Page 66 of Love in Bloom

She thought the ceremony would be a painful reminder of her failure. But it wasn’t. Listening to the minister, Wren realized she wasn’t the same naive girl who’d taken similar vows five years ago. In fact, she wasn’t even the same scared woman she’d been a year ago. She felt secure. Capable. Confident. Loved. And it was all because of the generous, gorgeous man across from her.

He let me be me. He hadn’t expected anything from her. He’d accepted her for who she was. A rare gift Wren had never experienced before. He hadn’t judged her clothes, what she ate, or how she spent her free time. When she’d spent Sunday afternoons curled up on his couch with a romance novel, Miller hadn’t read the back cover and teased her. Instead, he’d ask if he could bring her a cup of tea. Miller was the best, and losing him was the worst thing that had ever happened to her.

As fate would have it, Miller was her escort down the aisle at the end of the ceremony. Wren concentrated on placing one foot in front of the other and breathing. She smiled at everyone, but did not look at Miller.

Picture taking immediately followed the ceremony. Guests wandered into the hotel for the cocktail hour while the wedding party and family remained in the gardens for the never-ending photos. Krista stuck by Wren’s side like a guard dog.

Emily and Jackson kept the receiving line down to just them and their parents, but with almost three hundred guests, it took time. The servers shifted out of happy hour and set up the buffets. Wren and Krista each grabbed a glass of sangria and made their way to where the wedding party was sitting.

Despite Emily’s easygoing nature, she’d been adamant about no head table. She didn’t care if she was bucking tradition. She’d argued it was bad enough that she and Jackson would be the center of attention all day long, and the last thing she wanted was people watching her eat. Wren agreed with her.

Krista had suggested the wedding party sit at one round table, with parents and grandparents at another. Emily and Jackson could have a table for two between them. It was a perfect solution. Priscilla, serving as Jackson’s best person, had thrown a wrench into the usual boy-girl seating arrangement. But that had made it easy for Wren to switch Miller’s place card with Pris’s, so she sat between Pris and Parker.

Dinner was winding down and the waitstaff were busy clearing away the pasta bar, the macaroni and cheese station, the carving station, the salad bar, and the side-dish station. Wren thought it was much nicer than a buffet and a lot less stuffy than her sit-down dinner had been. It allowed the guests to mingle more and stand in line less. Emily had been smart when she’d delegated the food decisions to Krista. For all her moodiness, Krista was excellent at her job and an incredible friend. If they found themselves sentimental at the end of the evening, she just might admit it to her.

The guests clinked their glasses and Emily and Jackson did not disappoint them on the expected kiss. Jackson dipped Emily low and kissed her thoroughly. Soon it was time for the toasts. Pris shared some amusing tales of Jackson’s early dating disasters, and Sarah, Emily’s sister, told how they’d play wedding as children. Today, the dresses were finer, the food tastier, and Jackson was a much better-looking groom than Mr. Boo Bear had been. But some things were the same: love, hope, and a happily-ever-after. There was more glass clinking from the guests, and Wren joined in, but stopped when Miller stood.

“Emily”—Miller raised his champagne flute—“on behalf of Jackson’s friends, we’d like to thank you for being so patient while he pulled his head out of his ass.” He waited for the laughter to die down. “He had this stupid, stupid idea you could only be his work assistant.” Miller shook his head sadly to emphasize his point. “His goal was to make Hart Hotelstheluxury hotel boutique brand, but he was afraid, if you left again, Hart Hotels would suffer. With your patience and our encouragement, he came around.“ Miller looked around the audience, but his gaze stopped at Wren.

“He got over his fear and he changed his goal. You became the goal. It’s important to have dreams and goals. They guide us, they motivate us, but they aren’t written in stone. When you’re chasing your dreams, the most important thing to have at your side is the person you dream about.” He turned his attention back to the happy couple. “Jackson, you’ve got your dream girl. Congratulations!” Emily dabbed the corner of her eyes, walked over, and hugged Miller. More clinking ensued for the happy couple.

It was a light hug. A friendly hug. Wren remembered how great Miller’s hugs were, especially the head-to-toe, full-body, way-past-friendly hugs. Too many memories. Too many good ones. Watching him and listening to him during his toast had been sweet torture. He’d looked at her the whole time, his bright blue eyes pinning her to her chair, but his words made little sense. The only thing she understood was her overwhelming sense of loss.

Watching the light, friendly hug between Emily and Miller pushed her to the edge of breaking. Right here. Right now. In public. She clenched her hands in her lap, hoping it would hold her together.

She watched Emily and Jackson take their first spin on the dance floor as husband and wife. The song, “Lucky” by Colbie Caillat and Jason Mraz, could have been written for them. Wren wiped the corner of her eye. Right now it was tears of joy for her friend, but it wouldn’t take much for it to morph into ugly sobbing.

Wren hadn’t seen Miller until he tapped her shoulder. “Dance?” he asked, holding out his hand. Wren wanted to refuse, but she knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. And she didn’t want to be the first guest to cause a scene.

“That would be lovely,” the ice maiden responded. Wren placed a frozen, polite smile on her face. Miller looked amused as he led her to the dance floor. She felt the heat of his hand singe through her bridesmaid’s dress. Her traitorous body didn’t resist when he pulled her closer and it didn’t fight to escape when Jack Johnson’s “Better Together” ended and Etta James’s “At Last” began.

“The flowers are lovely. You outdid yourself. I heard several people commenting on them,” he said near her ear, sending shivers down her back.

“Really? You liked all the colors?” the ice maiden asked. Miller chuckled.

“I know what you’re trying to do and picking a fight with a color-blind man won’t work. I saw most of the colors and I liked the shape of the ones I didn’t. Just accept the compliment.” Wren didn’t have the energy to fight him, so she decided the best way to get through this was to humor him.

“Thank you. I’m glad Emily went with the orange roses and not the orange dresses.”

“You would have looked beautiful in whatever she’d chosen.” His baritone voice soothed her frayed nerves. Wren fought to maintain her stiff posture. Her melting spine didn’t help. Her body had a mind of its own this evening, and it wouldn’t take much for it to betray her heart. Wren knew if she looked at him the ice maiden would melt.

She had to stay strong. For her. For him. For his future. She focused on his boutonniere. Miller cleared his throat. “I know about the shop. I know Diane had your lease terminated. You should have told me,” Miller whispered near her ear. He sounded calm, but his body tensed as he tightened his fingers around hers.

“Have you picked out your furniture? Craftsman style would be lovely with the exposed brick on the front wall.”

He stepped back slightly and looked at her. “Are you telling me Wallflowers was going to be my office?”

“Yes. Diane came to measure the day after I received my notice.”

“Dammit, Ginge, you should have told me!” Miller growled and pulled her against his solid body. The ice maiden didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. Wren softened in his arms. She needed this brief moment of comfort.

“Can we please not talk about this?” she asked.

“What are you going to do?” Miller countered. Wren sighed.So much for not talking.

“I’m not sure. Barb’s Buds is opening another location, and she’s asked me to manage it.”

“Don’t,” Miller begged in her ear. “Haven has enough florists. You should paint. The world needs your paintings.” She looked up. His handsome face was so close it wouldn’t be hard to kiss his warm lips.

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