Page 42 of Love in Bloom

She should feel panicked, but she wasn’t. She should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t. Shame? Regret? No, neither of those. Wren sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. A slow smile spread across her face. She’d like to credit it to all the sex, but she owed it to the man. As irritating as he was, Miller made her happy.

Now, she just needed to figure out how to gracefully exit the house. She’d never done this before and didn’t know the proper etiquette. How did one handle morning-afters when one wasn’t in a relationship? And they weren’t starting a relationship because involvement with Miller wasn’t an option. As much as Wren wanted him, and it scared her how much she did, he wanted something she wanted no part of. Partnership with AAS. If she could remember his goal, it would keep her from doing something stupid. Because if she followed her heart and not her head, it would end in heartbreak for her.

Wren contemplated Googling “morning-after etiquette” as she dressed, but that seemed silly. Calling a friend wasn’t an option either. They had too many friends in common, and it felt disloyal to share their intimate details. It wasn’t anyone else’s business but theirs. They were both consenting, responsible, reasonable adults. She needed to act normal. She finger-combed her hair and swished some of his mouthwash around in her mouth. Not the best look, she noted as she looked in the mirror, but it would have to do.

She headed down the stairs and peeked out the window. Everything was sparkling white. Haven looked lovely after a snowfall. Wren stood there and contemplated the difficulty in painting so many colors of white and the added challenge of capturing the glistening crystals. Her nose pressed against the window as her breath fogged up the glass. The street had been plowed, and her car was a spot of color in all the white.Miller shoveled me out,again. She’d never asked him, but she was certain he’d been the one to surprise her with a shoveled sidewalk the morning after her divorce celebration. She wandered into the kitchen and found a note propped against the coffee maker.

I’m in the basement. Help yourself to coffee & come join me. We need to discuss the wedding project. ~ M

Wren popped a pod into the fancy, single-cup coffee maker and added milk and sugar to the cup as it brewed. Miller had a fully stocked kitchen and refrigerator so rustling up breakfast—or lunch, Wren realized when she looked at the clock—would be easy. He had enough food to last many days. Wren wondered what it would be like to be snowed in. Stuck with Miller. Nowhere to go. Nothing to do.

After last night, she knew what her suggestion would be to keep them occupied, and she didn’t think Miller would disagree.Stop right there, missy.There can be no repeats of last night’s shenanigans! Think with your head, not your heart.The coffee maker sputtered out its last drops of nectar and Wren prepared to go find Miller.

Friend, she repeated with each step she took down the flight of stairs to the front door entryway. She opened a door and discovered the mudroom, which led to the garage. No sign of Miller, but she heard music. As she went down the next flight of stairs, the music grew louder.ABBA?

TheMamma Miasoundtrack surprised her, but the scene in front of her blew her mind and caused her heart to beat faster. Miller sat in front of a pottery wheel in a faded Bon Jovi concert T-shirt and low riding sweatpants. The wheel spun and Miller had his hands on the grey lump in the middle. Wren knew how lucky the clay was to be in his confident, sure hands. She watched the way his hands moved up the clay and the way he used his fingers to get the exact reaction he wanted from it.

Wren’s body woke up as it remembered the way Miller had coaxed her reactions last night. For her own sanity, she needed to stop watching him. Maybe she should go back upstairs and wait for him to come find her. No, the note had said for her to find him. They needed to discuss his mysterious wedding project. She was stuck. She couldn’t stay but she didn’t want to interrupt. Wren knew what it was like to be in the creative zone and didn’t want to pull him out of it. The wheel stopped and he looked up.

“Good morning,” he greeted. His voice was gravely, as if those were the first words he’d said all day. Wren noted the day-old beard and the bed head with clay streaks in it. Not the usual image Miller Lynch, Esquire, presented to Haven.

“This is not what I expected.” Wren swept her arm around the room.

“What were you expecting?Fifty Shades of Grey?“ The corners of his mouth twitched up. Wren nearly choked on her coffee, but then realized he was playing with her. Maybe she could survive the morning after if they kept the mood light and impersonal.

“No, I wasn’t expecting that,” she said and felt the color rise up her neck. “And I wasn’t expecting show tunes either,” she teased, hoping to keep the conversation away from last night’s escapades.

Miller sat taller and narrowed his eyes at her. “Mamma Miais not show tunes.”

“All right, Counselor, consider me schooled.” Wren held up her hands in mock defense. She looked around the room. “Tell me about all of this. I know about painting, but I know nothing about pottery.” She picked up a metal string with handles on each end, sitting on the floor next to Miller. “What’s this?”

“Wire tool. I use it to cut the finished product from the bat.”

“What’s a bat?”

“This plastic disk that sits between the clay and the wheel. It’s what I work on.”

“And this pointy thing that looks like something a baker would use to frost a cake with?”

“Wood model tool. It’s to clean up the lower edges before I cut the product off the bat with the wire tool.” Wren looked at the other tools on his table. She picked them up and then put them back down exactly as she’d found them.

“How long have you been doing this?”

“Since about six this morning,” he responded gruffly. Wren found Miller’s discomfort about his hobby endearing.

“Seriously. How long?” She grasped some of his tools, turning them over in her hands.

“I started in high school. Took a few classes in college. I enjoy creating things and working with clay is a challenge. Even if you get a piece just right, you can lose it in the kiln. Sometimes in the bisque firing, but most likely during the glazing.” Miller pointed at a small pile of discards against the wall.

“You keep them? Can you reuse anything?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. When my paintings aren’t cooperating, I can paint over the bad spots.”

“I can’t reuse them, but I do repurpose them. After lousy days at work, which seem to come with regular frequency now, I come down here and smash them against the wall. When I’m done, I sweep up my mess and move on with the day.”

“It sounds cathartic.” Wren tore her gaze from the discard pile and looked at Miller. “You’re not happy at work?”

---