Page 33 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Willow

Preparations needed to be made for the exorcism—or, as we’d started calling it, the wexorcism .

“You should get outta the house for a little while,” Rhett said, brushing my hair back from my face after we’d hauled another round of chairs into the living room from Mabel’s truck.

He kept telling me not to exert myself too much, which was grating on my nerves…

but I couldn’t tell if that was just my hormones or if I was actually annoyed.

I raised an eyebrow. “You trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m tryin’ to keep you from overdoin’ it when you should be lounging around the house like the goddamn queen you are,” he teased, kissing my forehead.

“We’ve got people comin’ to prep the yard for the weekend, and Silas is stress-cleanin’ the porch swing with what I’m pretty sure is holy water. Let me handle this side of things.”

I opened my mouth to argue—but then the door slammed open.

“Willow!” Delilah called from the front room. “I need to run some errands and you’re coming!”

I glared at Rhett. “Did you plan this?”

He shrugged. “‘Course not.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” I drawled, but I still pulled him in by the collar for a kiss. “Suppose I’ve been drafted…so I’ll leave you to it.”

“Just for a couple hours,” Rhett promised. “Go run errands. Eat a pastry, pretend we’re not about to host a shotgun wedding-slash-exorcism in front of half the town.”

“I think it’s gonna be a little more than half,” I said, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “But if I come back to find Whit’s turned the altar into a beer pong table, I’m calling off the whole thing.”

“You should know I would never allow such a thing,” Rhett laughed. “Love you, rosebud.”

Hearing it still made my heart soar. “Love you too.”

Delilah’s Jeep was idling in the driveway, the back seat piled high with canvas bags.

Silas was, as Rhett had told me, cleaning the porch swing, while June worked on the corner—and they appeared to be arguing about something.

I didn’t interrupt…even though me and Rhett were both dying to know what the hell was going on between those two.

I climbed into the Jeep and slammed the door, Delilah totally preoccupied watching Silas.

“Is it just me, or is he down bad for the exorcist?” Delilah asked.

I raised a brow at her, and she smirked.

“So you did see it,” she said.

“Saw it, clocked it, a little too distracted to play matchmaker right now,” I said. “But trust, when we take care of our little haunting, I’ll hop right on it.”

Delilah let out a wicked little laugh and threw the Jeep into gear. “That’s what I like to hear. Let’s get those ghosts handled so we can get Silas laid.”

We cruised out of the gravel drive, dust kicking up behind us, and Delilah drummed her fingers on the steering wheel like she was trying not to look smug.

“You’re awfully chipper for someone dragging me on a grocery run,” I said, eyeing the bags piled in the backseat. “Please tell me this isn’t just to restock the snack table for ghost hunters.”

“Oh, it’s not just that,” she said, breezily. “We’ve got a lot to pull together. Jasmine’s making lemon bars. Mabel’s in charge of punch. My friend Flora said she might bring tarot cards—so naturally, I’m running point.”

“Wait, what?”

Delilah’s mouth twitched. “Oops. Forget I said that.”

“You just said tarot cards, and I don’t think we’re going to need those for a grocery trip.”

Delilah just grinned. “You never know when a prophetic reading might help you find the best aisle for organic peanut butter.”

I squinted at her. “Delilah.”

“Yes, bride-to-be?”

“You’re throwing me a party.”

“Who, me?” she said innocently, eyes fixed on the road.

“You are,” I accused. “You’re throwing me some kind of party and you’re trying to act like we’re just going to get crackers and ghosthunting snacks.”

“Look, all I’m saying is—maybe—when a woman is about to host a supernatural rite of passage-slash-marriage celebration, maybe her coven of baddie acquaintances would like to honor that. That’s all.”

“You said coven.”

“I said what I said.”

I let out a breath, torn between suspicion and laughter. “Delilah, I swear to God, if this involves some kind of game where people guess what kind of lingerie I’d wear?—”

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “This is Willow Grove, not Hellmart. There’s no lingerie guessing. No ‘how many babies can you name in sixty seconds’ bullshit. We are talking pastries. Possibly punch. Some light spellwork and gossip. You’ll survive.”

We turned onto Sycamore Street instead of continuing toward Main Street.

“This party is happening at the library?”

“Of course not ,” she said cheerfully. “I, uh, have to pick up something. For the house. For the—wexorcism.”

“That’s not even a convincing lie.”

“You’re not supposed to be sharp enough to question it! You’re supposed to be floaty and bridal and dazed with love!”

“I am all those things,” I muttered, “but I still have working eyes, Delilah.”

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 deserve something . 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 my friends .

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 read SACRED UNION, CURSED HOUSE and 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.”

“Or spiritually armed,” Delilah added, gesturing toward the punch bowl. “That’s fortified with elderflower and rosehip for heart-healing.”

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” I stammered. “I mean…I’m so sorry, but I don’t even remember everyone’s name.”

“Well, I’m Delilah,” Delilah said.

“Very helpful,” I shot back.

“We haven’t really talked much,” Jamie said, stepping forward to offer his hand. “Jamie Wright. You came into the bookstore looking for stuff on hauntings a few weeks back…figured that made you my people. And this is my cousin Flora.”

The blonde stepped forward, her handshake warm but steady. “It’s a pleasure,” she said. Her eyes flicked over me, sharp but kind. “I go way back with the Wards…wasn’t sure how Rhett could’ve possibly pulled a witch, but Jamie was confident.”

“I’m not really a witch,” I started, but Jasmine cleared her throat.

“The magic you worked at Anita Mae’s delivery says otherwise.”

Flora’s gaze didn’t waver. “See, that’s the thing. Around here, ‘witch’ isn’t some fixed category. It’s a sliding scale. You make tinctures, you trust your gut, you walk into haunted houses without blinking? That’s witch enough for me.”

She sipped her punch, but her eyes stayed on me like she was reading something no one else could see. “Truth is, any woman who owns what she is—and doesn’t flinch when the world tries to shame her for it—is already halfway to witchdom.”

I let out a startled laugh, cheeks warm.

“Plus,” she added, smile curling at the edges, “you’ve got the Ward look now.”

I blinked. “What look? ”

Her gaze softened just a little. “The look of someone who’s seen what can’t be unseen. Who’d face down a demon before breakfast and still remember to say thank you at the bakery. All the Wards carry it… though not so much these days. Not since you came to town.”

Something in her tone sent a ripple through me—like she meant more than she said, like she knew more than I’d asked.

“Yeah…maybe we should talk more sometime,” I said, voice a little unsteady.

“Maybe we should.”

Flora clinked her glass against mine, a soft, amused little cheers, and turned to help Ivy with the banner—finally getting it strung across the window where it caught the afternoon light like a wink.

“Well,” Delilah said, clapping her hands. “Now that our bride has been emotionally disarmed, how about we eat too many scones and cry about the power of love?”

“I thought you said this wasn’t going to be that kind of party,” I muttered.

“It wasn’t,” Delilah shot back. “But now I’m in my feelings.”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling as I took a seat at the table. Jasmine sat beside me, using the hand not holding her baby to pass over the lemon bars. “For the record, even I’m a little emotional,” she murmured.

We all got our own glasses of punch—which, thanks to Jamie, had not been spiked prior to our arrival—and then Delilah raised her glass. “To sacred unions and cursed houses,” she said.

“To women who don’t flinch,” Jamie added.

“To lemon bars and love spells,” Jasmine grinned.

Then they all looked at me.

I blinked. “Uh…to friends who throw weird-ass parties in libraries? ”

Delilah laughed. “Cheers!”

Then we all clinked glasses…and I realized I wasn’t just Rhett Ward’s woman anymore. I wasn’t the outsider who was still carving her way in.

No…this crooked, haunted, magical place had made room for me.

I was home.