Page 15 of Defining Us

The first question was straightforward, yet she couldn’t formulate an answer. Moving to the second question, her mind was still blank, rendered completely useless by a simple document.

A loud knock nearly sent her through the roof with fright, and her head jerked up before her gaze landed on the front door.

Joel stood on the other side, hunched under an umbrella with a book bag draped over his strapping shoulder.

When his eyes met hers and that undeniable electric current raced through her, Mallory almost forgot what she’d seen earlier that day. Almost forgot how determined she’d been after receiving Tyler’s text message.

Almost.

She grabbed the keys and unlocked the door, ushering him out of the rain and into the refuge of the library.

“Sorry,” Joel said, closing the umbrella and placing it in the ceramic stand near the door. “I know you’re closed, but I saw your car in the parking lot and thought I’d take a chance.”

“Take a chance?”

He held out the book bag. “That you were still accepting book donations?”

“Oh. Sure,” she muttered.

Limply, she took the bag and headed into the all-purpose room. All his books were thrillers or mysteries, so she dumped them in the correct area and then stepped outside the room.

He examined the silent auction items and said, “You’ve got some good stuff here.”

Back to small talk.

Nevertheless, she nodded and held out the empty bag. “Thanks again for donating. Both for the auction and the books.”

“You’re welcome.” He slung the bag over his shoulder and grasped the lone book tucked beneath his arm. “Mind if I return this?”

“Sure.”

A strangely comforting request. She shuffled behind the circulation desk, eager to return to their proper positioning. Every time she’d been outside of this environment with him, her common sense had misbehaved like an unruly toddler. This was where they belonged. Her on one side of the counter, him on the other. Some pleasantries here and there. No more, no less.

Rain pounded on the rooftop as she checked the title back into the system. Joel waited patiently—for what, she wasn’t certain—although he shifted back and forth on his feet in an antsy manner. When he wiped his hands against his jeans like he often did, a dull throb echoed in her chest in response to the odd habit.

Once she finished checking the book back in, she held it close to her chest and offered him a shaky smile. “Well, hopefully, youcan swing by tomorrow and bid on an item. If there’s anything you’re interested in.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I…uh, the Black Cat Bakery gift card looks appealing.”

Easier to shower Christine with coffee and pastries, no doubt.The disillusionment was so acute it was almost a physical burden on her back, making her slouch until her eyes met the ground. “See you tomorrow, then.”

She moved around the counter, her Oxfords clacking against the hardwood floor. Continuing past the dormant stone fireplace, she roamed through the maze of stacks until she found the proper shelf and returned the novel to its home.

Alone among the books, she regained her composure. Seconds passed into a full minute, and then another, until she was certain Joel had departed. But instead of returning to the desk, she stood within the stacks, taking solace in this building. Sure, she might not have it all together, but she’d done something right—she’d found this place. No matter what happened, she’d always have the Honeysuckle Public Library.

So long as she aced the evaluation on Monday.

Before she could return to the desk to revisit the form, her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

You have a like!

She swiped to take a cursory glance at the profile but could barely believe her eyes.

Joel Foster, 39.

The rest of the profile was blank, and it contained only one picture—a photo of him working under the hood of a truck, his face concealed. But there was no mistaking his identity. Not when she’d memorized the shape of his taut biceps and back muscles.

“Fucking finally.”

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