Page 6 of Where the Roses Bloom
“There’s a diner in town—Mabel’s Table. Best biscuits in three counties. If you’re hungry, I’ll take you, then we’ll figure out your car.”
She looked down at the coffee, like it might tell her what to do.
“I don’t know...I probably look awful.”
“You don’t.”
I said it before I could stop myself—but it was true. As far as I was concerned, she was the prettiest damn thing I’d ever seen.
She looked up at me, cautious now. I could see her sizingme up, deciding if I was dangerous or just country. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the coffee cup.
“I should probably just call a tow,” she said, eyes flicking toward the glove compartment like it might cough up a cell signal.
“You’re welcome to,” I said, careful not to shift closer. “But there’s no service out here. Hasn’t been in years. Land’s got a little too much magic in its bones…my grandma always said the fairies don’t like it.”
Willow laughed softly.
“Right.” Her lips pressed together. “Of course.”
She looked past me toward the trees like she was just now realizing how deep into nowhere she’d ended up.
“You’re not in trouble,” I added, keeping my voice steady. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m parked on your land,” she pointed out.
“You’re stranded,” I corrected. “It happens.”
She hesitated. I could feel her weighing it—her options, her fear, the exhaustion swimming just behind her eyes.
And then something in her shoulders shifted.
Not quite relaxed, but less ready to bolt.
“Okay,” she said. “Breakfast, then a plan.”
I gave her a nod. “I’ll pull the truck up.”
She waited by the car, watching as I turned around and walked back toward the house. When I came back with the truck, she was standing in the same spot, coffee drained, arms wrapped around herself. I opened the passenger side door and pushed it open, Willow peering at me through narrowed eyes.
“You’re not going to murder me, are you?” she asked.
I huffed a laugh. “Not unless you do something unspeakable, like say grits are gross.”
That earned me the first real smile. Not just a polite curve of the lips, but genuine and real damn pretty. It didn’t last long—but it made something funny flip overin my stomach.
“I like grits,” she said cautiously. “When they’re buttery.”
I grinned. “Good answer.”
CHAPTER 3
Willow
Carter’s carsmelled like air freshener and cologne…but Rhett’s truck? It smelled like cedar, motor oil, and soap.
Like…man, in the best way.
Just clean and earthy, like the kind of man who lived alone and kept things simple.
