Page 8 of Midnight at the Magnolia

“I’m so sorry about this,” Ethan mutters, his face flushed with embarrassment. The tips of his ears have turned red, and I find the sight absurdly endearing.

Oh, darling, if only that was the worst of your worries.

I look up at him, suddenly hyperaware of our proximity. The heat from his body radiates against me, a temptation I can’t afford to indulge in. “Don’t worry about it, sugar. Accidents happen. Though I gotta say, I usually save the wet t-shirt contests for after hours. You’re getting a sneak preview, Agent. Hope you can handle it.”

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the world falls away. I can see the flecks of gold in Ethan’s eyes, could count every eyelash if I wanted to. My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a dangerous warmth blooming in my chest.

Ethan’s gaze drops to my lips, and I feel a surge of heat that has nothing to do with the spilled coffee. For a wild, reckless moment, I want him to kiss me. I want to taste the danger on his lips, to lose myself in the oblivion of his embrace.

But reality comes crashing back with all the subtlety of a jazz funeral. I am a vigilante, my hands stained with the blood of those I’ve judged unworthy. He is an FBI agent, sworn to uphold the very laws I break in the name of justice. This can never work. We are star-crossed in the worst possible way.

In another life, we could have been something beautiful.

In this one, we’re on a collision course to mutual destruction.

I clear my throat, taking a step back. The loss of his warmth is like a physical ache. “I think we’ve salvaged what we can,” I say, my voice hoarser than I’d like. “Though I gotta say, Agent, if this is how you treat all your confidential files, I’m a little worried about national security. Maybe stick to crayons next time, yeah? Less mess, more color. Win-win.”

Ethan blinks, as if coming out of a trance. “Right. Yes. Thank you, Celeste.” He gathers up the damp files, but I can feel his eyes on me. His brow furrows slightly, as if he’s trying to solve a particularly vexing puzzle. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

Does he see the mask, the carefully crafted persona of the sassy waitress?

Or does he glimpse the monster that lurks beneath, the avenging angel with blood-soaked wings?

“Is everything okay?” I ask, fighting to keep my voice steady even as anxiety claws at my insides like a caged beast.

Ethan hesitates, and I brace myself for the worst. “Celeste... that man you mentioned last night. The one who collapsed outside the diner. Can you tell me more about what happened?”

One slip, one moment of weakness, and everything could come crashing down.

Ice floods my veins. I’d hoped he’d forgotten about that slip, that momentary crack in my armor. I turn away, busying myself with cleaning up the last of the spill. My hands shake slightly, and I pray he doesn’t notice.

“I told you, sugar, it wasn’t anything unusual. Just a tragic accident. Heart attack or something, I guess.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, like the dregs of day-old coffee.

I can feel Ethan’s eyes on me, assessing, analyzing. When he speaks again, his voice is soft, almost tender.

“I understand. But if you remember anything, anything at all, please let me know. It could be important. You might have seen something crucial without even realizing it.”

I turn back to face him, my body tensing slightly. “Some things in this city are better left alone, Agent. Trust me on that.” I force a smile that feels more like a grimace. “I should get back to work. Was there anything else you needed? Besides a lesson in basic coffee safety, I mean? Or perhaps a crash course in the art of New Orleans’ secrets?”

For a moment, I think Ethan might push further, might peel back the layers of lies and half-truths I’ve wrapped myself in. But then he shakes his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “No, thank you. You’ve been very helpful. More than you know.”

“Glad I could be of service,” I reply, unable to keep a hint of bitterness from my voice. “It’s what I do best—cleaning up messes and keeping secrets. The twin pillars of the service industry, wouldn’t you say?”

As he gathers his things to leave, I feel a confusing mix of relief and regret wash over me. I’ve gotten the information Ineeded, a treasure trove of data that could prove invaluable in my mission.

But at what cost? The connection I feel with Ethan is undeniable, a spark that threatens to ignite into an inferno. But it’s also dangerous, a flame that could burn us both to ashes.

“Celeste,” Ethan says, pausing at the door. The way he says my name sends shivers down my spine. “Thank you. For everything. I mean it.”

I meet his gaze one last time, allowing myself a moment of vulnerability. “Anytime, Agent. You know where to find me. Just try not to drown any more government secrets, alright? Next time, I might not be so quick with the towel. A girl’s gotta have some standards, even in a place like this.”

As the door closes behind him, I let out a shaky breath. The mask I wear feels heavier than ever, a burden that threatens to crush me. I’ve played a dangerous game this morning, dancing on the razor’s edge between truth and lies. And I’m not sure if I’ve won or lost.

I make my way to the back of the diner, my mind whirling with the information I’ve gleaned from Ethan’s files. Names, dates, connections I’d never known existed. I need to warn my contacts, adjust my plans. The stakes have just gotten a lot higher, and one false move could bring everything crashing down.

As I reach for my phone, I catch sight of my reflection in the grimy window. For a moment, I hardly recognize myself. The hardened vigilante, the flirtatious waitress, the scared little girl I’d once been... all these facets of myself seem to blur together, a kaleidoscope of identities that leaves me dizzy and disoriented.

Who even am I anymore?

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