Page 2 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Rhett

There was somebody pulled over at the end of my driveway.

I noticed it through the trees that morning—just a flash of color at first, a pale green car where there shouldn’t have been one. It was tucked in just past the curve in the long driveway, where the oak trees thinned out and the gravel shoulder turned soft.

I had no idea why it was there…most folks didn’t come down this way unless they meant to, let alone pull into the long drive up to the old Ward House.

So why the hell was there someone parked there?

It was early, sun still low enough to set everything glowing.

I’d gone out first thing to trim the edge of the blackberry vines from the fence line, sweating already even though it wasn’t past eight.

I popped the occasional berry in my mouth, glancing over at the car every so often to see if anyone got out—probably some drunk kid eager to see the haunted house…

…until an hour passed, and the car still hadn’t moved.

I took a closer look as I sipped coffee on the porch, head cocked, brow furrowed. Old VW Bug…faded paint. A bumper st icker peeling off the back window, some hippie shit from the looks of it. The car wouldn’t have been out of place in town, but I didn’t recognize it.

Which meant it was out of place—because I knew everyone who lived in Willow Grove, and my brother serviced all their cars.

I stood up, wiped my hands on my jeans, and walked back inside the house. I took my time as I poured myself a fresh cup of coffee…then a second one, just in case.

The car was still there when I came back out.

So I went to investigate.

The road was quiet as always, just the wind stirring through the trees and the faint sound of cicadas singing in the grass.

I saw the bumper sticker first—yeah, some hippie shit in all caps: COME AT ME WITH KINDNESS, brO.

The windows of the Bug were blocked by blankets, the hood of the car warm from the sun, but not from the engine.

I got the impression it had been turned off for a while, and I had this horrible, paranoid thought that maybe I was about to find a body.

I knocked softly on the window.

No answer.

But the window was cracked open at the top, so I peered inside…and nearly stumbled back.

She was gorgeous.

It was like I’d found Sleeping Beauty and she needed to be kissed awake…not that I would do that, because that would have been fuckin’ crazy. Instead, I raised my voice and knocked again, stepping back to give her space.

“Ma’am?” I said. “You okay?”

She stirred, eyes fluttering open. The blanket pulled away from the window and then she was blinking at me through the glass—brown eyes wide, disoriented. It was like she wasn’t sure what year it was or where she’d landed .

“Who are you?” she asked.

I gave her a wry smile. “Uh…the man whose land you parked on last night?” I said, then gestured up toward the house. “I live right up that driveway.”

She blinked a few more times, then ran a hand over her face like she could wipe the sleep and regret clean off her skin. Her braid was falling out over one shoulder, dark hair sticking up around her crown, and there were pillow creases on her cheek.

She looked exhausted. Flushed.

Pretty in a kind of ruined way I couldn’t stop looking at.

“Shit,” she muttered, wincing. “Sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t know this was a driveway, I thought it was a street…”

“It’s alright,” I said. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Just figured I ought to check. This road don’t get much traffic, and your car’s been sittin’ here a while.”

She sat up straighter, tugging the blanket tighter around her body like armor. Her gaze dropped to the cup in my hand.

“Is that coffee?”

“It is.” I held it out. “Want it?”

She frowned.

“It’s not spiked or anything, right?”

I impulsively took a sip to show her it was harmless, then I shrugged. “Tastes just fine to me. Hope you don’t mind creamer.”

She hesitated, then cracked the door and took it from me with both hands. Our fingers didn’t touch, but it felt close enough.

There was just something about her…I wanted to know it all.

“Thanks,” she said, then brought it to her lips. I watched her breathe it in first, like it was a ritual.

“Ran out of gas?” I guessed.

She shook her head. “I actually…I don’t know. I think the car might just be dead. She’s been on her last legs for a while.”

I hummed. “My brother has an auto shop right up the road. Could get you a tow, make sure everything’s good to go.”

She winced, like the idea of dealing with anyone else—let alone a mechanic—was too much. Like this moment, this coffee, this quiet morning was all she could manage.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” she said.

Her voice was low, apologetic. She looked back at the car like she might apologize to it too, like she owed everyone something.

She’d had to apologize for a lot. That much was obvious. But…I didn’t think she deserved that.

“You’re not a bother,” I said. “It’s not even half a mile. I can get the can from the garage, see if it’s a fuel thing…if not, Beau can come take a look.”

“Beau?”

“My brother.” I gave her a little smile. “He’s the charming one.”

That earned me the ghost of a smile, quick and unsure.

“So your brother is Beau,” she said. “And you are…?”

I almost laughed. “Rhett,” I said. “Rhett Ward.”

“Is that funny?”

“Just not a lot of people ‘round here that don’t know me,” I said.

“And where exactly is here…?”

“Willow Grove,” I said. “Just about an hour south of Savannah.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. She smiled, tired and pretty, hair falling out of her braid. I should’ve looked away. But I didn’t—not right away. “Well, I’ll give you one funnier.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m Willow. ”

I snorted.

“You’re right. That is funny.” I took a sip of my coffee. “So…what brought you out this way?”

She hesitated. “Oh…um…I’m from North Carolina. I was just passing through.”

“Passing through to…nowhere?” I said, and tipped my head toward the field past the house. “You know the road dead ends, right?”

“Yeah. I didn’t mean to—I guess I was following the GPS and then I wasn’t.” She tucked her legs under her and took another sip of coffee. “It’s been a weird week.”

I didn’t ask.

Didn’t push.

But something about the way she said it stuck in my chest. A weird week. Like she was trying to swallow down something bigger.

Heartbreak, maybe. Or grief.

I’d had more than a few weeks like that myself.

“You eaten?” I asked.

She blinked at me like I’d asked her if she wanted to fly to the moon.

“What?”

“There’s a diner in town—Mabel’s Table. Best biscuits in three counties. If you’re hungry, I’ll take you, then we’ll figure out your car.”

She looked down at the coffee, like it might tell her what to do.

“I don’t know...I probably look awful.”

“You don’t.”

I said it before I could stop myself—but it was true. As far as I was concerned, she was the prettiest damn thing I’d ever seen.

She looked up at me, cautious now. I could see her sizing me up, deciding if I was dangerous or just country. Her fingers curled a little tighter around the coffee cup.

“I should probably just call a tow,” she said, eyes flicking toward the glove compartment like it might cough up a cell signal.

“You’re welcome to,” I said, careful not to shift closer. “But there’s no service out here. Hasn’t been in years. Land’s got a little too much magic in its bones…my grandma always said the fairies don’t like it.”

Willow laughed softly.

“Right.” Her lips pressed together. “Of course.”

She looked past me toward the trees like she was just now realizing how deep into nowhere she’d ended up.

“You’re not in trouble,” I added, keeping my voice steady. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I’m parked on your land,” she pointed out.

“You’re stranded,” I corrected. “It happens.”

She hesitated. I could feel her weighing it—her options, her fear, the exhaustion swimming just behind her eyes.

And then something in her shoulders shifted.

Not quite relaxed, but less ready to bolt.

“Okay,” she said. “Breakfast, then a plan.”

I gave her a nod. “I’ll pull the truck up.”

She waited by the car, watching as I turned around and walked back toward the house. When I came back with the truck, she was standing in the same spot, coffee drained, arms wrapped around herself. I opened the passenger side door and pushed it open, Willow peering at me through narrowed eyes.

“You’re not going to murder me, are you?” she asked.

I huffed a laugh. “Not unless you do something unspeakable, like say grits are gross.”

That earned me the first real smile. Not just a polite curve of the lips, but genuine and real damn pretty. It didn’t last long—but it made something funny flip over in my stomach.

“I like grits,” she said cautiously. “When they’re buttery.”

I grinned. “Good answer.”