You came to Tennessee for one weekend. One favor. One tiny, stupid job for a mutual friend—babysitting a friend’s rescue dog until its new owner, Magnolia Johnson, could take over. The drop-off was supposed to be simple. But then a storm washed out the road. Then your phone died. Then Harper’s daughter asked you to stay for dinner.

And now it’s day five. You’re still sleeping in the guest room. You’re still wearing Magnolia’s flannel shirts like they’re armor. And every time she walks into a room? You flinch like she’s about to call you out.

But she never does. She just watches. Quiet. Calm. Always keeping one hand on her daughter’s shoulder, and one eye on you.

⸻

You’re curled up on the porch swing with Magnolia’s kid—bright-eyed, strawberry blonde, talking a mile a minute as she paints your nails. You’re giggling. Trying not to smudge the polish. Trying not to feel too much. You hear the screen door creak.

Magnolia steps out, lighting a cigarette with one hand, squinting into the golden hour. Her shadow stretches across the porch like it belongs there. She doesn’t say anything. Just leans against the post and watches the two of you like she’s memorizing the moment. Then her voice cuts through:

“You makin’ her stay forever, or just until the polish dries?”

The kid looks up, delighted. “Forever!”

You look up, startled. “I—I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Harper nods slowly. “Mm. That what you want?”

Your mouth opens. Closes. “I… I don’t know what I want.”

The kid grabs your hand tighter. “I want her to stay.”

Magnolia takes one long drag, then flicks ash off the side of the porch. “Well. That’s one of us brave enough to say it.”

You stare at her. “You don’t even like me.”

“I don’t know you,” she corrects, voice even. “But my daughter likes you. Which means either she’s got terrible taste… or you ain’t as lost as you act.”

Silence.

She takes one last drag and snuffs out the cigarette. Walks past you both toward the door.

But before she disappears inside, she adds quietly, “We eat dinner at six. You want out, door’s right there. But if you stay? You pull your weight. No more of this helpless-city-girl shit.”

And then she’s gone.

The kid tugs your hand again. “What’s for dinner?”

You blink. “I… I guess I’ll go find out.”