Page 10 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Rhett

I didn’t sleep much.

Not because of the rain. Or the creaking floorboards. Or the old pipes that liked to groan when the house shifted in its bones.

No—I didn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Willow.

Her mouth on mine, soft and certain. The way she’d tasted—like coffee and sugar and something I hadn’t let myself believe in for a long time.

We’d gone back to bed after it happened. She’d pressed her palm to my chest like she could bring us both back down to earth, whispered goodnight like it wasn’t the most dangerous word in the world. And then she’d drifted off like nothing had changed…back to her room, not mine.

But damn it…everything had changed.

Something in me had tilted. Shifted. Set down roots.

Now, hours later, I stood in the kitchen barefoot, drinking the dregs of the first cup of coffee I’d made too early, waiting for her to come downstairs so I could see if last night still lived in her eyes the way it did in mine.

There was a barbecue today. Whole damn town would be there. Wards and neighbors and friends who hadn’t seen me with a woman in years—especially not one like Willow.

And still, all I could think was: I want her there.

I heard her before I saw her—soft footfalls on the stairs, the quiet creak of the hallway floorboard that always gave you away. My hand tightened around the coffee mug. I didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

And then she stepped into the kitchen.

She looked like morning.

Hair a little mussed, lips still sleep-soft, wearing one of those oversized shirts that hit too high on her thighs and made it impossible to think straight.

Bare legs. Bare feet. A yawn half-covered with the back of her hand.

And eyes—those wide, witchy brown eyes—finding mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey,” she said, voice still rough with sleep.

I cleared my throat. “Hey.”

She smiled. Just a little. Like she knew something I didn’t.

I turned away too fast, busying myself with the coffee pot like it hadn’t already been emptied. “I can make breakfast,” I said, and immediately regretted how loud it came out. “If you’re hungry, I mean. I’ve got eggs. Toast. Bacon, if I didn’t let it go bad.”

Her smile widened. “You don’t have to fuss.”

“Not fussin’,” I muttered. “Just bein’ polite.”

She padded closer, warm and drowsy, and the scent of her hit me full force—rosewater and something sweeter. Something all her. My pulse jumped.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I glanced at her, then back at the stove. “Just…wasn’t expectin’ you to look like that. ”

She tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like temptation walked into my kitchen and forgot her pants.”

She laughed—a breathy, delighted sound. And I knew I’d say just about anything to hear it again.

I reached for her waist, palms gentle as I slid them around her and tugged her close.

“Can I kiss you?” I asked, voice quiet.

Her smile softened. She rose onto her toes, nose nearly brushing mine.

“I was hoping you would,” she whispered.

I dipped my head and kissed her slow. Careful. Letting myself sink into the warmth of her mouth, the way she melted into me like we already belonged here, like we’d been kissing in this kitchen forever.

I pulled away, not knowing how far to go…not when this was so new, when we’d just met—even though it felt like I’d known her for a lifetime, like she lived in this house with me . Her smile turned sly, teeth snagging on her lower lip.

“Do it again,” she breathed.

Not careful this time.

Not slow.

Her breath caught, fingers curling in the hem of my shirt as I backed her into the counter, kissing her like I meant to make her feel it all day. Like I couldn’t stop myself. Like I didn’t want to.

Because God help me, I didn’t.

She parted her lips for me, let me in easy, soft moans rising from her throat as I tangled one hand in her hair and the other found the curve of her hip. She fit there like she was made for it. For me.

I wanted her.

Wanted her pressed up against the kitchen cabinets with her legs around my waist. Wanted her laid out across my bed, hair spilled over my pillow, calling my name like a hymn she only sang when she thought no one could hear.

But more than that, I wanted to deserve her.

So I slowed it down.

Barely.

Let my mouth drag to her jaw, her neck, kissed the place where her pulse fluttered like wings. She shivered and rocked against me, and I bit back a groan.

If I was being honest with myself…I’d wanted nothing more than to take this woman to bed since she’d shown up in my driveway. But I wasn’t raised that way; I was raised to woo a lady. Willow leaned in for another kiss, but I threaded my fingers through her hair and laughed softly.

“I wanna take you out today,” I murmured. “Show you off.”

She smiled, slow and crooked, her breath warm against my cheek. “You want to show me off,” she murmured, “but you don’t even know me.”

That made me pause; she’d said it before, too, and it had struck me as wrong that time too.

My hand stayed cradled at her jaw, thumb brushing over the soft curve of her cheek. She looked up at me like she was teasing—but there was something else behind it. Something that looked an awful lot like fear.

I hated that.

“I know you like biscuits more than pancakes,” I said, quiet. “I know you laugh like you forgot how for a while, but it’s comin’ back to you now. I know you make things grow. I know you got hurt.”

She didn’t look away.

And I didn’t stop.

“I don’t know where you came from,” I said. “Don’t know who broke your heart. But I know I’d give a damn lot to be the one who puts it back together. ”

Silence.

And then her lips parted, breath hitching, and she whispered, “That’s not fair.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to believe you.”

“Then do.”

I kissed her again, soft this time. Like a promise. Like a beginning. Like I meant every word…and I did.

She leaned into it, into me, and when she pulled back, her voice was just above a breath. “Ask me something.”

“What?”

“You said you don’t know where I came from. Ask.”

I studied her face. “You ready to tell me?”

“I think I need to.”

“Okay.” I met her eyes. “What’s your favorite color?”

She laughed. “Not like that…”

“Hey, it’s important.”

She blushed. “Pink.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “We’re off to a good start.”

Willow’s laugh filled the kitchen again and set a fire in my chest. “Rhett…you don’t have to hold back,” she said. Her fingers curled in the fabric of my shirt. “Just ask.”

I nodded. “Okay…how did you end up here, Willow?”

She looked down at our hands, fingers still knotted in the hem of my shirt like she didn’t quite know how to let go.

“I was with someone,” she said. “For a long time. Years.”

I held still. Didn’t press.

She lifted her gaze again, eyes steady. “He never asked me to stay. Never asked me to leave, either. Just…never asked.”

Something in my chest twisted.

“I thought if I waited long enough,” she continued, “he’d come around. But I think I always knew. Then he cheated and I realized…I didn’t even care about the cheating, because I hadn’t loved him in a long time. ”

My jaw tightened. My fingers curled against the small of her back.

“He cheated on you,” I said, low.

She shrugged, but it wasn’t careless. It was heavy. Tired.

“I think it would’ve hurt more if I still loved him,” she murmured. “But by the time it happened, I’d already left. Not officially—but…in my head, I’d packed up and gone. I just hadn’t caught up to myself yet.”

I breathed through the white-hot pressure blooming in my chest.

She didn’t need me to get mad. She didn’t need me to rage or stomp around or break something on her behalf. But fuck, I wanted to.

Not because he touched someone else—but because he didn’t see her. Because he didn’t fight to keep her. Because he let her go without even realizing she was already gone.

“You deserved more,” I said, my voice rough.

She shrugged. “Maybe.”

“I mean it, Willow. You don’t let a woman like you slip through your fingers. You build a goddamn life around her.”

“Rhett…” she looked sad. “You don’t even know anything about me. I mean…the attraction is there, yeah. But what if it’s just physical?—”

I stepped back, just far enough to really look at her. Her arms were still wrapped loosely around my waist, but her shoulders were tense, like she was already bracing for something to break.

So I gave her something to hold.

“You wanna know about me?” I asked, voice low. “Okay.”

She blinked, caught off guard.

“I had a girl once,” I said. “Years back. Callie. We were young. Thought that meant forever. But it didn’t.”

Willow’s brow furrowed. I kept going.

“She wanted outta this place. Bigger things. Bigger life. I wanted to stay. We both thought the other would come around.” I shook my head. “Neither of us did.”

She didn’t speak, just watched me. Waiting.

“I stayed in this house. Took care of Hazel. Callie left. We stopped talkin’ not long after. And for a while, I told myself that was love. That what we had was it.”

I looked down at her then. At the woman standing in my kitchen with bare legs and wary eyes and a history I didn’t know but wanted to carry anyway.

“It wasn’t. Not like this. Not like you.”

Her eyes went wide.

“I’ve had pretty,” I said. “Had fun. Had people who said they’d stay and didn’t. But I’ve never had this. Never had someone I wanted to build somethin’ with before I even knew her favorite song. Never had someone who made this old house feel like it was breathin’ again.”

Willow’s fingers tightened in my shirt.

“And maybe it is physical, right now,” I said. “How could it not be, lookin’ at you? But don’t insult what we’ve got by pretendin’ it’s just that .”

Her throat bobbed.

“I feel you,” I whispered. “Like you were planted in my bones before I ever saw your face.”

She moved her hands to my face, thumbs gliding over my cheekbones. “This doesn’t feel real,” she whispered.

“That’s why I wanna take you out,” I said. “Wanna feed you good food and dance with you barefoot in the grass. Let the world see you. Let you see it. Remind you there’s still joy out there…that this?—”

I paused, brushing my thumb beneath her eye.

“That what we’ve got here? It ain’t a dream.”

Her breath hitched. I felt it in my chest.

“It’s not just the house makin’ magic, Willow,” I murmured. “It’s you. You walk in and things bloom. ”

Willow’s lips parted like she wanted to answer—but didn’t know how. So she didn’t. She just leaned in and laid her head against my chest, right over the place where my heart was kicking around like it had too much to say and not enough words to say it.

I wrapped my arms around her. Held her like she’d always belonged there.

And for a long moment, neither of us moved.

The house breathed around us, old floorboards sighing, windows blushing with early sun. Somewhere outside, the wind rattled the porch chimes Hazel used to hang by the stairs, and I swore I could hear the garden growing.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

“I know.”

I didn’t tell her not to be.

I didn’t promise it wouldn’t hurt.

I just tightened my arms around her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“You don’t have to trust the world yet,” I murmured. “Just trust me.”

She looked up, those witch-gold eyes soft.

“I think I already do,” she said.

And when she kissed me again—slow, grateful, honey-warm—I knew I was already hers.

Even if she didn’t believe it yet.