Page 95 of Where the Roses Bloom

She pulled into the little gravel lot behind the library and parked with a dramatic sigh, tossing her red hair as she turned to face me.

“Okay, fine. You caught me. It’s a bridal-not-a-bridal shower. You come in, you eat a scone, you let us say some nice shit about you, and then we release you back into the wild. Deal?”

I blinked, thrown off by the sincerity in her tone. “Delilah…”

“I know it’s fast and chaotic and not at all what you planned. But you deservesomething. Something small and good before you throw open the doors and make magic out of your grief and joy and everything in between.” She hesitated. “So let us love on you for a minute, yeah?”

My throat tightened. “But…I still don’t even really know anyone here.”

She snorted as if that was the most ridiculous thing I could have possibly said. “Willow, please. You’re one of us—for fuck’s sake, the town is named after you?—”

“It’s not, though?—”

“—and people here already love you. If they haven’t met you…well, that’s just a friend you haven’t made yet, right?”

I looked at her for a second, unable to resist smiling. “Delilah Jessup…you are somethin’ else.”

Delilah winked. “Don’t I know it. Now…let’s go celebrate you, darlin’.”

She hopped out of the Jeep and flounced up the back steps of the library, combat boots thudding on the old wood. I followed more cautiously, clutching my bag, and suddenly wished I’d put on something a little nicer rather than an old pair of overalls and a t-shirt. Because you know…maybe Delilah was right.

Maybe I was allowed to let myself have friends and be celebrated.

Inside, the air smelled like usual: old books and lavender. The lights were soft and golden, the windows draped with sheer white fabric that had never been there before. Someone had strung a wreath of flowers above the arched doorway between the stacks, and faint music played from an old record player in the corner—Fleetwood Mac, of course.

The main room had been transformed. There was a round table covered with mismatched linens and filled with pastries, scones, lemon bars, and tiny iced cakes shaped like hearts. Mason jars full of rosemary and roses sat alongside punch bowls in various shades of blush.

And all around…were myfriends.

Mabel…Jasmine, holding little Anita Mae—plus a couple of folks I’d only ever seen in passing. There was Jamie Wright, one of the men who owned the bookstore, talking to a woman with long silver-blonde hair and blue eyes; and one of the baristas from Sweet Briar (Ivy, if I was remembering correctly), who always remembered my order.

As soon as I crossed the threshold and the soft light settled around me, the entire room went still.

And then?—

“Delilah!” Mabel hissed.

Jasmine whipped around from the punch table, eyes wide, Anita Mae startling a little in her arms. “You were supposed to distract her!”

Ivy held up a glittery banner that readSACRED UNION, CURSED HOUSEand froze mid-hang. “Are we…wait, are we not yelling surprise anymore?”

Delilah threw up both hands in exasperation. “She’s smart! What was I supposed to do? Lie better?”

The blonde cocked her head at us. “You could’ve just said she was needed at the library.”

“I tried misdirection,” Delilah huffed, “but she saw right through me.”

I just stood there, a little stunned, but mostly just…happy. All these people had shown up for me—or maybe for Delilah—but even so, I was grateful for everything I had here. Back in Charlotte, all I’d had was Carter…

…and now I had this.

“You can come in, you know,” Mabel called, stepping forward. “We may have botched the grand reveal, but the lemon bars are delicious.”

Delilah shot finger guns at Mabel like that made it all worth it. “See? All according to plan.”

I stepped deeper into the room, gaze drifting over the table, the hand-tied flowers, the record player. “Y’all…you did this for me?”

Jasmine gave me a smile as she gently settled Anita Mae. “Of course we did. We may be a small town, but we know when someone needs to be celebrated.”