Page 15 of Love in Bloom

While climbing the stairs to her apartment, Wren felt lighter than she had in weeks. She hadn’t realized what a burden the subpoena had been. She’d purposely waited until the last moment to comply with it so she could stick it to Miller. You’re not the boss of me! Immature, but satisfying.

Helping Mrs. Nelson had been more satisfying and healing than she’d thought it would be. Yes, she still felt wounded, but the emotional scars felt smoother and softer, like there was less scar tissue. Wren felt a kinship with Mrs. Nelson and she was glad she could help. But, she wasn’t done yet. She still had the annoying deposition, but from what Miller had said, it would be a few questions and they’d handle it in his office. She hoped Miller and the older woman would be able to take the cheating spouse for everything he had. Fools like her and Mrs. Nelson had to stick together.

November

Itwasaglorious,warm day, more like September than November, and Wren had thrown open the front door of Wallflowers, hoping some of the warmth would seep in and to encourage walk-in business. She was dusting and rearranging the gift section and trying to plan the holiday display in her head. Not an easy task since an image of piercing blue eyes kept interrupting her visions of red and green. This was becoming a bad habit. He snuck into her thoughts at the most inopportune times, which was almost always.

She’d been avoiding Miller since the night he had helped her. She’d even had Dale, her part-time delivery man, take the weekly bouquet to AAS for the last two weeks.

Wren looked up from the gift display.Speak of the devil. Trouble stood in her doorway blocking the sun, but she still felt warm. “Counselor,” she greeted coolly and a bit breathily. He’d startled her, after all.

“I thought we were done with that,” Miller said, moving toward her.

“Old habits die hard.” Wren felt him eating up the space as he neared her. She focused on taking a deep breath, but that backfired. The scent of his cologne permeated every cell of her body.Yep, definitelyVersace.The man smelled great and looked even better in his dark suit. There was something about a well-dressed man that always stirred her. He held out his hand.

“Let’s try this again then. Hi, I’m Miller Lynch.”

Wren stared at his hand. Touching him could be dangerous, but it would be rude not to. She wiped her palm on her skinny jeans.

“Hello, I’m Wren Busch,” she said as she shook his hand. His large hand enveloped hers and the rough feel surprised her. She thought a desk jockey like him would have soft, well-manicured hands. She tugged her hand back and tucked both of them into the front pockets of her jeans.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Lynch?” Wren bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face, but the corners of her mouth tilted up.

“Are you always this stubborn?”

Wren chewed the corner of her lip and tapped her chin, making a big show of thinking about his question. She was so busy pretending, she almost missed the interest in Miller’s eyes as he focused on her mouth.

“Yes,” Wren said unapologetically. “I’m usually always this stubborn. It’s a trait that serves me well.”And keeps me safe. Wren licked her lips nervously and then cemented them together to keep her from saying anything else. Miller said nothing, but he continued to stare at her. The second hand on the clock ticked loudly.

What do you want, Trouble?Wren was stubborn and impatient, but now impatient won. She sighed heavily and asked, “What can I do for you, Miller?”

He smiled. Wren recognized victory when she saw it.

“Two things. We have a court reporter scheduled for this afternoon, and because of another scheduling snafu, she’ll have some free time. Any chance you can come over around three o’clock and we can get your deposition done?” Wren walked over to the order board and did a quick check of the orders for the day.

“Looks like I can make that work.” She looked up from the board. “What’s the second thing?”

“I’ll tell you after the deposition.”

“Tell me now.” She narrowed her eyes.

“Nope. Later. I’ll see you at three.” And with that, he turned and left. Wren fumed as she watched him walk out of the shop and cross in front of the picture window. He turned and caught her staring. Wren scowled and waved, and it looked like he laughed.What a thickheaded, controlling, infuriating man!Wren resumed her dusting with renewed vigor.

As soon as Cindy arrived that afternoon, Wren ran up the internal staircase to her small apartment. The door opened into the cramped eat-in kitchen, but on the opposite side of the room, there was a huge open space that served as her front entry / mudroom / studio when she had her easel out. The hardwood flooring underfoot was battered and scratched.

An adequate living room was to the left of the entryway. The bathroom and bedroom were to the right. As she washed her hands, she cursed her bathroom. She didn’t know which was worse, the shallow sink or the barely-big-enough-to-shave-her-legs shower. This puny bathroom was a far cry from the well-appointed master bathroom suite in her previous life. Oh, how she missed that shower’s built-in leg ledge which had made shaving easier.

When she’d moved in, Wren had painted all the walls a soothing light grey to highlight her colorful paintings, which she displayed throughout the apartment. Other than the scattered canvases, she’d kept her decorating simple and minimal.

She opened the closets in her bedroom and reminded herself that the small bathroom was the reason she had so much storage space. One closet overflowed with the designer clothes, shoes, handbags, and accessories from her previous life, and the smaller closet held her current wardrobe of jeans, T-shirts, flannel shirts, washable sweaters, and comfortable shoes.

Wren was nervous about this meeting and she was embarrassed Miller had caught her staring. She needed the security of her old clothes, which she dearly loved, but rarely wore. They had no place in the day-to-day running of a floral shop.

She changed into a nice pair of black wool pants and a cream cashmere sweater. Wren rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She’d forgotten how tactile cashmere was. She hoped dressing like a successful business owner would make her feel less like an infatuated teen.

Miller made her palms sweat and her heart race. She ignored the parts that melted. She sternly reminded all her parts that Miller Lynch was off-limits. Wren didn’t need a man, especially a lawyer who was beyond good-looking, smelled like sin, and got nicer each time she was with him. No siree. She did not need a man like that in her life. Her eye fell on the small plaque on her dresser:

A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.

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