“Exactly.” Another wave of frustration rolls through me. “That’s all anybody keeps sayin’. Don’t worry. We’re handlin’ it. Stay careful. Meanwhile strange men keep circlin’ the shelter and now you’re followin’ potential stalkers through downtown Savannah like we’re livin’ inside some detective show.”
“At least we’d make it entertainin’,” Jules mutters.
Despite everything, a strained laugh escapes me.
“My nerves are getting’ frazzled,” I admit.
Jules walks closer and side-hugs me.
“You can handle plenty,” he says. “That isn’t the issue.”
“Then what is?”
His eyes search mine before he answers. “The issue is that men like Alexei have spent their whole lives believin’ protection means carryin’ ugly things alone.” He sighs heavily. “And whether we like it or not, ugly things are definitely circlin’ around him.”
A chill creeps down my spine. I remember Alexei outside the shelter yesterday, fury in his icy-blue eyes while security men moved around him like soldiers waiting for orders. I think about how quickly violence shows up under his calm whenever my name and danger come up together.
And I never once doubted he would destroy anybody who tried to hurt Ivy.
Jules groans. “Oh honey, no.”
“What?”
“You’re doin’ the thing again where you start emotionally spiralin’ in complete silence.”
“I’m not emotionally spiralin’,” I say, lifting my chin.
“You absolutely are.”
I roll my eyes weakly while grabbing my keys off the desk. “Come on.”
“Where are we goin’?”
“We still have vendors waitin’ at the market with donations for tomorrow.” I shove my phone into my back pocket and force myself to move before anxiety roots me permanently to the office floor. “And unless one of these rich Savannah ladies plans on donatin’ decorative hay bales through divine intervention, we still need event setup supplies too.”
Jules grabs his clipboard. “Nothin’ says impendin’ emotional collapse like burlap table runners.”
“That’s the spirit.”
He follows me toward the office door before pausing beside me one last time.
“We stay together today,” he says. “No wanderin’ off alone. Not until we know what the hell is goin’ on.”
I nod. At this point, pretending things are normal feels about as believable as a raccoon running the front desk.
By the time Jules and I get to Savannah City Market, it’s hot, noisy, and packed with people squeezing through narrow brick walkways. Tourists wander between booths with lemonade and shopping bags while live guitar music plays under striped awnings. The air is thick with the smell of pralines, barbecue, fried dough, and flowers, mixed with a hint of rain from the river.
Under normal circumstances, I would love this. Now, every crowded aisle feels like a perfect place for someone to hide.
“Stop,” Jules mutters beside me while adjusting the oversized tote bag hanging from his shoulder.
I glance toward him distractedly. “What?”
“Stop doin’ the suspicious little raccoon eyes.” He gestures vaguely toward my face. “Like you’re expectin’ somebody to jump out from behind the candle stand holding a sniper rifle.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“And yet not impossible anymore.”
