Chapter 3
THREE
Foster Auto Body stood at the tail end of Honeysuckle’s business district, right before Main Street went from shop-lined to rural. A large plot of land sat next to the slate-gray building, with several cars clustered on top of the gravel, Mallory’s included. The garage doors were closed, and the place appeared locked up tight as she approached.
It was after five in the evening, and although Joel had instructed her to arrive whenever, she should’ve called to confirm someone was still there. But a small light illuminated the office window, and she breathed a sigh of relief once she peeked inside. Because Joel sat at one of the desks, his feet propped up and a book in his lap.
Encouragement bloomed in her chest, her silly crush now at DEFCON 1. The shop closed hours ago, yet here he was, waiting on her arrival. But pesky rationality pulled her back down to earth. The man ran a business, and she owed him money, so he’d stuck around to collect. Nothing more, nothing less. She tapped on the window to get his attention, and he coasted a few steps over to answer the door.
“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 depicting Uncle 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.”
Delight stampeded throughout every inch of her. Not only was it adorable that he’d followed her lead, but it hit her like a ton of bricks that they were flirting.
Flirting!
Goddamn, but it was fun to flirt. Back in the day, it had been her favorite pastime. Her city friends used to joke that she’d flirt with anything with a pulse. All innocent fun, although the frivolity had turned fraught soon after her wedding.
But in the here and now, the dopamine rush was irresistible—her blood pumped, and stress whittled away, and conquering the world seemed feasible. She smiled so broadly that her cheeks hurt, no different from a smitten schoolgirl in homeroom.
His jaw sagged in response, but he hastily snapped it shut. The intensity permeating from his whiskey-colored eyes became so overwhelming that Mallory’s gaze eventually lowered to the floor, as it often did while in his presence.
A weighted silence stewed until, finally, she gestured to the door. “Um, I don’t want to keep you…”
“You’re not keeping me from anything.”
Nevertheless, a stalemate was incoming. She shifted on her feet, keys jangling in her hands, and snuck a peek up at him. His brows knit together as he looked into the distance, collecting his thoughts.
“That’s not true, actually. I haven’t always liked cars,” he admitted wistfully. “I became a mechanic because I wanted to master them.”
“What do you mean?”
“My parents were killed in a car accident when I was a kid. I thought if I learned everything about cars, I’d make sure nothing like that ever happened again.” A tiny chuckle escaped him as he crossed his sculpted arms across his chest. “The dreams of a child, clearly. But when I got older, I realized I was good at it and could make a career of it. So here I am.”
“I’m so sorry about your parents. I had no idea.”
A somber smile flickered over his face. “Why would you?”
Indeed, why would she know such a thing? It wasn’t like they were friends. They were barely even acquaintances. Regardless, she focused on the photos on the corkboard, keen to learn everything about him. A faded polaroid of an attractive couple and a boy with unruly ink-black hair caught her attention. The boy smiled so fiercely that his eyes were closed, and his two front teeth were missing.
“Is that them?” she asked.
Joel grinned, happy memories shining on his face. “Yeah. That was my seventh birthday. Batman themed, naturally.”
“Naturally,” she agreed, returning his soft smile with her own.
“The crash was about a month after,” he recounted, rising all the way to his feet. “Then I came here to live with my aunt and uncle and cousin Tony.”
He’d arrived in Honeysuckle after experiencing a trauma, same as her. Granted, they were wildly different circumstances, but it was still meaningful to Mallory—just as they shared divorced status, this small town had been a form of salvation for them both.
“Didn’t mean to turn this into a therapy session.” He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips. “Sorry about that.”
“Oh, no! Don’t apologize. I don’t mind at all. I love hearing this sort of thing.”
Her face burned like a furnace once the words left her mouth. Good God, what was the matter with her? She attempted to recover, sputtering out incoherent placations.
“Not—I mean—oh my God. I don’t mean that I love hearing that your parents are dead. That’s not what I mean at all. I would never say something like that. I know I sort of said it, but I didn’t mean it. I just—I was trying to say that?—”
His steady voice broke through her unhinged apology. “Mallory. Take a deep breath, okay?”
Her hands were clammy, sweat trickled from her brow, and her chest was a stone’s throw away from collapsing. She was no stranger to panic attacks, but it had been a while since she’d last experienced one. The response was visceral enough to feel like the first time—when she had attended her ex-husband’s company’s holiday party soon after their wedding, had a tad too much to drink, and acted a bit too cheeky for his liking.
The ride home in the taxicab was the first time in her life she’d been referred to as a fucking worthless bitch . But it hadn’t been the last time, and it wasn’t the only cruel insult she’d heard that evening. And later that night, she’d locked herself in the bathroom and endured the panic attack alone, certain her heart would explode.
“I know that’s not what you meant,” Joel said, bringing her back to the present. He took one hesitant step forward like she was a skittish animal. “It’s okay. Just keep taking deep breaths.”
She obeyed, closing her eyes as she shakily pulled air into her lungs. Unfounded thoughts delivered in her ex-husband’s voice swirled through her.
There’ll be no facing Joel again after this.
He’ll tell everyone how damaged you are.
You should quit your job and move out of Honeysuckle.
You’ll never belong anywhere again.
Each sentiment was more out of control than the next, and although part of her knew none of it was true, that sensibility was held hostage by the strength of her anxiety.
When he gently took her hand, her mind shifted. He tapped the pad of his callused finger against her palm over and over, and her consciousness latched on to that steady action. The continual pressure against the softness of her skin had a soothing effect, and soon her heart rate began to stabilize.
“Breathe. Good. That’s it. There you go,” he reassured her, keeping their hands linked. “Does that happen a lot?”
“Sometimes.” The confession was quiet as her eyes fluttered open. “But it’s been a while. Not since…”
Not since she’d moved to Honeysuckle. Further proof that she’d made the right decision to restart her life in this charming little town.
“Do you want to sit? I can get you water, or?—”
She shook her head as assertively as she could manage. “No. I should…I should go.”
“I know it’s not far, but if you need me to drive you home, I can?—”
A shrill ring broke into their hushed conversation, making her jump. She glanced over at the cell phone sitting on his desk and laid eyes on the caller ID.
Christine.
The name was a gut punch, knocking the wind out of her. More memories undulated her already fragile thoughts—the secretary, the waitress at the pub around the corner, their wedding planner, the bottle girl during the bachelor party, the friend from college, this woman, and that woman, and every woman.
It had been so easy to forget about Joel’s reunion-seeking ex-wife, thanks to all their eventful moments over the past few days—including how incredibly thoughtful he’d just been. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t allow these lingering feelings to cloud the progress she’d made the last few days. She’d be doing herself a disservice if she continued to get tripped up by him.
So she pulled away from his supportive grip, her arm dropping to her side. “No, it’s okay. I can drive.”
He silenced the call, sending it to voicemail. “If you’re sure?”
A weary nod was her reply as she turned the knob and stepped out of the office. “I’m sure. Thank you, Joel.”
The faint words of “You’re welcome” reached her ears as the door floated shut.