Page 112 of Where the Roses Bloom

And maybe they were.

Because tonight, the curse was broken.

And tomorrow?

We’d start planting something new.

Epilogue

RHETT

The tree tookto the soil like it already knew it was home.

I watched from the porch, elbows braced on the railing, coffee in one hand, heart in the other—because that’s where she always was. Out in the yard, barefoot with her toes in the dirt, knees of her overalls caked with soil, hair braided and wild all at once.

Willow.

My wife.

And in the sling against her chest, tucked tight in linen and love, was the tiniest Ward.

Hazel.

Ten weeks old and already looking at the world like it was something worth marveling at. She had Willow’s eyes—those deep, witch-gold flecks like sunlight through branches—and the way she stared up at her mama made my knees weak every time.

They were crouched together by the little tree now, the one we planted early in the spring from the sprouted seed we found in the bottle. It had leaves now, soft green and red-veined. We didn’t know what it would become yet—not really.

Didn’t matter to me what she grew into…she was already a miracle.

Willow murmured something to it, fingers gently brushing the soil around the roots. Her other hand curved instinctively around Hazel’s back, and the baby made a contented sound that I heard even across the yard. I’d never seen anything so fuckin’ beautiful…sosacred and right.

I stepped off the porch before I even realized I was moving, bare feet in the grass, the scent of earth and roses in the air. Willow looked up when she heard me, smiling in that way she had—unsurprised, like she knew I couldn’t resist being close to her.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Didn’t like bein’ so far away.”

She laughed. “That porch is twenty feet from the tree.”

I snorted. “Nah…too far.”

I knelt beside her and reached for her hand, brushing my thumb over her knuckles before lifting it to my mouth. I kissed each fingertip slow, then leaned forward and pressed one to the soft crown of Hazel’s head.

“Hey there, little flower,” I murmured. “You like gardenin’ with your mama?”

She stirred a little, making that sweet sleepy noise that always went straight to my chest. Willow rocked her gently, the two of them framed by sunlight and green things, and I couldn’t take it anymore—I kissed her, Willow melting into me, the three of us held in the embrace of the garden.

“You know I’m never gonna stop lovin’ you like this, right?” I whispered. “Never gonna stop needing to touch you.”

She leaned her forehead against mine. “Good…because I’m never gonna stop wanting it.”

We stayed there for a while—just a witch, her little one, and the man who worshiped them both. Hazel sighed in her sleep as Willow pressed her cheek to mine, and the world was quiet in that perfect way it only ever got when the land was listening.

I looked over at the tree—still small, still stretching, but strong. Rooted.

Just like us.

And across the fence line, where the wild trellis arched over the garden path, the roses bloomed.

The curse is broken, but the magic’s just beginning.

You met Silas Ward when he gave up the dress his fiancée never wore. Now find out what happened when the reverend who helped him heal came back to stay—in Where the Sinners Pray.

Still craving Rhett and Willow?