Page 41 of Where the Roses Bloom

No—it had been roughly the same since I'd moved back home years ago to take care of Grandma Hazel, and I'd never really customized the place. All that was here was a desk, an old rocking chair, the four post bed, and an antique armoire.

But this morning, it felt like home—like I had everything I needed—because of the woman sleeping soundly beside me.

Willow was curled on her side, long brown hair spread in gorgeous waves across the white floral pillowcase, brow furrowed just slightly as she dreamed. I kept my arms around her, just watching her sleep, enjoying the sight of her.

Would she wake up and tell me it was all a mistake? Just…impulse?

God, I hoped not.

I wasn’t naïve. I knew the difference between lust and love, and I knew what it looked like when someone got carried away by the heat of the moment. But last night hadn’t felt like heat—it had felt like gravity. Like everything in me hadbeen pulled toward her for years without knowing her name, and now the world had finally tipped back into alignment.

I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, careful not to wake her. She sighed softly and burrowed closer, pressing her bare legs against mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Maybe it was.

Because nothing had ever felt more right than holding her.

I thought about what she’d said—just come inside me—and the way her voice had cracked when she said she wanted a baby. She hadn’t taken it back. Hadn’t flinched or laughed or said she was joking.

And me? I hadn’t felt panic. I’d felt…peace.

Maybe my blood had always been waiting for hers. Maybe this was what breaking the curse looked like—not some big ceremony, not some holy incantation—but just choosing something different.

Choosingher.

I looked down at the soft curve of her stomach and, God help me, I imagined it round. Full. I imagined her laughing barefoot in the garden, hand on her belly. I imagined a little girl with her fire or a boy with her eyes. A family. Ours.

And I didn’t feel scared. I felt ready.

That realization struck hard and fast, nearly knocked the wind out of me.

I hadn’t felt ready for anything in a long damn time.

Not when I was being the oldest brother—taking care of my siblings after our folks died, taking care of Hazel when she got sick, taking care of the house. But now…now I felt like maybe I was allowed to want something.

Like maybe I could build something that lasted, something that didn’t get ripped away.

Willow stirred beside me with a sleepy little moan, onehand drifting across my chest. Her eyes fluttered open slowly, still hazy with sleep.

“Mornin’,” I said, voice rough from not using it.

She blinked up at me with those witch gold eyes, then smiled. “Hi.”

Just that—hi, as if we’d been waking up together for years.

“Sleep okay?” I asked.

She nodded, stretching like a cat and wincing just a little. “Mmm…I’m sore.”

“Good sore?”

Her smile turned wicked, lazy. “Very.”

I leaned in, brushing my lips across her temple. “I can run you a bath if you want. Or just keep you in bed all day.”

Willow laughed, low and breathy. “Tempting…”

Then her smile faltered, just a flicker, and I saw the thought cross her face—that moment of hesitation, of wondering if we were going to pretend last night didn’t mean everything.