“I always am.”
Jules gives a small nod. “Ain’t that the truth.”
She gives him a look that says she’s not about to argue with that, then turns back to me. “You hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ll bring you something. Don’t look at that menu.”
“We weren’t,” he says, already sliding it aside.
“You better not be.” She tips the coffee pot toward me, eyes narrowing just a touch. “And you—have you eaten anything today?”
I hesitate.
Jules doesn’t even look at me. “This should be interesting.”
“I had a granola bar,” I murmur.
Mama exhales through her nose, slow and unimpressed. “That’s not food.”
“I know,” I agree.
Her mouth flattens into a thin line. “You need something that sticks with you. You can’t keep runnin’ like that.”
“I’m fine.”
“Magnolia.”
My given name. That’s all it takes.
I sigh, dropping my eyes to the table. “Okay, Mama.”
Her hand rests briefly on my shoulder, warm and sure in a way I don’t think about until it’s gone. “I got you.”
She moves off again before I can say anything else, already calling out something to the kitchen.
I watch her walk away. She was only seventeen when she had me. There was no help, no safety net, nobody stepping in to make things easier. She took any work she could find, stood on her feet all day, every day, and built a life from nothing. She never complained, not once.
Jules watches her too, then glances back at me. “You’re about three days away from passing out in front of a kennel.”
“I am not.”
“You absolutely are.” He lifts his cup, taking a slow sip, his eyes still on me over the rim. “And I’m not explainin’ that to a room full of volunteers.”
“I wouldn’t pass out.” I push my hair back off my face, already defensive.
“You lost a fight with a mop bucket.” His brow lifts just enough to make a point.
“It came at me.”
“Mhmm.” He huffs a quiet breath. “Ain’t that somethin’.”
I cut my eyes at him, but there’s no real heat behind it.
He watches me a second longer, then he lets it go.
“So,” he says, easy as anything. “Dog treat man.”
