Page 37 of Love in Bloom

Ruthie interrupting the almost-kiss had been a godsend. It couldn’t happen again. As much as she wanted Miller, she couldn’t have him.

“Too much pressure? You’re tightening up,” Ruthie observed.

“No, massage pressure’s good,” Wren answered.It’s the pressure on my head and heart that are too much.“I haven’t felt this relaxed and loose in a long time. Thank you.”

After the massage, Wren found Miller sprawled on a high-backed chair in the spa waiting area, asleep. She spent a few moments studying him and wished she’d put her sketchbook in her bag. To capture his long eyelashes against his chiseled cheekbones would be an artistic challenge. So beautiful and yet so masculine at the same time. She shook his shoulder, noting how solid it was. “Hi,” she greeted softly.

“Hi, yourself,” he said and shifted in his seat to sit upright.

“Thank you. This has been an incredible evening.”

“I’m glad you’ve enjoyed it. I think it’s one of the nicest ones I’ve ever had.” Miller stretched. “Ready for phase three?”

“What’s phase three?” Wren asked, too tired to argue. She covered her mouth as she yawned.

“Bed.”

Wren took a step back. “Miller, you’re a really great guy. You’re funny, caring, kind, dependable, intelligent, and all sorts of other great stuff, and if I was at a different place in my life I’d be all over you like white on rice, but I’m not. I wish I was.” She said the last sentence quietly. Miller stood and stretched, never once losing eye contact with Wren. “We want different things. I’m flattered, but it just wouldn’t—”

Miller put a finger on her lips. “Before you say anything else you will regret, I meant bedtime. Phase three is to take you home, and for you to go to bed. Alone.” If his words hadn’t been enough to shock her silent, his touch on her lips would have been.

“Oh,” Wren said. Miller’s gaze lingered on her mouth before turning to grab Wren’s coat. He held it open for her. The puffy down coat was no protection against him. Wren felt his touch as he zipped it up from her waist, past her breasts, to just under her chin. She was hot enough to melt all the snow in Haven! For the first time since November, Wren was grateful when she felt the cold air hit her face as they left the spa.

It didn’t take long to drive back to Wren’s apartment. Miller walked her up the stairs and waited for her to unlock the door and disarm the security system. Wren grumbled she could make her way into her own apartment, but Miller just ignored her. She turned to say good-night only to find him standing behind her.

“Thank you, again. For all your help today and for the wonderful evening. It was magical and special and I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.”

“Hmm. I’d like to make sure you don’t forget.” Miller leaned down and gently captured her lips with his and the parts the hot tub and massage hadn’t relaxed, melted. Parts that hadn’t melted in a long, long time. Wren opened her lips on a sigh and Miller pulled her closer. He reached for her coat zipper. She reached for her self-preservation and stepped out of his strong arms.

“Yep, no chance of forgetting now.” Wren touched her swollen lips.

“At the spa, you said we wanted different things and we wouldn’t work. I just proved you wrong.” Miller moved toward the door. He looked back at her before he opened it. “And I was right, Ginge. You do taste sweet and spicy with lots of heat.”

March

“Wallflowers,”Wrenansweredthephone, “how may I help you?” He heard the smile in her voice. His plan might work out after all.

“I’d like one beautiful florist delivered to my house tomorrow around sixish.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we seem to be all out of those.”

“Please?”

“Why?” It wasn’t hard to hear the irritation in her voice.

Miller sighed and rubbed his forehead. He’d thought he was making progress with Wren. They’d gone to listen to the DJ one more time before Jackson and Emily hired her and the “swans” had joined the “posse” one night at the Galley.

The swans was the nickname Croix had given Emily, Wren, Rica, and London, because he was tired of having to say their names. The posse comprised him, Jackson, Croix, and Parker. It was a leftover nickname from their teen years that had stuck.

Miller had been charming and accommodating on both occasions, but the polar ice cap was melting faster than she was. It didn’t help that she ran hot and cold with him. One minute she was calling him Counselor in her ice-maiden voice and the next she was melting and all but purring his name.

Miller hated playing the guilt card, but if that was the only trick he had, he would. “I need help with a project. For the wedding.” He heard her sigh in resignation.

“In that case, we do have a slightly wilted florist. Will that work?”

“That will be perfect.” Miller smiled and looked at his watch. Time either crawled on Friday afternoons or moved at warp speed. Today it crawled. He didn’t like slow days, but he appreciated the necessity of them. He’d cleared off his desk, followed-up on a few non-urgent phone calls, and checked his personal calendar for the next few months. Miller should have started sooner on Jackson and Emily’s wedding gift, but he’d been procrastinating. He needed help. He’d been stewing on the idea ever since he’d seen Wren’s paintings.

“Do I need to bring anything for this project?”

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