Page 99 of Where the Roses Bloom

“Not entirely inaccurate,” Whit muttered.

Holden gave a sheepish wave. “Hey.”

Before Willow could ask any more questions, Milo let out an excited bark and launched himself from the porch like he’d just realized new people were here. I lunged forward with a curse and caught him mid-air before he could send Willow—and the entire bakery box—flying. Willow gasped as Milo huffed in protest, legs windmilling.

“Milo!” she laughed. “Oh my god…why does he always come for me like I owe him rent?”

“Because he’s a golden retriever,” Beau called from the porch, “and he believes in reincarnation. You probably were a roast chicken in a past life.”

“Or a tennis ball,” Whit added.

Willow arched a brow, steadying the box against her chest as I lowered Milo back to the ground. He sat, tail sweeping the gravel like he hadn’t just tried to end her with love.

“Well,” she said, looking up at me with a half-smile, “he’s lucky I’m in a good mood.”

I brushed a kiss against her temple. “He’s not the only one.”

Behind us, Holden cleared his throat. “I should probably, uh, say hi properly.”

Willow turned toward him, cocking her head like she wasn’t quite sure about him yet. She didn’t know the backstory—just that I’d told her once, a little gruffly, that the youngest Ward brother wasn’t really around anymore.

But she gave him a smile that was gentle enough to offer grace without forgetting the past. “Welcome home,” she said. “You picked a hell of a time to show up.”

Holden nodded. “Yeah. I’m kinda late to a lot of things.”

“You’re here now,” Beau said simply, coming down the steps to meet us. “That’s what matters.”

The driver’s side door finally swung open and Delilah stepped out, sunglasses perched on her head, braid half-undone, eyes narrowed like she was trying to decide whether to hex someone or hug them.

“Well,” she drawled. “Look who grew up.”

Holden’s head jerked toward her just in time to catch a blur of red hair and black leather as she all but launched herself at him. Her arms went around his neck like they hadn’t lost a single year, and to his credit, Holden caught her without toppling over—though he did grunt like he’d been punched in the ribs.

“You asshole,” Delilah said into his shoulder. “You weren’t even gonna send a postcard?”

“Didn’t think I deserved the attention,” he said, voice muffled.

She pulled back just enough to give him a once-over. “You don’t. But I’m glad you’re here anyway.”

Whit cleared his throat. “Hey…I’m glad we’re having these nice reunions and all, but we’ve still got work to do. The main event is tomorrow, and this wexorcism ain’t waitin’ for sentimentals.”

Delilah didn’t even flinch. She just smacked a kiss to Holden’s cheek and turned toward Whit with a gleam in her eye. “Poor baby. You jealous I didn’t jump you instead?”

Whit smirked. “You wish, darlin’.”

Delilah rolled her eyes, then crossed to Willow. “You need a hand?”

“Nah…I think I’m good,” Willows said, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you inside.”

“See ya,” I replied.

We watched the girls go in, Milo trotting behind them like he was fully convinced he would be getting a lemon bar. Holden leaned in, nudging me with his elbow. “So…that’s her, huh?”

I laughed softly. “Not what you expected?”

He met my eyes—lookingdown at me, the lanky bastard.

“She seems perfect for you,” he said.