Page 39 of Love in Bloom

“No, it must be difficult dealing with people at that time.”

“In a way, it’s much easier to deal with the people who are working on automatic pilot, keeping their grief at arm’s length. The ones who act as though ordering a casket spray was just like ordering a large centerpiece. Will it be the right size? Will it complement the casket? Those types of questions.” Miller remained quiet so she’d continue to talk and unwind. “In fact, when I first started doing arrangements, I was terrified of doing casket sprays. But then, my Aunt June explained they’re nothing more than an oversized centerpiece, and voila, no more fear.”

“You must deal with all sorts of emotions and customers during the week.”

“I do, but funerals are by far the worst.” Wren tucked an errant piece of hair behind her ear.

“Well, I’d like to be like Mr. Kister when my wife dies. I’d like to be devastated.”

Wren tilted her head and studied him.

“You look surprised,” Miller said.

“I am. I figured with the number of divorces you handled, marriage would be the last thing you wanted.”

“You figured wrong.” Wren pointed her empty wineglass at Miller and he poured her some more. “The goal is partnership at AAS and then marriage.”

“So, you, the missus, two kids, a minivan, fenced-in yard for the dog, the whole shebang, eh?” Wren said, smirking.

“The whole bit, yes.” Miller smiled. If Wren was trying to embarrass him, it wasn’t working. “Although, I’m not too sure about the minivan.” He surveyed the remaining appetizers and settled on a piece of prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella. “I’ve seen lots of successful marriages, and from what I can tell, you need respect, friendship, patience, and the belief that it’s a partnership. I think I can find it, and when I do, it will be a lifelong love affair that ends in devastation.” Wren squirmed. Miller didn’t know if it was from physical, mental, or emotional discomfort.

“I’m not judging you, or your marriage, Wren,” he said to reassure her. “It takes two to tango and when one partner dances with someone else, then the whole equation changes.”

“Such a delicate way to say ‘cheated,’” Wren teased. “And I think you mixed your metaphors, Counselor. I hear what you’re saying, but I think my marriage was doomed from the start. I was too young and too unsure of myself. Toward the end, Michael admitted one of the reasons he chose me was because I was the total opposite of his mother.” Wren shook her head as a self-deprecating laugh erupted. Miller watched as the soft lights in the living room bounced off her hair. “For a momma’s boy, he sure liked pissing her off. And then I turned into her. I think that’s what drove his behavior.”

“Maybe, but he chose to have an affair. He saw what was happening to you, and from what you’ve said, I’m guessing he didn’t do anything to support you or help.” Wren said nothing for a while.

“If I’d been more confident, I don’t think I would have been swayed so easily by Beverly, my ex-mother-in-law. That’s what I’m working on now. To figure out who I am and who I want to be, instead of being what others want me to be.” She sent him a weak smile and looked into his eyes, as if she were warning him.

“What do you want to be?”

“A successful business owner, independent, part of a community, and maybe someday, if the right man came along, I wouldn’t mind trying marriage again.” Wren rolled her head. “As a divorcee, I’d like to say there’s no such thing as long-term marriages, but I’m reminded it exists every week at work. So, there’s hope.”

Wren looked at her wineglass as she swirled the deep purple liquid and watched the wine’s legs slide down the inside of the goblet. “Here’s to being devastated when our spouses die,” Wren toasted and then cringed. “Ugh, sorry. That sounded much better in my head.”

“It usually does”—he clinked his bottle against her glass—“but I agree with the sentiment.” He studied her as he took a drink and her eyes never left his. Wren didn’t look at him like she was indifferent to him.

“This is nice.” She broke eye contact and played with her wineglass again.

“The shiraz?”

Wren shook her head no and the corner of her mouth quirked up. “No this. Sharing. I’d forgotten how nice it was to wind down like this and have someone listen to my day.”

“Careful, Wren,” Miller cautioned, leaning toward her. “Sharing is what friends do.”

“I know, Miller,” Wren whispered before looking from his eyes to his lips. Miller set his bottle down and slipped his hand behind her neck, urging her closer. Wren’s eyelids fluttered closed as he bent his head.

The oven shrieked, startling them. Miller quickly stood to check on the pizza and silence the blasted buzzer. He cursed the rotten timing. The moment was lost, but he’d keep his eye out for another opportunity if Wren gave him one.

He returned a few minutes later with the pizza, plates, and another bottle of Kaliber for him. He sat closer to her on the couch, their thighs almost touching. If she’d noticed it, she didn’t say anything or scoot away. Scooting was difficult on his soft couch, but if she’d wanted to scoot, she could have.

Wren’s stomach growled as he plated a piece of pizza for her. A cheese strand clung to the pie, and Wren used her fingers to break it off. “Careful, it’s hot,” Miller warned. Wren wound the melty strands around her finger before sucking them into her mouth. Miller couldn’t stop watching her, and Wren watched him just as intently. He tore his gaze away from her full lips and handed her the plate.

“Oh, this is delicious,” Wren said around a mouthful of pizza. Miller watched her catch another errant string of cheese with her tongue. He shifted in his seat and took a long, cold drink.

“So, since we’re friends,” Wren started, “what’s with the Kaliber? Don’t you like wine?”

“Actually, I do like wine, I’m just not a fan of the non-alcoholic ones.” Miller knew this conversation would happen at some point, but that didn’t mean he had to make it easy on Wren.

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