She nods once and moves on, disappearing back into the chaos of the diner.
Jules watches me, but he doesn’t say anything else. We eat, the conversation moving to easier ground, his date tonight, a volunteer who showed up late again, one of the dogs that refuses to be adopted because he’s attached to his blanket.
By the time Mama comes back, she’s carrying two slices of peach pie, syrup glistening under the lights.
“Oh no, Mama,” I say. “We’re fixing to burst.”
“You are not,” she replies, setting them down anyway. “I made it this morning.”
Jules picks up his fork like he never even considered saying no. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s dessert,” Mama says, giving him a look.
“It can be both.”
Mama huffs a quiet laugh and moves on again.
The first bite melts rich and sweet, warm enough to make me close my eyes for a second.
Jules points his fork at me. “Your mother could end wars with this pie.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
After we finish, he checks his watch and slides out of the booth, grabbing his jacket.
“I’ve got to go,” he says. “I’m meeting a man who claims he has depth.”
“Well, that ought to be interesting.”
“It never is.”
I laugh. “Call me if he surprises you.”
“I won’t.”
He bumps his shoulder lightly against mine as he passes. “Try not to spiral about dog treat man.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You are a little.”
“I am not.”
Jules stops, one hand coming to rest on his hip as he looks at me. “Maggie.”
“Go get gussied up.”
He smirks and heads for the door.
I stay behind, stacking the plates before carrying them toward the counter.
Mama’s wiping down a table when I come back, her movements sure like she could do it with her eyes closed.
“You good?” she asks without looking up.
“Yeah.”
She glances at me, her eyes warming just a touch. “You look happy.”
