“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.
Across the lobby, Ivy kneels beside Mr. Pickle’s kennel while explaining very seriously that he needs “good listening ears” if he wants to impress future adopters. He responds by licking her entire face.
Alexei watches the interaction from several feet away while speaking quietly into his phone. He looks tired. And unfairly attractive, standing in the middle of my shelter holding a half-chewed tennis ball Ivy shoved into his hand eight minutes ago.
Luka steps through the front doors carrying two cardboard trays of takeout containers from the barbecue truck still parked outside.
