Page 38 of Love in Bloom

“No, just yourself.”

“Feeding me again, Counselor?” He didn’t hear the ice maiden, but he didn’t hear purring either.Slight progress, maybe.

“Yep. It’s a habit. Six o’clock. Come earlier, if you can.” Miller hung up the phone. Feeding Wren had become an easy habit, and it was one he intended to keep.

As Miller shut down his computer, William Anderson, founding partner of the firm, entered his office. “I reviewed your billing sheets for the last few months,” he started.Aaand, thought Miller. William was a slow speaker, which made it difficult for Miller to follow his boss’s thoughts. His mind wandered between sentences. He was working on being patient with the older man. “Your billable hours are up ten percent, which is nice to see.”

“Thank you.”

“But your pro bono percentage is also up. We warned you about this in the fall.” Miller kept his mouth shut. There wasn’t anything to say. William continued, “Before committing the firm to any more pro bono cases, you will need to bring them to me. If I think it’s one the firm should take on, I’ll decide who will handle it.”

William stood taller as though preparing for an argument. Miller wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He’d battled with William before about pro bono cases, but the penny-pinching elitist wouldn’t listen. One thing was sure: when Miller became partner, they’d have to change their thinking.

“Understood.” Miller nodded.

“We can’t afford to give away our services.”

“I understand,” Milled repeated louder. William placed the reports on Miller’s desk and left his office.What the hell is wrong with these people?!His pro bono work was barely more than it had been last time. It made no sense for AAS to be busting his chops for a negligible increase in free work when his billable work was up over ten percent. The pro bono work made all the family law and divorce cases tolerable.

And now he’d have to clear everything with William. He’d be lucky if he helped anyone. Miller didn’t think legal advice should only be available to the people who could afford it. He turned off his office light and shut the door quickly, the adult version of a teenager door slam.

Millerwipedhisflouredhands on the towel tucked into his jeans before he opened the door.

“Hi,” Wren said. Miller noticed her tracks through the snow and then looked at her.

“Sorry about that,” he said, pointing to the tracks. “I shoveled after lunch and then lost track of time. It definitely picked up.” He stepped back to let her in. By the time he’d shut the door, she’d removed her winter coat to reveal a baggy sweatshirt and jeans. Disappointment coursed through Miller, but he had no one to blame but himself. He’d prefaced the evening as casual, and Wren had followed his instructions.

I’m obviously not worth the effort of changing into a nice sweater, he thought as he hung up her coat. Miller forgot his complaints as he watched Wren dispose of her boots. Her well-worn jeans hugged her backside like a second skin. But all too soon, Wren had the boots off and she followed him up the stairs to the small galley kitchen.

He poured her a glass of red wine and went back to shaping the dough. Wren settled herself on the bar stool across from him and leaned her elbows on the counter. “This is nice,” she commented as she looked around. The main level was an open floor plan. A granite island separated the kitchen from the living room, with its fireplace on one wall and a big-screen television on the other. French doors with large windows overlooked the Poplar River on the side opposite the kitchen, and bookcases flanked the stone fireplace. They overflowed with a variety of books and an occasional framed photo. The grey and blue color scheme suited him. Clean, contemporary, and masculine.

“Thanks. I like it.”

“Is it the same layout as Jackson’s?”

“Yep. All four of the houses on this street are the same.” Miller dusted flour on the countertop. “Bottom level is at the river and we all have a dock and boat. Street level is the garage, mudroom, and utility closet. Then there’s this level. Top level has the master suite and another bedroom.” Miller pulled pizza toppings and a container of antipasto from the refrigerator.

“So, what’s the wedding project you need help with? I didn’t think you had to do anything.”

“I have plenty to do, but I will admit, you have more. Dinner first and then we’ll talk about the project.”

“Can I help?”

Miller studied her before answering. Wren’s hair had grown out to shoulder length and hung loose for a change, and he liked it. The bright lighting in the kitchen highlighted her freckles and the dark circles underneath her eyes. He couldn’t be sure if they were due to the harsh lighting, the curse of being fair complexioned, or to being tired.

“No. I actually like cooking. I find it relaxing.” Wren watched as Miller slathered on the sauce, covered it with different toppings, and placed it on the pizza stone in the oven. “Let’s move to the couch while this bakes. It’s a lot more comfortable than that stool,” Miller said as he grabbed the bottle of wine and the tray of antipasto and led the way to the living room.

Wren settled back on the couch and curled up. That move had always fascinated Miller. When men sat on a couch, they sprawled everywhere and took up as much room as they could, but women curled up. Wren looked tiny and tired. “I know what I’m about to say is a terrible no-no,” he started.

“Well, this should be fun,” Wren deadpanned and took a sip of her wine.

“You look exhausted. I’m not saying bad, just exhausted.” Miller held up his hands in defense.

“You’re right, Counselor, and to prove it, I’m not even going to argue with you.” Wren filled her plate from the antipasto tray, sighed, and snuggled further into the couch.

“Busy at work or is it something else?”Hopefully, not someone else,he thought.

“Work. I was up late last night working on the Kister funeral flowers and then up again early this morning to finish them.” Wren popped an olive in her mouth and then continued. “Mr. Kister is just devastated. They’d been married for over sixty years. It took a long time for him to decide on the flowers, and of course the ones he wanted I needed to order, and they didn’t arrive until this morning. Mrs. Kister was a great knitter, and the daughter thought it would be nice to include some knitting needles in the casket spray. I thought that was a nice touch. When they left, she said they’d be right back with the needles, but they were waylaid at home and didn’t get back to the shop until later in the evening. Nice people. Lovely people. But their grief slowed everything down. I’m sure that makes me sound like a horrible person.” She stopped and looked at Miller as if to gauge his reaction.

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