Page 9 of Defining Us

“Hi.” She did that pathetic little wave once again. “Sorry I’m so late.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I told you to come by whenever.”

As per usual, he looked good enough to eat. He stepped back to allow her enough space to enter the compact room, and she did her best to appraise him without calling attention to herself. Dark jeans hugged his muscular thighs and mouthwatering ass, and his upper body was encased in a threadbare T-shirt with a faded Foster Auto Body logo across the chest. The hem of the shirt was frayed and smudged with years’ worth of grime, but he wore it well.

It would also look fantastic chucked away onto the floor. Alongside his pants, of course. But that was neither here nor there.

Somehow, she tore her eyes away from him to inspect the office. There were two desks, both adorned with timeworn computers, and the one Joel had sat behind was particularly tidy—files and paperwork stacked nicely—whereas the other desk was a war zone of unruly items. Black filing cabinets lined one wall, and wedged beside them was a mini fridge with a microwave stacked atop it. An ancient coffee maker rested on a filing cabinet, rounding out the feeble attempt at a kitchenette. A large corkboard rested on another wall, covered with different memories—photos and old holiday cards and an adorable drawing depictingUncle Joel and his wrench, the words written in shaky, childlike penmanship.

Joel grabbed a few pieces of paper from his desk, then placed them back down just as quickly. His throat bobbed as he reached over to a pile of rags sitting atop a filing cabinet and used one to wipe his hands with haste. Then he returned to the papers.

“Pretty standard stuff,” he began, then proceeded to explain her car’s diagnosis and the work he’d performed. It was all mumbo jumbo to Mallory, but it was evident this man was an expert in his trade.

Competence porn galore.

Despite her attempt to hide her reaction when reviewing the bill, she didn’t succeed. He noted her expression and said, “If you need to set up a payment plan?—”

“No, no,” she interrupted, rummaging in her purse for her credit card. “It’s okay. I’ve got it.”

Since joining the library full-time, she still often worked shifts at the bakery on her day off to supplement her income. This unexpected expense meant she’d definitely spend the next few Sundays preparing cappuccinos and plating pastries.

Joel ran her credit card, and she signed the receipt. With payment settled, he returned her car key and handed over the statement of work for her records. The conversation was due to dwindle down, but it seemed like a prime time to build on the personal progress she’d made so far. No need to let her silly crush get in the way of acting like a mature adult.

“What do you think so far?” she asked, pointing to the book on his desk.

“I agree with what you said.” Picking it up, he tilted his head in thought before thumbing at the pages. “Not all that deep, but it’s trying to be.”

Ah, to have someone validate her opinions instead of tearing them down. So simple yet unfamiliar to her. It made her ravenous to continue talking to him. “What about, um…the book from last week?”

A smile spread across his face, showing off a dazzling set of white teeth. Mostly straight, but a few were a tad cramped, as if he’d had braces as a child but lost his retainer and never replaced it. “What about it?”

There was a coy tinge to the question, and her knees knocked together. “Did you like it?”

“It was different. But yeah, I liked it.”

Time for the question she’d dwelled on for days. “Did you realize it was a romance?”

“Figured as much. The blurb hinted at it.”

Ah, the blurb. Mallory nodded vigorously as if she’d already come to that obvious conclusion herself. Another question danced on her tongue, but he beat her to the punch.

“I saw you reading it a few weeks ago,” he said, tossing the current book back onto his desk.

The confession stunned her. “Huh?”

“One Sunday at the bakery. I was walking by to grab lunch. You were totally engrossed in it, so I figured I’d give it a try.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, the word so hushed she almost didn’t hear herself.

After months of paltry interactions at the circulation desk, she’d assumed that her new hair color was the first time he’d ever truly noticed her. But here was proof that that wasn’t the truth.

Something suspiciously like hope tingled in her heart, and the sensation was so unfamiliar she didn’t know what to make of it.

He leaned onto the edge of the desk and crossed one ankle over the other, his powerful thighs straining against the dark denim. “What made you want to become a librarian?”

The answer was simple, so she shrugged. “I like books. What made you want to become a mechanic?”

“I like cars.”

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