Page 10 of Where the Roses Bloom
There was something in his voice when he said it—stayawhile—that made heat unfurl in my belly. It almost…no, it would be ridiculous.
But it almost sounded like hewantedme to stay.
“Alright,” I said, folding my napkin slowly. “One night.”
“That’s all it takes,” Mabel muttered as she passed by with a plate of pancakes.
I glanced at Rhett. He was smiling into his cup like he hadn’t heard her, but I could see it—the faintest flicker of hope.
I liked the way it looked on him.
CHAPTER 4
Willow
Willow Grove’slibrary smelled like old paper and lavender polish and dust warmed by sun through wavy glass. It had a little bell on the door that jingled like a charm, and Delilah had hung dried herbs above the windows—tied in tidy bundles with red thread.
It wasn’t big. Just two rooms and a reading nook with a loveseat that squeaked when you sat down too fast. But it wasperfect.
I’d been in Willow Grove a week now. One night had turned into two, then three. By this time, Mabel had stopped asking if I was staying and already had honey biscuits ready to go every morning at the diner.
I didn’t know if I was staying forever…but I hadn’t left yet.
Which meant I’d need to figure some things out.
A job, for one. My savings weren’t nothing, but they weren’t much either—not after an ever-profitable career as a natural doula and herbalist and the slow, painful end of a life I thought I wanted.
A place to live, too. The motel was clean and quiet, but the walls were thin, and the water never got quite hot enough.
I glanced around the library like it might answer for me. It didn’t.
Just kept being exactly what it was—quiet, sunlit, too good to be mine.
I wandered back to the community bulletin board like it might have changed since the last time I stared at it. Same little cork squares…same hopeful thumbtacks. Same mix of sharpie flyers and torn notebook paper.
NEED SOMEONE TO WALK MILO (GOLDEN RETRIEVER, 90 LBS OF JOY AND TERROR)
Spanish Tutoring, Beginners Welcome, Call Maria
Gas Station Looking for Weekend Cashier
Nothing that screamedyou were meant for this.
But then again…I hadn’t known I was meant for Willow Grove either. Not until the map rerouted me here like it knew something I didn’t.
I reached for the pen dangling from a string, started scrawling my name on the edge of the dogwalking sign?—
And then I heard it.
A thump. A soft curse. Something wooden shifting wrong.
“Goddamn it,” said a voice I didn’t realize I’d been listening for.
I turned to see Rhett crouched near a shelf, back to me—one boot braced, the other planted, a pencil behind his ear and a drill in his hand.
And for a second, I forgot how to breathe.
He looked good. Unfairly good. Like the kind of man whocould split a log, build a porch, and wreck you in the back of his truck without breaking a sweat (not that I’d been thinking about that…not at all). His shirt was clinging to his back, damp with effort. There was a smudge of sawdust on his arm and a nick just below his elbow like he’d tried to make this place better and gotten bit for his trouble.
