Chapter Six #2
Dig raised both hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t get her into this mess, I’m just the support staff.”
I gave him a shove with my elbow and looked back at Magnolia. “I’ll take an iced tea, if you’ve got it.”
She grinned and turned toward the fridge. “This is the South, hunny. They’d shut me down if I didn’t.”
As it always happens when a screen is within reach of a human attention span, Dig and I turned toward the TV while Magnolia fixed our drinks.
He started talking, mostly to himself, about the show’s dynamics and which contestant had won him over.
I hadn’t seen a single episode, so I wandered off to check out the photos lining the wall.
Black and white frames stretched along the length of the bar, running from the edge of the stage to what I assumed were the bathrooms and office. I paused at each one, following the quiet story they told. The outfits and haircuts changed with the decades, but the bar itself looked mostly untouched.
At the last frame, I stopped. A man in a scally cap stood behind the bar, smiling, with two kids propped on either side of him.
Their small hands rested near pint glasses that were hopefully filled with root beer.
The girl had to be Magnolia. She looked about twelve, freckles clear even in black and white, smiling like she already owned the place.
I hadn’t heard her come up behind me and nearly jumped when she slid a glass of iced tea onto the table in front of me.
“That’s my Uncle Cole and my brother, Charlie,” she said quietly, eyes still on the photo.
There was a weight to her voice, the kind that settles somewhere deep in your bones.
She let out a slow breath, scanning the wall of photos like they were old friends.
“This bar’s been in my family a long time.
I’m Magnolia Pruitt, by the way. We weren’t properly introduced last night. ”
She offered her hand, and I took it for a slow shake. “Tally Aden. Doyle’s older sister, as you know. I’m sure he’s already given you the highlight reel.”
Magnolia’s mouth curved, her laugh low and easy. “I’ve heard a few things here and there.” She gave me a quick wink. “Nothing you need to worry about. Your brother loves you.”
That was hard to believe.
From his stool, Dig perked up, cocktail in hand, and sauntered over. “And I’m the comedic relief—Diego Salvador. But you can call me Dig.” He leaned in to get a closer look at the photos, stopping every few steps. “Wait, this place is yours?”
“This place is mine,” she said, falling into step with us as we made our way along the wall. “O’Malley’s is legendary in Savannah. Or at least it used to be.”
Dig lit up, shimmying like he’d been handed a backstage pass.
He started firing off questions, one after another, and Magnolia answered each in that easy Southern rhythm, telling us how her family came over from Ireland and how the bar had survived wars, hurricanes, and more than a few city ordinances.
My chest ached when she mentioned losing her parents. And when she said her uncle had passed recently and left the bar to her, I blinked back the tears. Damn hormones.
Still, she rallied, her voice steady as she moved into lighter memories.
She told us about the time she and her friends snuck in and threw a party that lasted until sunrise while her uncle was out of town.
She pointed to a framed photo near the door and explained how, according to local legend, the first St. Patrick’s Day parade in Savannah had started right outside the front door.
There was an ease to the way she spoke, as if the bar had shaped her just as much as her family had.
And maybe it was the lighting, or the comfort of hearing someone talk about a place they loved, but one of the tight spools of anxiety I’d been carrying around started to unfurl a bit.
Not all the way. But enough for me to take notice.
If you lifted this building, you’d find Magnolia’s roots. And I’d wondered, briefly, where mine would ever be planted.
“I love this place,” Dig said, raising his glass in a toast to the ceiling fan. He settled back onto his barstool, eyes already scanning the cocktail menu like he was preparing for another round—or five. “Can we stay forever? Magnolia, is the storage closet available for rent?”
Before she could answer, the door at the back of the bar creaked open. A tall, broad silhouette filled the frame. There was a pause, then the scrape of a box being shoved aside, the clink of bottles, and a string of low, muttered profanity that grew louder with each step.
Magnolia didn’t look up. She poured another glass of sweet tea into a mason jar with steady hands, her voice flat. “That’ll be Charlie.”
Another thump. A grunt. A string of curse words that would make a nun blush. “Magnolia, I swear to God, you need to have someone clear out all these boxes. I can’t get the wine in if I’ve got to hurdle over every single piece of yours and Lee’s crap.”
He stepped into view, stopped short when he saw me, and went perfectly still, eyes locked on mine. Recognition flickered, then confusion. Or annoyance. Possibly abject horror. Hard to tell.
I gave him the kind of careful smile reserved for someone who’s seen you at your worst but hasn’t figured out where they know you from yet.
He didn’t smile back. He stood there, completely still, like someone had hit pause on the movie of his life.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asked, voice low and flat, directed squarely at me.
Dig, still nursing his drink, glanced between us with a spark of curiosity. “Well. This just got interesting.” Then, behind the rim of his glass, he added in a low whisper, “You neglected to mention he’s hot.”
Magnolia tossed a rag over her shoulder and gave me a look. “Ignore my brother,” she said, nodding toward Charlie, who was still planted by the door like he was debating whether or not to bolt. “He barks louder than he bites. How long are you in town?”
Charlie muttered a string of words under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “not wrong.”
“I’m staying with Doyle and Jordan for a little while,” I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Just until I… figure some things out.”
Dig, perched on the stool beside me, took a long sip of his cocktail and, without missing a beat, said, “I’m in town for the weekend, hanging with my baby mama while she gets settled. And it appears she’s doing great at making friends already, aren’t you, sweetie?”
He shot me a grin so dazzling it probably should’ve come with a lens flare, then patted my knee like we were starring in some twisted version of domestic bliss.
I jabbed an elbow into his side, hard enough to earn a satisfying yelp.
Magnolia blinked at us. “Oh. Wow. That’s—”
“A lie,” I said quickly, offering a smile that barely passed for polite. “All of it. Except for the part where he’s only here for the weekend. Unfortunately, that one’s true.”
“Rude,” Dig muttered, rubbing his side. “I was going to take you to brunch tomorrow. Now I might fake my own death.”
“You already did that,” I said. “In 2017. After that guy ghosted you and you couldn’t face your co-op shift.”
“That was a spiritual death, Tally. Totally different.”
Charlie looked like he was trying to decide whether to ask more questions or walk straight into the ocean.
He stepped up beside Magnolia, resting one forearm on the bar in practiced comfort, but there was a chip in his armor, in the set of his shoulders, like he couldn’t tell if he was joining a conversation or crashing it.
Magnolia shot him a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it side glance—a quiet little well, look who’s participating in group dynamics moment.
“So,” Charlie said, voice low and a shade too careful. “You two aren’t… together?”
Dig and I both barked out a laugh at the same time.
“No,” we said in perfect unison.
“But she is my soul mate,” Dig added, clutching his chest with all the theatrical flair he was born with. “We’ve just transcended the need for physical intimacy.”
“Or basic communication skills,” I muttered, elbowing him again.
Magnolia’s brows lifted ever so slightly as she turned to look at her brother. Not with surprise exactly—more like she was trying to clock whatever new social calculus he was running. She passed him a beer from the tap, and he took it without taking his eyes off me.
Charlie didn’t say anything. He watched me over the rim of his glass, his expression unreadable. Almost as if he hadn’t decided yet if I was trouble, or if he already knew I was.
“Doyle mentioned he had a sister,” Charlie said, his tone low and grouchy. “Didn’t realize she was the type to lurk in the shadows, breaking into places after hours.”
I straightened, lips parting, ready to fire back—but he kept going. “So. You’re crashing here for a while, figuring things out?”
It wasn’t hostile. Not really. But there was an obvious edge underneath it. A warning. Like, don’t come in here and blow up their lives.
Dig set his drink down with a little more force than necessary. “You make it sound like she crawled in through a window. Doyle invited her. She belongs here.”
Charlie’s brow ticked up. “Didn’t say she didn’t belong here. It’s just funny that Doyle left out the part about her proclivity for breaking and entering. Especially with a baby on the way.”
My pulse jumped. The sting hit quick—like someone squeezed lemon juice over an open cut.
I let out a dry laugh. “Well, sorry I didn’t introduce myself with a PowerPoint. Would you like a printed itinerary of all my failures, or should we go with bullet points?”
“Well, a PowerPoint would have been a hell of a lot neater than you attempting to break into your brother’s shop and then… well, you know the rest.”
Magnolia shot Charlie a pointed look but didn’t comment. Instead, she turned to me. “What do you do, Tally? If you’re looking for some temp work while you’re in town, I have a few connections.”
I hesitated. “I’m sort of… in between things right now.”
Dig rolled his eyes. “Don’t let her blasé tone fool you. She’s talented in that New York kind of way where she could do ten things brilliantly but chooses to do one incredibly well and pretend it’s no big deal.”
He turned to Magnolia. “She’s a photographer—one of the good ones. The kind who sees people—like, really sees them. Even when they wish she wouldn’t.”
My throat tightened again, this time for a different reason.
Magnolia leaned back against the bar, tapping a finger to her chin like she was chewing on a thought. After a few beats, her eyes lit up.
“Lee’s playing at this charity gig his mom, Eunice, is putting on for the Daughters of Savannah Civic Society. I’m bartending, Charlie’s showing a piece, Doyle and Jordan are handling refreshments, and Sutton’s catering. A photographer is the missing piece.”
Beside her, Charlie groaned and dragged a hand down his face.
She shot him a look. “Not a word from you. Eunice owes me a favor anyway.” Then she turned back to me, eyes glinting. “You brought your camera to Savannah, I hope?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but Charlie beat me to it.
“Shouldn’t you run this by Doyle and Jordan first?” he asked, not unkind but cautious, like I needed permission to be alive.
My stomach twisted, and heat rose in my cheeks before I could stop it.
“Well,” I said, plastering on a brittle smile. “When you get in touch with my handlers, let me know. In the meantime, I have my camera. I always do.”
I turned on my heel, scooping up my bag. “Come on, Dig.”
He scrambled after me, clutching his drink like a talisman. “Wait up. You forgot your emotional support person.” He turned back to the bar, waving dramatically at Magnolia. “Can I get this in a to-go cup? Savannah’s open-container laws are the only thing keeping me upright right now.”
The door swung shut behind us with a bang that echoed louder than I meant it to.