Page 8 of Mack

He looked down at it. “She’ll like that.”

“I hope so.” Mallory quoted him the price and he paid in cash, tucking his wallet back into his pocket without hurrying. He picked up the box but didn’t move toward the door.

“I saw you singing at Dewey’s,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Mallory’s hands stilled on the counter. She looked up at him. Those gray eyes were steady and direct, giving nothing away.

“Sometimes,” she said carefully. “When my brother needs me.”

He nodded slowly, as though that answered something he’d been turning over. “You’re good.”

The compliment landed somewhere she wasn’t prepared for. She held his gaze. “Thank you.”

Another beat of silence, the Christmas music drifting softly between them.

He touched the brim of his hat and headed for the door. He paused with his hand on the frame and looked back at her.

“Mallory Nichols,” he said, as though filing it away.

“Mack Reinhardt,” she replied with a smile.

The corner of his mouth lifted. Then he was gone, the bell chiming once behind him, and Mallory stood at the counter for a long moment staring at the door before she remembered how to move.

****

Mack stood outside the door and didn’t move right away. She was more beautiful than he remembered, and he’d remembered her plenty. He glanced back through the glass, then made himself look away. He wanted to go back in and ask her out. But he wasn’t sure he had any business starting something here if he wasn’t staying.

He made himself walk.

He stopped at the post office on his way back, pushing through the door into the cool interior.

“Good morning, Deputy,” the woman behind the counter said.

“Good morning, ma’am. Need to ship this out.”

“Of course. Let me grab a box.” She reached under the counter. “What’s inside?”

“Snow globe. Needs to be packed well.”

She smiled. “I’ll pack it so well she’ll be annoyed with you trying to get into it.”

Mack grinned. “How do you know it’s for a woman?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You said snow globe. I don’t know many men who collect them for themselves.”

He chuckled. “Fair point. It’s for my sister.”

“Well then, she’s lucky.” She slid an address label across the counter. “Fill that out and I’ll get this taken care of.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mack picked up the pen, filled out the label, and slid it back across the counter.

She returned with a box, nestled the snow globe inside, and layered bubble wrap around it with the kind of care that told him she took her work seriously. Mack appreciated that.

“I’m Candace Murphy. I don’t think I’ve seen you in before.”

“Mack Reinhardt. I was on nights for a while, just switched to days.”

“Where are you originally from?”