Page 12 of Love in Bloom

“Not entirely sure.” It sounded like Jackson was hedging.

“Take a wild guess,” Miller prompted. Jackson leaned forward.

“I may have overheard Krista and Wren talking when Wren was fixing the floral arrangements in Reception. Something about needing to cancel on her and Rica tonight because she had a project for you she needed to finish.” Jackson raised an eyebrow in question.

The subpoena.It’s Friday night and instead of hanging out with her friends, Wren was dealing with the subpoena. Miller didn’t blame them for glaring at him. “Damn,” Miller muttered.

“Damn is right.” Jackson nodded his head in agreement. “Anything you can do to fix it? Whatever it is?”

“I don’t know, but I need to try.” Miller raised his arm and caught the eye of a nearby server. “I need to place a to-go order.”

Friday, 7:05 PM

Rica: I’m at the back door. Open up.

Wren turned down the classic rock station blaring in the background after reading her friend’s text. The hard pounding beats and screeching guitar riffs matched her rough mood. She hopped off the hard stool and moved to the back door. She rolled her shoulders as she walked. It felt good to move. She’d been sitting still, sorting through orders ever since the shop had closed for the day. Wren opened the door, eager to see a friendly face.

“You’re not Rica.”

“Don’t you have a chain on this door? Any fool can barge in,”Miller pointed out as he walked past her. Wren caught a whiff of his cologne.Versace? Pour Homme?she thought she recognized the fresh citrus scent, but she could be wrong. It had been a while since she’d sniffed anyone’s cologne.

“No. I’ve never had the need for one until now.” Wren shut the door and leaned against it. “What can I do for you, Counselor?” She slowly appraised him, from his black wing-tip shoes to his dark grey suit (custom-tailored, no doubt) and lavender shirt. She saw the dark purple tie poking out from his suit coat pocket. There was something so deliciously appealing about a man wearing traditional feminine colors.

“Dinner?” Miller held up the large carry-out bag with the Galley’s logo emblazoned on the front.

“I already ate.” Self-preservation forced her to lie. Her stomach growled when the smell of French fries reached her nose. Her stomach always did have a mind of its own.

“I don’t think your stomach remembers,” he said as he held out a Styrofoam container.

“I don’t have time to play games.” Wren ignored him and walked back to where she’d been working. She topped off the glass of red wine, her version of dinner.

“I’m not here to play games. I’m here to help.” Miller set the food on the counter, then shrugged off his suit coat and draped it over the high stool. He pulled out a small container. Wren’s stomach growled again. It was on a mission.

“What’s that?” She pointed to the container. Her stomach made her ask.

“According to Rica and Krista, this is my ticket in, and the only reason Rica was willing to help me by texting you. I had to buy her one, too.”

“You’re in, but in about fifteen seconds you’ll be out.” Wren moved to the back door.

“If I go, I’m taking this with me.” Miller held up the box and wiggled it.

“What is it?” she asked again, not bothering to hide her irritation and curiosity from her voice.

“Three layers of chocolate cake—dark, milk, and white—with caramel in between each layer, and the whole thing is covered with chocolate ganache.” Miller’s smooth description left her stomach and other parts wanting.

Motherlode chocolate cake, Wren thought with deep longing. It was Nelie’s specialty dessert, made from scratch daily at the Galley.I really should eat something, she rationalized.

“You can stay, but only until I finish this.” Wren reached for the cake.

“Not so fast.” Miller pulled out another large container. “The cake will keep, but dinner’s getting cold.”

“Counselor, on a day like today, cake counts as dinner.”

“I agree, which is why I have my own piece.” He pointed to the second small container. “I also have an order of mostaccioli with a side salad or a grilled chicken sandwich with fries. Which one would you like?” He looked at her expectantly.

What I would like, thought Wren,is for Mr. Nelson to have kept his pecker in his pants.She’d forgiven Miller for the subpoena. He was just looking out for his client’s best interest. If she was in his position, she would have done the same thing. Heck, she would have had her lawyer do the same thing, too, if Michael hadn’t been cooperative in the divorce.

But finding this information for Miller had opened up old wounds, wounds she thought had healed, leaving only rough scar tissue behind as an occasional reminder. Who was she kidding? A cheating spouse left a gaping hole and you don’t get over that quickly. Like any wounded animal, she wanted to hide in a safe place and take care of this herself. She could only do that once Miller left, and since he seemed determined to eat, eating would be the quickest way to get rid of him.

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