Maggie
By the time I pull Mama’s car into the diner parking lot, my nerves feel rubbed raw. The replacement glass is finally in the driver’s side window, but the ugly scrape marks near the lock are still there from when someone tried to break in.
I squeeze the steering wheel tighter while the engine idles.
Lord in heaven.
I’m plum tuckered out. Not the sleepy kind, either.
The deep-down kind that creeps into your bones after too much fear and too many questions pile up on top of each other.
The shelter break-in keeps running through my mind in ugly little pieces as I stare at the glowing diner sign. My stomach twists again.
I hate how this anxiety is starting to seep into every part of my life. Most of the time, the diner feels comforting before I even walk inside. Tonight, it feels different. Tonight, I keep checking my mirrors.
I turn off the engine and get out, tugging my sweatshirt tighter around myself as the humid Savannah night wraps around me like damp cotton. The neon sign buzzes above while pickup trucks pass by on the highway.
As soon as I walk through the diner doors, the familiar sounds hit me. Country music plays low from the speakers, silverware clinks against plates, and waitresses call out orders to the kitchen. The smell of fried chicken, gravy, and fresh cornbread fills the air, making my empty stomach pang.
Mama looks up from behind the counter, and her face changes as soon as she sees me.
“Maggie.” She wipes her hands on her apron and comes around the counter, her eyebrows drawn together. “Sweetheart, you look like you’ve been dragged behind a truck.”
A weak laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “Well, that’s encouraging.”
“Oh, don’t get smart with me.” She reaches up and brushes hair back from my face. “You’ve got those dark circles under your eyes again.”
I lean into her touch. That alone tells her plenty, and concern washes across her face right away.
“Oh baby.”
Emotion climbs into my throat so fast it almost embarrasses me. I swallow it down before it turns into tears.
“I got your window fixed,” I tell her, holding out the keys. “Willie said he reinforced the lock too.”
Mama’s mouth tightens, and I see the tension in her shoulders.
“You shouldn’t have paid for all that yourself,” she says, reaching into her apron pocket and handing me the keys to my truck.
“I wasn’t about to leave your car like that,” I say firmly.
“You already have enough on your plate.”
I shrug, though it feels forced. “Yeah, well. Here we are.”
She studies me quietly. I know that look. Mothers always know when their kids are barely holding on, no matter how old we get.
She hooks her arm through mine and steers me toward a booth near the back. “You sit yourself down. I’m bringin’ you food before you pass clean out.”
“Mama, I’m fine.”
“Magnolia Hayes, hush.” She points a finger at me before disappearing toward the kitchen. “You look one inconvenience away from cryin’ into a basket of fries and I raised you better than that.”
Despite everything pressing against my ribs , another laugh escapes me. A real one this time.
“Rude,” I mutter.
She waves me off without turning around.
I slide into the booth and let my head tip back against the seat.
The diner noise surrounds me. A little boy whines about green beans.
Someone laughs loudly near the counter. Coffee brews somewhere behind the kitchen line.
Usually, this place eases my nerves. Right now, my body feels wound too tight.
I pull my phone out and look at the last message from Jules.
Jules: All clear here.
Still, the knot in my chest refuses to ease.
The image of some of those kennel doors standing open keeps creeping back into my head.
If Jules had arrived later this morning, some of the dogs could have gotten loose near the road.
Elvis especially. That dog has the survival instincts of a baked potato.
“Sweetheart?”
I blink and look up. Mama slides a plate in front of me filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a biscuit swimming in gravy. Comfort food, the southern cure for emotional collapse.
“You tryin’ to feed an entire football team?”
“You need meat on your bones.” She slides into the opposite side of the booth. “Now start talkin’.”
I stare down at the plate. Steam curls up from the mashed potatoes. My appetite should be gone, but the smell makes my stomach growl. Apparently, anxiety burns calories.
Mama watches me carefully while I pick up my fork.
“What’s really goin’ on?” she asks quietly.
I chew slowly, buying myself time. Where do I even begin?
Mama, my shelter got broken into, somebody vandalized your car, and I’m tangled up emotionally with a man who moves through Savannah surrounded by security guards and enough mystery to make any sane woman run in the other direction.
I exhale slowly. “You ever get the feelin’ your life’s startin’ to spin sideways?”
Mama snorts. “Sweetheart, I had you at seventeen. My entire twenties were one long sideways spin.”
That earns a smile from me.
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Maggie.”
My throat tightens.
“I don’t know what’s happenin’,” I admit quietly. “The shelter break-in, your car gettin’ vandalized and…”
I trail off because saying it out loud makes it feel real.
Mama’s expression hardens. “You’re sweatshirt being left in my car.”
“Yes. It’s connected. I just don’t know why.”
Alexei’s face pushes into my thoughts again. His quiet intensity. The bodyguards. The way people around him move like they expect trouble before it arrives.
Mama studies me closely, then her eyes narrow.
“This about that handsome man?”
Embarrassment climbs into my cheeks immediately.
“Mama.”
“What? I heard what Jules said the other night.” She lifts one shoulder. “And I see it on your face now.”
Before I can argue, the bell over the diner door rings. I glance up automatically, and the tension leaves my shoulders all at once.
Ivy.
She beams the second she spots me.
“Maggie!” She darts through the diner before Alexei can stop her.
My heart melts instantly. I slide out of the booth just in time for Ivy to launch herself at me. I laugh as I catch her against my chest.
“Well, hey there, sugar bug.”
She wraps both arms around my neck tightly.
“I missed you today.” The simple honesty in her voice squeezes directly around my heart.
“I missed you too.”
I smooth my hand gently down her dark hair before looking up. Alexei stands several feet away, watching us.
Heaven help me.
The sight of him sends heat racing through my veins. His face brightens while he watches Ivy cling to me. Relief moves through me before I can stop it, which ought to concern me more than it does.
“What are y’all doing here?” I ask.
Ivy gasps dramatically. “Papa said it was a surprise.”
“Well, then I suppose I ruined it.”
“You did a little bit,” she says seriously.
Alexei gives me a small smile. That look sends wetness pooling between my legs.
“We were nearby,” he says. “Ivy was disappointed she couldn’t visit the shelter today.”
Ivy nods quickly. “I wanted to see Elvis.”
“Elvis is currently stealing blankets from every dog in kennel three.”
Her eyes widen. “He’s being naughty again?”
“He wakes up every morning and chooses chaos.”
Ivy giggles.
Mama slides out of the booth and directs her attention toward Alexei. Her expression changes immediately.
Ah. There it is. The suspicious mama stare.
“Mama,” I say carefully, “this is Alexei and Ivy.”
Ivy immediately smiles up at Teresa.
“Hi.”
Teresa softens so fast it almost gives me whiplash. “Well, aren’t you precious.”
Ivy beams.
Alexei steps closer and extends his hand politely.
“It’s good to meet you, Teresa.”
Her eyes roam over him carefully before she shakes his hand. “You too.”
Polite but cautious. I know that tone. Mama has spent her entire life reading people quickly because life required it. And Alexei practically radiates danger.
“Make yourselves comfortable,” Mama says. “I’ll bring you somethin’ to eat.”
Alexei nods, and Ivy climbs into the booth. I slide in beside her.
“Do you still have the three-legged dog?” Ivy asks.
“Mr. Pickles? Sure do.” I watch Alexei slide into the booth across from us. “He stole somebody’s grilled cheese this afternoon.”
Ivy gasps. “He did not.”
“He absolutely did.”
“What happened?” she asks.
“Well, Cheryl screamed like she saw the devil himself and Mr. Pickles ran under my desk with the sandwich hanging out of his mouth.”
Ivy bursts into laughter so hard she nearly hiccups.
Alexei watches the two of us. The look in his eyes warms slowly while Ivy talks.
It hits me then how rare this probably is for him.
A child laughing in a small southern diner over stories about badly behaved shelter dogs.
No security detail hovering nearby. No tense phone calls.
No cold business mask covering his face.
Just Ivy smiling and dinner.
My chest tightens unexpectedly.
A few minutes later, Alexei rises from the booth.
“Excuse me a moment,” he says before walking toward the counter. Toward mama.
I try not to stare, and I fail completely. Mama crosses her arms immediately when he approaches.
This ought to go well.
Ivy continues talking about Winston chewing through another leash while I sneak glances toward the counter.
Alexei says something. Mama’s posture remains tense at first, then slowly her shoulders ease.
A moment later, she reaches out and touches his arm gently while saying something back.
Alexei nods once. Then he looks toward me, and our eyes meet across the diner.
It’s not lust this time or even attraction. It’s trust. Despite every alarm bell ringing in my head, and despite the break-in, the vandalism, and the secrets wrapped around his life, part of me still feels safer every time he walks into a room.
Alexei returns to the booth just as Mama appears carrying plates of food. She places them in front of Ivy and Alexei.
Ivy’s eyes grow wide the second she sees the pile of fries next to her grilled cheese. “Oh wow.”