Page 12 of Where the Roses Bloom
There was something in his voice—something soft and stubborn, like he didn’t see this as a big deal. Like he’d already decided helping me wasn’t a burden, it was just…natural.
I wanted to say thank you, but the words caught in my throat.
Instead, I smiled. “Guess I owe you another biscuit.”
“You keep saying that like it’s a threat,” he said. “But I’ve seen you at Mabel’s. You take your biscuits seriously.”
“Only when they’re good.”
“I’ll try not to disappoint you, then.”
And there it was again—thatthingin his voice. Not teasing, not cocky. Just plain and honest, like he really meant it.
Before I could say anything else, Delilah called from the front of the library: “If you two are done flirting over the Dewey Decimal system, I could use someone to carry this box.”
I flushed.
Rhett didn’t move. Just grinned like he’d won something.
“I’ll let you know if I get any leads,” he said again. Then he turned, grabbed the drill, and went back to work like he hadn’t just knocked all the air out of my lungs.
And somehow, I found myself smiling like maybe I had something to offer, after all.
CHAPTER 5
Rhett
I was still thinkingabout my run-in with Willow when I headed over to Beau’s place, sky bleeding orange behind the pecan trees. I got out of the car and was instantly met by Milo, Beau’s wildly exuberant golden retriever—who tried to tackle me and knock the cooler out of my hands.
Beau did absolutely nothing to stop it.
He never did.
My little brother was out in the driveway, sleeves rolled up and head ducked under the hood of an old Ford pickup that hadn’t run right since Easter. Sweat slicked the back of his neck, darkening the collar of his tee, and the radio on the porch was playing Dolly Parton—our mom’s favorite before she passed, and now Beau’s favorite, too.
“You bring beer?” he asked without looking up.
“‘Course I did.”
I popped the cooler open and handed him one. He took it, cracked it, and muttered a thank-you before going right back to messing with the engine. I leaned against the side of thetruck, sipping mine in silence for a while, listening to the cicadas start to sing.
Eventually, he said, “You’re quiet. That usually means one of two things.”
“Yeah?”
“Either you’re pissed…or you’re thinkin’ about a woman.”
Milo let out a lowwooffrom where he was chewing a rag near the porch, like he had an opinion too. Beau knew better than anyone that I wasn’t thinking about women very often.
But tonight…well, I didn’t answer.
He glanced at me, then smirked. “So. Which one is it?”
I stared into my beer like it might give me a script. “She’s still at the motel.”
Beau raised a brow. “Willow?”
I nodded, slow. “Ran into her at the library.”
