Page 18 of Love in Bloom

Miller leaned forward. “Who pre-screened them?”

“Krista.”

“And she’s an expert, why?” Miller didn’t even attempt to hide his curiosity.

“She’s heard all of them play at different Hart Hotel events, and she said they were all consistently good, showed up on time, didn’t make a mess, and didn’t cause trouble. That’s good enough for me.”

If it was good enough for Jackson, it was good enough for him. As he leaned back, the interior lights illuminated Wren huddled in the corner and sitting on her hands. “Cold?” he asked.

“A bit,” she admitted. That surprised him. He’d been sure she’d freeze to death before admitting a weakness to him. “Looks like it’s time to dig out the long underwear and wool socks.”

“This might help.” Miller leaned across her body and pushed a button on the door’s armrest. He heard her quick intake of breath. “Seat heat.” He grinned at her in the darkness as he eased back to his side of the car. “I put it on high, but you can adjust it down once you start to thaw.”

“Th-thanks.” Miller couldn’t decide if the stutter was from her chattering teeth or if it was further proof that Wren wasn’t as indifferent to him as she’d claimed.

For the rest of the drive to Edina, they discussed their upcoming Thanksgiving plans. Emily and Jackson were driving to Madison to spend it with her family, and Wren was spending the day with Rica and London. The trio was volunteering to serve meals at a local church, and then they planned to go to Rica’s for an untraditional feast made of side dishes only, because sides are the best part, Wren argued. Lots of pie and heavy rom-com bingeing was also on the agenda.

Miller had signed up to run the annual 5K and then he’d spend the day with his mom and various aunts and uncles. Football bingeing and extra pie was his plan. He ran the 5K for a reason—another guilt-free slice of his mom’s apple pie served warm with a scoop, or two, of vanilla ice cream and drizzled with his aunt’s caramel sauce.

As they chatted, Miller watched the lights speed by his window. Every time he turned to look at Wren, she would whirl her head toward her window. They played this adult version of peek-a-boo until Jackson pulled into the Edina Country Club parking lot.

The band was starting their first set when they walked through the doors. “I feel like we’re wedding crashers,” Emily said, looking around and moving closer to Jackson.

“That’s because we are,” Wren teased her and gave her a hip bump. “You don’t need to worry, though. This is how it’s done. I can guarantee you this bride crashed another wedding here to see it in action. I’ve even had prospective clients come inspect my handiwork while I was setting up for a wedding.”

After a few songs, they left and headed toward Bloomington. The Elks Club was crammed, so they didn’t stay long. Just long enough to see the crazy antics of the DJ. What sane person would have an exotic dance-off amongst the single-ladies? “He’s scratched as an option, right?” Miller asked in a hard tone as they started their drive to downtown St. Paul.

“Yes,” Emily and Jackson said together followed by “Jinx.” Everyone chuckled. Miller studied the couple in the front seat. Emily was good for Jackson, and he was truly happy for his friend. Emily had met with him last month about drafting a prenup. She didn’t want people to think she was marrying Jackson for his money. Jackson went ballistic when he’d found out and refused to sign it. Emily wasn’t happy about it and neither was Jackson. Miller assured them he’d find a compromise. Against his professional judgment, he didn’t think they needed one. His plan was to ignore the prenup and hope Emily forgot about it.

But, if Emily pestered him, he had a rough Plan B. He would draft a prenup in which they both got what they didn’t want. Jackson would keep his parents, but Emily would have primary contact with his grandma and sister, and Emily would get an obscene monthly support check which she’d hate. He really hoped Emily forgot, because this plan still needed lots of finesse.

Jackson made good time getting to downtown St. Paul and found on-street parking. It helped that the Minnesota Wild didn’t have a home hockey game, and a show wasn’t running at the Ordway. Miller reached for Wren’s hand as they walked, but she pulled it away, stopped, and faced him. “Are you trying to hold my hand?”

“It looked cold.”

“It is. My other one is, too. What’s your plan for that one?” Miller rubbed his chin and considered this. He couldn’t figure out a way to walk and hold both of her hands.

“If one hand is hot and the other is cold, then it should average to warm, right?” Under the streetlight, Miller saw Wren roll her eyes and then she looked over her shoulder. Emily and Jackson were almost a half-block ahead of them. She huffed and a white puff filled the space between them.

“Come on, Professor Science, we’re losing them.” Miller didn’t complain as she grabbed his hand and dragged him down the sidewalk. If it were daylight, however, he’d complain and slow her pace.

Downtown St. Paul was an overlooked gem, from the twenty-one story art deco home of the Ramsey County Courthouse to the historic grandeur of the St. Paul Hotel. His favorite place was the Landmark Center, built in the late 1800s. He loved all the round corner towers capped with their steep red tile roofs. It looked like a pink granite castle. But instead of housing royalty, the government had used it as the post office for the upper Midwest and as a Federal Court House for over fifty years. He paused to look at the illuminated clock tower, but Wren pulled him along.

Stronger than she looks. Faster, too, he thought. Her thin hand was icy and rough, a result of her business, no doubt. Total opposite of the manicured hands he usually held. Just like this woman was the total opposite of the women he usually gravitated toward. His comparison ended when Wren dropped his hand like a hot potato as they neared the entrance to the Landmark Center.

Again, they stayed for a few songs to get a sense of the DJ and then headed across the street to the St. Paul Hotel to hear the last band. Wren stayed close to Emily this time. Miller sensed she didn’t want to repeat the hand-holding and was probably regretting her earlier rash decision. They easily found the wedding reception and stayed until the band took their last break.

“The hotel bar seemed quiet when we walked by. Do you guys want to go there and discuss the music, or do you want to hash it out on the ride back?” Jackson asked.

“I wouldn’t say no to a hot chocolate with Bailey’s,” Emily said. “How about you, Wren?” Wren nodded her agreement. “Miller?” she asked. Miller was tired, but he remembered how cold Wren’s hands had been. She’d probably enjoy wrapping them around a hot mug. “Sounds great,” he agreed.

They found a booth in the back and ordered their drinks. Hot chocolates for everyone but laced with Bailey’s for the ladies. Jackson ripped a napkin into four pieces and passed them out. “Write down who you think should be the music for the reception.” Emily and Wren produced pens from their purses, and Miller pulled out his smartphone.

“You took notes?” Jackson asked him.

“Yep.”

“Seriously?”

---