Page 35 of Where the Roses Bloom
“Maybe you are,” I said. “You ever think of that?”
She smiled—but it was softer now, like I’d disarmed her.The song faded out, and still we didn’t stop. I just held her there in the glow of the fireflies, turning slow circles in the grass with the waterfall spilling silver behind us.
She leaned her cheek against my chest again, quiet for a long moment before she said, “You really believe it, don’t you?”
I didn’t ask what she meant. I knew.
The curse.
I swallowed, tightening my arms around her. “I didn’t used to. Thought it was just Grandma Hazel talkin’. Folks say all kinds of things when they’re grieving.”
“But now?”
“Now I’ve watched Silas lose the love of his life. Watched Beau run off every good woman who’s ever looked twice at him. And I’ve seen my reflection in a window more than once and thought I saw my father’s eyes starin’ back.” I looked down at her, brushing her hair back. “So yeah. Sometimes I do.”
She was quiet again. Thoughtful.
“Would it scare you,” she asked slowly, “if I did a little witchcraft back at the house?”
My brows ticked up. “You mean…like, actual spells?”
“Not the kind with toads and eye of newt,” she said, grinning against my shirt. “Just…protection stuff. Cleanse the space. Sweeten the air. Maybe ask whatever’s lingering to let you keep the things you care about.”
My chest ached at that.
At the way she said it like I was already hers.
“I wouldn’t be scared,” I said. “Not if it’s you doin’ it.”
“You think our ghost would mind?”
“Honestly?” I kissed her forehead. “I think whatever’s in that house wants us together.”
Willow tilted her face up to mine, eyes gleaming in the dim light like dusk-swept glass.
“It does feel like fate, doesn’t it? That I ended up inyourdriveway. That you had a place for me to stay…”
She looked almost afraid to say the next part, but she did.
“The night we first kissed, the roses on my windowsill bloomed. It was…it was strange, they shouldn’t have done that. Not yet. You didn’t put them there…did you?”
I shook my head.
Willow breathed out, the sound catching in her throat like a spell being cast and pulled taut. “So either your ghost is playing matchmaker, or this is something bigger.”
“Maybe it’s both,” I said, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Maybe she’s just helping along what was already written.”
She shivered in my arms, but not from cold. “Rhett…”
“I don’t know what to call it,” I murmured, dipping my forehead to hers. “I just know that I want it. Wantyou.Ever since I handed you that cup of coffee the first morning I saw you.”
Her breath caught—just a hitch—but I felt it in the space between us, in the shift of her body as she leaned closer. Her hand curled against my chest, right over the beat of my heart.
And then she kissed me.
Soft, at first. Just the brush of her lips against mine.
But it deepened fast, whatever restraint we’d been holding onto all night had finally snapping. She rose up on her toes and I caught her, one hand at her lower back, the other tilting her chin so I could kiss her deeper. Hungrier.
