Page 83 of Where the Roses Bloom

The breath went out of me like I’d been punched in the gut. I tucked her tighter into my chest, kissed her hair.

“You’re mine because youchooseto be,” I whispered. “That’s different. That’s sacred.”

Her fingers curled into my shirt.

“And that asshole ain’t the only thing hauntin’ this land,” I said. “Maybe I only half-believe it, but if I’m leanin’ in…Isadora brought you here for a reason. Hazel wanted us to be together. And they’re here too, rootin’ for us. He’s not strong enough to steal this place from us, or to steal you from me.”

Willow didn’t say anything at first, just pressed her face into my chest like she could burrow right through me.

“You really think that?” she asked, her voice muffled against my skin.

I nodded into her hair. “Yeah. I do. Maybe I didn’t used to, but now?”

I tipped her chin up gently so she could see me when I said it.

“You were meant to be here. Meant to find this house. Meant to love it back to life. And Carter Thompsoncan rot in whatever space between worlds he’s crawlin’ around in—because he can’t touch what we’ve built.”

Her hand slid up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone.

“We have to finish this,” she said. “We have to get rid of him.”

“We will,” I said. “But for now…tell me about the baby?”

Willow’s face softened instantly, the tension melting from her brow. This…this was her happy place, the thing she loved most. My heart warmed at seeing her light up with it, with the joy of helping moms…and fuck me, it made me want to knock her up more than ever.

Her lips curled into a small smile. “She’s perfect. Anita Mae Evers. Full head of dark hair and the most dramatic scowl I’ve ever seen on a newborn.”

I chuckled. “Strong lungs, huh?”

“She screamed the second she hit the air,” Willow said, that quiet light blooming brighter now. “And then she latched like she’d been planning it all nine months. Jasmine was incredible—so calm, so steady. Caleb cried. I pretended not to notice, but he cried.”

The more she talked, the more alive the room felt. The cold that had lingered all day—the eerie stillness that had clung to the corners of the house—seemed to recede, drawn back by the warmth in her voice.

“It felt like everything was working the way it was supposed to,” she said. “No fear, no drama. Just a baby being born, like the world hadn’t forgotten how to do that.”

I stroked her hair. “Sounds nice.”

She nodded against me. “It was. The kind of moment that makes you feel like everything broken can still be put back together. You should’ve heard her cry, Rhett. It echoed through the whole house…chased every shadow away.”

“I’d believe it,” I murmured. “Sounds like that baby’s already got a little magic in her.”

She smiled into my chest, and I held her close, letting the warmth of her words fill every corner that had gone cold. This—this talking, this remembering, this honoring of something new and bright—was a ritual. A kind of banishment.

We laid there in that glow for a while, our bodies wrapped together like nothing could touch us, like warmth and words alone could keep the dark at bay.

Then Willow went quiet again—not in the way she’d been earlier, with fear knotted tight in her throat. This was different. Hesitant. Almost shy.

She lifted her head from my chest and looked at me, her brows pinched like she was working through how to say something without spooking either of us.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” she said.

I brushed a thumb along her temple. “You can tell me anything.”

She hesitated. “My period’s late.”

My heart didn’t stop—but it definitely caught. I waited.

“I don’t know anything for sure yet,” she added quickly, her voice low. “I haven’t taken a test. I…I don’t want to just yet. I think I need to sit with it a little longer.”