She waves me off without turning around.
I slide into the booth and let my head tip back against the seat. The diner noise surrounds me. A little boy whines about green beans. Someone laughs loudly near the counter. Coffee brews somewhere behind the kitchen line. Usually, this place eases my nerves. Right now, my body feels wound too tight.
I pull my phone out and look at the last message from Jules.
Jules: All clear here.
Still, the knot in my chest refuses to ease. The image of some of those kennel doors standing open keeps creeping back into my head. If Jules had arrived later this morning, some of the dogs could have gotten loose near the road. Elvis especially. That dog has the survival instincts of a baked potato.
“Sweetheart?”
I blink and look up. Mama slides a plate in front of me filled with fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and a biscuit swimming in gravy. Comfort food, the southern cure for emotional collapse.
“You tryin’ to feed an entire football team?”
“You need meat on your bones.” She slides into the opposite side of the booth. “Now start talkin’.”
I stare down at the plate. Steam curls up from the mashed potatoes. My appetite should be gone, but the smell makes my stomach growl. Apparently, anxiety burns calories.
Mama watches me carefully while I pick up my fork.
“What’s really goin’ on?” she asks quietly.
I chew slowly, buying myself time. Where do I even begin?
Mama, my shelter got broken into, somebody vandalized your car, and I’m tangled up emotionally with a man who moves through Savannah surrounded by security guards and enough mystery to make any sane woman run in the other direction.
I exhale slowly. “You ever get the feelin’ your life’s startin’ to spin sideways?”
Mama snorts. “Sweetheart, I had you at seventeen. My entire twenties were one long sideways spin.”
That earns a smile from me.
She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “Maggie.”
My throat tightens.
“I don’t know what’s happenin’,” I admit quietly. “The shelter break-in, your car gettin’ vandalized and…”
I trail off because saying it out loud makes it feel real.
Mama’s expression hardens. “You’re sweatshirt being left in my car.”
“Yes. It’s connected. I just don’t know why.”
Alexei’s face pushes into my thoughts again. His quiet intensity. The bodyguards. The way people around him move like they expect trouble before it arrives.
Mama studies me closely, then her eyes narrow.
“This about that handsome man?”
Embarrassment climbs into my cheeks immediately.
“Mama.”
“What? I heard what Jules said the other night.” She lifts one shoulder. “And I see it on your face now.”
Before I can argue, the bell over the diner door rings. I glance up automatically, and the tension leaves my shoulders all at once.
