19. Maggie
MAGGIE
The entire shelter smells like kettle corn and lemonade. Which means the adoption event is going great.
I dodge around a volunteer carrying folding chairs while trying to untangle three leashes currently wrapped around my legs.
“Jake,” I warn the oversized shepherd mix attempting to drag me toward the refreshment table, “if you knock over another tray of cupcakes, I’m puttin’ you on an all kibble probation diet.”
Jake ignores me completely.
Second Chance Savannah is overflowing. The parking lot outside is packed, shoulder to shoulder, with cars, while families stream through the front gates carrying balloons, iced drinks, and paper adoption applications.
Pop-up tents line the side yard beside rows of portable kennels decorated with handmade signs and bright ribbons.
Volunteers hurry everywhere, wearing matching blue shelter shirts while dogs bark from every direction inside the building.
The entire place hums with noise and movement as kids laugh near the puppy pens, local vendors hand out samples near the entrance, and someone drops a metal food bowl hard enough in the back hallway to start another round of canine chaos.
Country music plays from portable speakers near the donation tables while Jules argues with a volunteer about missing extension cords.
Sunlight pours through the open bay doors at the front of the shelter, bringing in thick Georgia humidity that already has my ponytail sticking to the back of my neck.
“Your dog is harassin’ innocent civilians again,” Jules calls from across the lobby.
I glance up just in time to see Mr. Pickles proudly trotting past the silent auction tables carrying a pink feather boa in his mouth.
“Oh, my word,” I laugh.
A little girl bursts into giggles nearby while Mr. Pickles prances faster like he’s really proud of himself.
Jules shakes his head. “I told you not to let him near decorations.”
“He climbed outta the exercise pen,” I argue.
“He scaled it like a convicted felon escaping prison.”
“There’s a difference,” I insist.
“Not to normal people.”
I snort while wrestling the feather boa away from Mr. Pickles before he swallows sequins and costs me another emergency vet visit.
Before I can breathe for longer than three seconds, one of the teenage volunteers rushes toward me, looking panicked.
“Maggie, we’re almost outta bottled water by the side kennels.”
“I bought six cases this morning.”
“Well apparently Savannah got dehydrated all at once,” she says.
I drag a hand down my face. “Lord, give me strength.”
“Pretty sure He already did,” Mama says behind me.
I spin around instantly.
“Mama.”
She smiles warmly while balancing a cardboard drink tray filled with iced coffees. Her diner uniform peeks out beneath a light cardigan, and exhaustion shadows her eyes from too many shifts and not enough sleep, but she still showed up anyway.
“You didn’t have to bring all this.”
“And let y’all survive entirely on gas station coffee?” She looks horrified. “Absolutely not.”
Jules appears beside us and immediately steals one from the tray. “Miss Teresa, I love you.”
“I know.”
I laugh while taking my own coffee. “You headed to work later?”
“In a little while.” Her eyes move slowly around the crowded shelter, pride warming her expression. “Looks like the whole city came out.”
Families crouch beside kennels, petting rescue dogs while children press excitedly against the glass outside the cat rooms, trying to choose favorites.
Volunteers carry stacks of paperwork through the lobby, and local businesses hand out raffle tickets near the entrance.
Every few minutes, someone walks out smiling beside a newly adopted dog or cat.
For once, the shelter doesn’t feel like it’s drowning. It feels hopeful.
“It’s a real good turnout,” I admit.
“You built this, baby.”
Emotion wells up at the admiration in her voice.
Before I can answer, Jake lunges toward the refreshment table again.
“Oh no you don’t.”
My mother laughs while I stumble after him through the lobby.
“That dog got pure foolishness livin’ inside him,” she calls after me.
“Yeah, well he fits right in around here.”
The next hour disappears into complete madness.
A beagle puppy pees on a businessman’s expensive loafers.
A young volunteer accidentally drops an entire bucket of rubber balls, creating instant canine warfare beside the agility area in the fenced side yard.
Two college girls cry as they fill out paperwork to adopt bonded chihuahuas.
A golden retriever escapes through the grooming room and somehow ends up beside the barbecue food truck, accepting brisket from strangers like he owns the place.
I barely stop moving long enough to think, which is exactly why I don’t notice the black SUVs pulling into the parking lot at first.
Jules notices before I do. “Showtime,” he mutters beside me.
I glance toward the front gates, and there he is.
Alexei steps out of the back SUV, wearing dark slacks and a fitted black button-down, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Two security men fall into step behind him automatically.
At the same time, his gaze moves across the crowded shelter like he’s sizing up every person, every exit, every possible problem before finally landing straight on me.
That look hits me square in the chest every single time.
Jules leans closer. “Half the women here suddenly forgot they got husbands.”
“Hush.”
“Honey, I’m serious.” Jules gestures toward the crowd. “Look around.”
Three women near the silent auction table openly stare while one nearly walks straight into a kennel gate without ever taking her eyes off Alexei.
And Lord help me, a tiny bit of satisfaction moves through me.
Then the back passenger door opens again.
Ivy climbs out wearing a yellow sundress with little daisies stitched across the front while clutching her stuffed bunny against her chest. Irina steps out right behind her in fitted black slacks and a pale blue blouse, immediately scanning the crowded shelter grounds out of habit before her expression softens at Ivy’s excitement.
“Maggie!”
Her entire face lights up before she takes off running through the gate toward me.
My whole body loosens instantly. “Well, hey there, sweet pea.” I smile down at her dress. “And look at you all gussied up in your little daisies.”
I crouch just in time for Ivy to throw herself into my arms hard enough to nearly knock me backward. She smells like strawberry shampoo and sunshine.
“We’re not late?” she asks anxiously.
“Nope. Perfect timin’,” I assure her.
Her eyes immediately dart toward the kennels. “Can I go see Mr. Pickles first?”
Alexei exhales beside us, as if he'd already expected this question. “You saw Mr. Pickles yesterday.”
“But he missed me today,” Ivy argues immediately.
I bite back a smile. “That sounds very serious.”
“It is serious,” Ivy insists.
Irina adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder and sighs dramatically. “The dog has emotionally attached himself to her now. We all lost this battle days ago.”
Then Mama steps beside me, holding a lemonade. “Well, look at y’all,” she says warmly. “I swear Ivy gets prettier every time I see her.”
“I wore my flower dress today,” Ivy announces proudly.
“I can see that, sugar. You look precious.”
Irina smiles beside her while Ivy smooths both hands down the front of her skirt.
“Mama, this is Irina,” I say quickly. “Ivy’s nanny.”
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Irina says warmly.
Ivy gasps dramatically. “I’m delightful.”
Irina gently brushes a strand of hair away from Ivy’s face. “You are energetic.”
Jules snorts loudly behind me.
Mama turns to Alexei, looking him over with open amusement. “Well, don’t you look entirely too expensive for a shelter fundraiser.”
“Mama,” I mutter.
“What?” she asks innocently. “I’m bein’ friendly.”
She holds out the lemonade, and Alexei takes it from her smoothly. “I’m learning that refusing Southern women tends to go badly.”
Mama laughs immediately.
“Oh honey,” Jules mutters. “He’s polite too. Maggie, these Savannah women don’t stand a chance.”
I elbow him hard while Alexei’s attention turns toward me again, amusement hiding underneath that composed expression.
Dangerous man. Very dangerous man.
Mama pulls me into a tight hug before heading out for her shift at the diner.
By early evening, the shelter looks like it survived a small natural disaster.
Dog toys litter the lobby floor. Half-empty lemonade cups crowd the folding tables near the front entrance.
Someone left a pink cowboy hat hanging off the donation jar while exhausted volunteers drag trash bags toward the dumpsters out back.
And somehow, despite all of it, we found homes for thirty-seven animals today. Thirty-seven.
My feet ache. My shirt sticks to my back from heat and sweat, and there’s probably dog hair permanently attached to every inch of my body at this point. But it’s the best day we’ve had all year.
The public finally starts thinning out around sunset. Families wave goodbye while newly adopted dogs climb into back seats beside squealing children. Vendors begin breaking down the tents in the side yard while music continues to play quietly from the portable speakers near the front desk.
The shelter actually starts growing quiet. Well, as quiet as a rescue shelter ever gets. A hound mix bays from the back kennels while Jake snores beneath the front desk like he worked a double shift.
Jules drops into the chair beside me near the intake counter with a long groan.
“If I ever suggest another public event this large again,” Jules says while fanning himself with an adoption clipboard, “I need you to legally sedate me.”
“You survived.”
“Physically? Sure.” Jules twists the cap off with exhausted flair. “Spiritually, I got taken out by a four-pound chihuahua named Princess wearing a rhinestone raincoat.”
“You cried over that dog.”
“She had abandonment issues and tiny orthopedic shoes. I’m only human.”
I snort hard enough to nearly choke on my water.