some credit.

“Of course, tomorrow. Sounds good.” She opened the door and stepped down from the truck. “Thanks again.”

“Good night, Mallory.”

Her name on his lips almost made her stumble off the curb. How exhilarating to know she was a real person to him—something more than just the librarian. But between that, the compliment on her hair, and how he’d rescued her from the side of the road, her feelings were dangerously close to advancing from innocent crush to full-blown obsession.

Thank God for dating apps.

“Good night, Joel.” She closed the door of the truck and started toward the staircase that led to her second-story apartment.

“Hey, Mallory?”

His voice stopped her in her tracks, her stomach jumping as she turned around. The windows were still down, and he leaned over to address her, keeping his pitch low.

“No one really noticed your hair?” he asked, the question laced with incredulity.

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