Page 40 of Love in Bloom

“So, it’s alcohol you’re not a fan of?”

“No. I’m OK with alcohol and I’m OK with people drinking it.”

“But, yet, you don’t, usually.” She tilted her head to the side as though he were a puzzle she didn’t understand. “Why’s that?” she asked. Miller slowly chewed his pizza. Good manners bought him some time. He much preferred asking questions than answering them, especially when they were personal and painful. But as a newcomer to Haven, Wren probably didn’t know his story.

“Listen, forget I asked,” Wren blurted as she helped herself to another piece.

“No, it’s OK, I was just gathering my thoughts. To be honest, no one’s ever asked me this before, so I don’t have a pat answer. I guess it’s because they already know the answer.”

“Who’s they?”

“Everyone in Haven, I guess. They all know my legacy and they’re just waiting for me to step up and claim it,” he said as he wiped the corner of his mouth. He hoped he hadn’t sounded bitter.

“What legacy?” Wren asked.

Miller stared at the bottle in his hand. “My grandfather was the town drunk until the day he died, and my father was well on his way to sharing the honor, but he left town when I was thirteen.”

“Oh, Miller, I’m so sorry. That must have been rough on your family.” Wren placed her hand on his arm. Miller covered her small, rough hand with his own and wound his fingers through hers before continuing.

“It was what we knew. Dad had always been a drinker. It was a big part of his identity. I remember when I was in elementary school, maybe second or third grade, he’d come home from work, grab a beer, and yell ‘it’s Miller time.’ That was my cue to grab whatever ball was in season and we’d go out in the backyard and play catch, just the two of us. I thought it was our special time. It was only as an adult I learned ‘Miller time’ was a slogan and not a special moment.” Miller stopped, embarrassed to have shared that memory, that secret. “My younger brother, JD, is named after Jack Daniels.” It seemed that after a lifetime of keeping his mouth shut, his vocal cords wanted to make up for lost time.

“Wow,” Wren mumbled. “And your mom was OK with naming her sons after booze?”

“My mom did whatever she needed to do to keep dad happy. When he was happy, he drank less. She did the best she could. None of it was her fault,” Miller said harshly as he defended his mother.

“I’m not assigning fault or blame. I’m just trying to make sense of it.” Wren squeezed his hand.

“Well, if you do, let me know. I gave up trying long ago.” Miller took a deep breath, hoping it would ease the tension in his chest. It didn’t. “Anyway, his drinking got worse when he lost his job at the mill. My uncle was logging in Montana and Dad left to join him. He sent money home on a fairly regular basis. We survived.” He gave her a reassuring smile and hoped she wouldn’t notice how fake it was.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“He made it to my law school graduation and then the next time I saw him was at his funeral.”

“So you avoid alcohol because you’re afraid you might be like them?” she asked.

“Seems the best course of action in case it’s genetic.”

“But you were drinking before the auction.”

“True. Usually I only drink if it’s an important celebration. But there are rare occasions, like the auction, where I wander off the straight and narrow. I catch myself pretty quickly though and get back on the path.”

“Well, you’re only human, and none of us are perfect.” Wren squeezed his hand and Miller released the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

He set his empty bottle down and reached for the remote control. “I don’t know about you, but after sharing my baggage, I’m ready for something light. Let’s find a movie to watch.” Miller was all done talking, and, luckily, for once, Wren fell into his plan and didn’t argue with him. He didn’t want to focus on the past; he’d done enough of that. He wanted to focus on the future and the possibilities that lived there. Wren moved closer and curled up at his side.

“Puck drops for the Wild at eight. We could watch that or you could tell me about your mysterious wedding project?” She didn’t have to ask twice about hockey. Miller turned on the game and settled back with Wren tucked into him. Right now, the future felt pretty good.

The future was even better two and a half hours later when the Wild won. Miller turned off the television. Wren had snuggled further into his side after he’d put his arm around her. Her head rested against his chest and her left hand was a little below that. Miller watched the gentle curve of her breasts rise and fall with her slow and even breathing. She was asleep. Should he wake her or stay where he was?

With the television off, the living room was dark. The bright full moon cast long shadows in the room. Through the patio French doors, Miller saw the snow was still falling heavily. The local weather channels had predicted anywhere from ten to fifteen inches of the fluffy white stuff, but it looked like it could be more, a lot more. Wren stirred and lifted her head. “Did we win?”

“Yeah, we won. Good nap?” Miller smiled down at her.

“Very good.” She fiddled with his shirt button before looking at him. She bit her lip. Miller wondered if she was doing it to torture him. “Miller?”

When she didn’t continue, he prompted, “Yes?”

“Is this the bachelor auction date Mrs. Hart won?”

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