Page 94 of Where the Roses Bloom
Hearing it still made my heart soar. “Love you too.”
Delilah’s Jeep was idling in the driveway, the back seat piled high with canvas bags. Silas was, as Rhett had told me, cleaning the porch swing, while June worked on the corner—and they appeared to be arguing about something. I didn’t interrupt…even though me and Rhett were both dying to know what the hell was going on between those two. I climbed into the Jeep and slammed the door, Delilah totally preoccupied watching Silas.
“Is it just me, or is he down bad for the exorcist?” Delilah asked.
I raised a brow at her, and she smirked.
“So youdidsee it,” she said.
“Saw it, clocked it, a little too distracted to play matchmaker right now,” I said. “But trust, when we take care of our little haunting, I’ll hop right on it.”
Delilah let out a wicked little laugh and threw the Jeep into gear. “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s get those ghosts handled so we can get Silas laid.”
We cruised out of the gravel drive, dust kicking up behindus, and Delilah drummed her fingers on the steering wheel like she was trying not to look smug.
“You’re awfully chipper for someone dragging me on a grocery run,” I said, eyeing the bags piled in the backseat. “Please tell me this isn’t just to restock the snack table for ghost hunters.”
“Oh, it’s not just that,” she said, breezily. “We’ve got a lot to pull together. Jasmine’s making lemon bars. Mabel’s in charge of punch. My friend Flora said she might bring tarot cards—so naturally, I’m running point.”
“Wait, what?”
Delilah’s mouth twitched. “Oops. Forget I said that.”
“You just said tarot cards, and I don’t think we’re going to need those for a grocery trip.”
Delilah just grinned. “You never know when a prophetic reading might help you find the best aisle for organic peanut butter.”
I squinted at her. “Delilah.”
“Yes, bride-to-be?”
“You’re throwing me a party.”
“Who, me?” she said innocently, eyes fixed on the road.
“You are,” I accused. “You’re throwing me some kind of party and you’re trying to act like we’re just going to get crackers and ghosthunting snacks.”
“Look, all I’m saying is—maybe—when a woman is about to host a supernatural rite of passage-slash-marriage celebration, maybe her coven of baddie acquaintances would like to honor that. That’s all.”
“You said coven.”
“I said what I said.”
I let out a breath, torn between suspicion and laughter. “Delilah, I swear to God, if this involves some kind of game where people guess what kind of lingerie I’d wear?—”
“Oh please,” she scoffed. “This is Willow Grove, notHellmart. There’s no lingerie guessing. No ‘how many babies can you name in sixty seconds’ bullshit. We are talking pastries. Possibly punch. Some light spellwork and gossip. You’ll survive.”
We turned onto Sycamore Street instead of continuing toward Main Street.
“This party is happening at the library?”
“Ofcourse not,” she said cheerfully. “I, uh, have to pick up something. For the house. For the—wexorcism.”
“That’s not even a convincing lie.”
“You’re not supposed to be sharp enough to question it! You’re supposed to be floaty and bridal and dazed with love!”
“I am all those things,” I muttered, “but I still have working eyes, Delilah.”
