4. Chapter 4
November
I t was a glorious, warm day, more like September than November, and Wren had thrown open the front door of Wallflowers, hoping some of the warmth would seep in and to encourage walk-in business. She was dusting and rearranging the gift section and trying to plan the holiday display in her head. Not an easy task since an image of piercing blue eyes kept interrupting her visions of red and green. This was becoming a bad habit. He snuck into her thoughts at the most inopportune times, which was almost always.
She’d been avoiding Miller since the night he had helped her. She’d even had Dale, her part-time delivery man, take the weekly bouquet to AAS for the last two weeks.
Wren looked up from the gift display. Speak of the devil . Trouble stood in her doorway blocking the sun, but she still felt warm. “Counselor,” she greeted coolly and a bit breathily. He’d startled her, after all.
“I thought we were done with that,” Miller said, moving toward her.
“Old habits die hard.” Wren felt him eating up the space as he neared her. She focused on taking a deep breath, but that backfired. The scent of his cologne permeated every cell of her body. Yep, definitely V ersace. The man smelled great and looked even better in his dark suit. There was something about a well-dressed man that always stirred her. He held out his hand.
“Let’s try this again then. Hi, I’m Miller Lynch.”
Wren stared at his hand. Touching him could be dangerous, but it would be rude not to. She wiped her palm on her skinny jeans.
“Hello, I’m Wren Busch,” she said as she shook his hand. His large hand enveloped hers and the rough feel surprised her. She thought a desk jockey like him would have soft, well-manicured hands. She tugged her hand back and tucked both of them into the front pockets of her jeans.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Lynch?” Wren bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face, but the corners of her mouth tilted up.
“Are you always this stubborn?”
Wren chewed the corner of her lip and tapped her chin, making a big show of thinking about his question. She was so busy pretending, she almost missed the interest in Miller’s eyes as he focused on her mouth.
“Yes,” Wren said unapologetically. “I’m usually always this stubborn. It’s a trait that serves me well.” And keeps me safe . Wren licked her lips nervously and then cemented them together to keep her from saying anything else. Miller said nothing, but he continued to stare at her. The second hand on the clock ticked loudly.
What do you want, Trouble? Wren was stubborn and impatient, but now impatient won. She sighed heavily and asked, “What can I do for you, Miller?”
He smiled. Wren recognized victory when she saw it.
“Two things. We have a court reporter scheduled for this afternoon, and because of another scheduling snafu, she’ll have some free time. Any chance you can come over around three o’clock and we can get your deposition done?” Wren walked over to the order board and did a quick check of the orders for the day.
“Looks like I can make that work.” She looked up from the board. “What’s the second thing?”
“I’ll tell you after the deposition.”
“Tell me now.” She narrowed her eyes.
“Nope. Later. I’ll see you at three.” And with that, he turned and left. Wren fumed as she watched him walk out of the shop and cross in front of the picture window. He turned and caught her staring. Wren scowled and waved, and it looked like he laughed. What a thickheaded, controlling, infuriating man! Wren resumed her dusting with renewed vigor.
As soon as Cindy arrived that afternoon, Wren ran up the internal staircase to her small apartment. The door opened into the cramped eat-in kitchen, but on the opposite side of the room, there was a huge open space that served as her front entry / mudroom / studio when she had her easel out. The hardwood flooring underfoot was battered and scratched.
An adequate living room was to the left of the entryway. The bathroom and bedroom were to the right. As she washed her hands, she cursed her bathroom. She didn’t know which was worse, the shallow sink or the barely-big-enough-to-shave-her-legs shower. This puny bathroom was a far cry from the well-appointed master bathroom suite in her previous life. Oh, how she missed that shower’s built-in leg ledge which had made shaving easier.
When she’d moved in, Wren had painted all the walls a soothing light grey to highlight her colorful paintings, which she displayed throughout the apartment. Other than the scattered canvases, she’d kept her decorating simple and minimal.
She opened the closets in her bedroom and reminded herself that the small bathroom was the reason she had so much storage space. One closet overflowed with the designer clothes, shoes, handbags, and accessories from her previous life, and the smaller closet held her current wardrobe of jeans, T-shirts, flannel shirts, washable sweaters, and comfortable shoes.
Wren was nervous about this meeting and she was embarrassed Miller had caught her staring. She needed the security of her old clothes, which she dearly loved, but rarely wore. They had no place in the day-to-day running of a floral shop.
She changed into a nice pair of black wool pants and a cream cashmere sweater. Wren rubbed her hands up and down her arms. She’d forgotten how tactile cashmere was. She hoped dressing like a successful business owner would make her feel less like an infatuated teen.
Miller made her palms sweat and her heart race. She ignored the parts that melted. She sternly reminded all her parts that Miller Lynch was off-limits. Wren didn’t need a man, especially a lawyer who was beyond good-looking, smelled like sin, and got nicer each time she was with him. No siree. She did not need a man like that in her life. Her eye fell on the small plaque on her dresser:
A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle.
Sage advice she’d do well to remember.
The classic sweater needed some oomph. After trying on endless necklaces, Wren settled on a colorful scarf and then spent an inordinate amount of time arranging it into a casual knot. She checked the full-length mirror one more time. She looked like a capable, controlled, responsible adult, the total antithesis of the hot mess of a woman lurking under the surface.
Wren breezed through the doorway of AAS with minutes to spare. “Hi, Wren.” Michelle Swanson greeted her with a big smile. Wren walked over to the receptionist’s desk and tweaked a few of the flowers. It was a Thanksgiving-themed bouquet complete with rust-colored chrysanthemums, miniature sunflowers, and a burlap bow. A few more weeks of fall colors and then she’d switch to traditional holiday colors of red and white. “Occupational hazard, huh?” Michelle asked.
“Yes.” Wren laughed self-consciously. “I can’t help myself.”
“Well, your bouquets are always beautiful and I love getting them every week. We’re set up in the conference room. Follow me back.”
Miller’s eyes widened in surprise. Wren looked lovely, she always did, but this time she looked different. And he didn’t like it. He liked her in snug-fitting jeans and shirts pushed up to her elbows. The sweater she wore looked soft and warm and it hugged her trim figure. Miller focused his eyes on the scarf at her neck. It was either that or stare at her breasts. Who knew she’d been hiding all that under her baggy tops?
He clenched his fists, hoping to cool the memory of when he’d spied her clumsily roll off the lounger at Jackson’s barbeque. She’d exposed plenty of leg and a lack of full-coverage underwear in that maneuver. Miller wondered what other secrets she covered and tightened his fists.
The Wren sitting across the conference table from him was cool and professional. Worst of all, she was amenable, never once pushing back. She did, however, refer to him as Mr. Lynch, but he let it slide since the court reporter was documenting everything. It would be poor form if the witness referred to counsel by their first name. No, they stuck with Mr. Lynch and Ms. Busch. She answered all of his questions easily and confidently. Most important, out of the headshots of various mid-to-late fifties Caucasians, she identified Mr. Nelson as the cash-paying customer. The whole twilight-zone experience took less than ten minutes.
He checked with the court reporter to make sure she had everything.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, standing behind Wren’s chair. She scooted back and stood up. Miller didn’t move. She looked up at him and raised her eyebrows.
“Ah, there you are. I was starting to worry.”
“I don’t understand,” Wren admitted.
“You’ve been too easy. I was wondering where the real Wren was.”
“I’m always easy when the people I’m with are reasonable. And this afternoon you were reasonable.”
“I’m always reasonable,” Miller argued, and put a hand on her lower back to steer her out of the conference room. He’d noticed she was wearing heels and it brought the top of her head to just below his nose. Despite his best intentions, he leaned forward. “You smell nice, again,” he murmured as they reached the reception area. Wren turned and looked at him.
“Work, again,” she reminded him coolly, fumbling with her purse. Her words came out frosty, but Miller noticed a tinge on her cheeks. She’s not as indifferent as she acts , he noted with satisfaction. I should strike while the iron’s hot .
“About that second favor,” he led in. Boy, this was harder than he thought. It had been too long since he’d asked someone out. Or too long since it had mattered. Wren stopped her fumbling and looked at him. “Have dinner with me.”
“Are you asking or telling?” Prickly Wren was back in full force.
“I’m asking nicely.” He tried again. “Please have dinner with me.” He watched the various expressions run across her face. Shock. Delight. Refusal.
“Excuse me, Miller, Wren, I’m sorry to interrupt.” Diane Swanson walked toward them without an ounce of remorse in her voice. “Miller, Michelle needs you to interpret some of your notes. You have just enough time to help her before your next appointment.” She tapped Miller’s arm and gave a tight smile to Wren. He couldn’t ignore Diane’s order. She was Michelle’s mother, Bob Swanson’s wife, and the only child of AAS’s founder. Diane acted like the de facto office manager and was the queen in this kingdom, and all the subjects fell to her command.
Unfortunately, she was in the office a lot now that Michelle worked there. Miller didn’t think she was of much help to Michelle. Diane criticized and hovered. And both women trying to run the office was like having too many cooks in the kitchen. It was impacting AAS’s efficiency and leaving a bad taste in people’s mouths, including employees and a few clients.
“I’m sorry. I can’t,” Wren said to her shoes. She reached for the door.
Miller reached around her and opened it. “Some other time then,” he said evenly. Delight. He’d seen delight before Diane had interrupted them.
Miller pondered this as he followed Diane back to where Michelle was working. He didn’t know what it was about Wren that appealed to him. She was the opposite of what he liked in a woman. He went more for curvy, easygoing blonds with long hair he could wrap his fists in.
Wren was willowy without many curves. Although the curves in today’s sweater would give him something to remember. Also, no blond ropes. Wren’s hair barely made it into a ponytail. And the color? Red, maybe? He needed to confirm that with Jackson or Parker, since they were the most understanding of his disability. And forget about easygoing. She was about as easygoing as a viper’s nest.
“What can I help you with, Miller?” Michelle smiled up at him as he and Diane entered the back office.
“You have some questions, I believe,” he said.
Michelle looked between her mother and Miller. “No, I think I’ve got this, unlike last month.” She rolled her eyes.
“My mistake. I’ll just leave you two alone,” Diane said over her shoulder as she walked out of the room.
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Miller said to Michelle. “It takes a while to learn something new, and you’re a good addition to the office.” He smiled at her and left. Now that she had more experience on the job, she was becoming a good addition. She’d be even better if her mother would leave her alone. She was eager to help, sweet-natured, and had a bit more pep than Mrs. Webster had. Now that he thought about it, Michelle was his usual type. He pictured Michelle in his mind and did a quick body scan. Nope. Nothing. No interest anywhere.
He pictured Wren with her chin-length, possibly red hair, thin frame, and stubborn mouth. Sir! Yes, sir! sounded an immediate salute from below. Miller shook his head and sat down at his desk. Based on his track record, he shouldn’t be attracted to Wren, and yet he was. Attracted to a prickly flower who didn’t want him.
And Wren had turned him down. No woman had ever done that until now. As he opened his email, he wondered why her mouth had said no when her body language had said yes. During the deposition, he’d caught her looking at him more than once when she thought he was otherwise engaged. She had leaned toward him when she wasn’t fighting him. He was sure she was interested because he’d seen delight on her face. So why was she denying it, and what was he going to do to overcome it? He loved a challenge. He’d think of something. He always did.
Thursday, 7:32 PM
Jackson : Parker just bailed. It’s just you and me for Saturday.
Miller : No females?
Jackson : Nope. Finding music for the wedding is my job.
Miller : Really?
Jackson : Yes.
Miller : Music is important. Invite Emily. Proxy MOH should come too.
Jackson : OK. I’ll check.
Friday, 1:15 PM
Jackson : Em and Wren both on board. Leaving my house tomorrow at 6:15. Don’t be late.
Miller : I’m never late. Not picking me up?
Jackson : I’m 3 doors down. Walk.
Miller : You’re a lousy date. Does Emily know this?
Jackson : Too late now. She’s committed.
Miller : She should be.
Jackson : Says the loveless single man.
Loveless single man. Miller had been turning over Jackson’s supposed insult in his head for the last day. After viewing it from every possible angle, he still couldn’t muster the energy to be upset by it. He was fine with being a loveless single man. In fact, he was great with it. He didn’t have the energy for a relationship or any interest in one.
And the timing was off. Way off. Once he made partner at AAS and proved to everyone he wasn’t his legacy, then the timing would be right to find Mrs. Right. But for now, all he wanted was casual. Something easy like dinner and a movie, not I-want-to-bring-you-home-to-meet-my-mom.
Happy being single , he reminded himself as Wren slid into the car. She wore figure-hugging distressed jeans with a thin, dark-colored cable-knit sweater. Perfect attire for a night of surveillance and blending into the background. “Hi, Emily. Hi, Jackson. Thanks for picking me up,” she said as she buckled her seatbelt. “Counselor.”
“I thought we were done with that,” Miller grumbled. Dusk was falling so he couldn’t get a clear read on Wren’s face to see if she was serious or joking.
“Yeah, why do you keep calling him that?” Emily asked from the safety of the front seat.
“The deal was I could call him Counselor until I was done with the subpoena and deposition—”
“And now that she is, she’s supposed to call me Miller because we’re friends.” He leaned against the door, challenging her to disagree.
“I wouldn’t go that far.” She hesitated. “Acquaintances, maybe.” He heard the doubt in her voice. Miller turned to face the front of the car.
“So, Jackson, what’s the plan?”
“I’m hoping to hit two live bands and two DJs. The first band is playing at the Edina Country Club, then we’ll see a DJ at a Bloomington Elk’s Club. There’s another DJ at the Landmark Center, and the last band is at the St. Paul Hotel.”
“Sounds pretty ambitious,” Emily said. “It will take at least an hour to get to the country club.”
“I think it’s doable. They’ve already been pre-screened and the Landmark Center and St. Paul Hotel are practically next door to each other, so it should work.”
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?”
“Yes.” Miller leveled him with a glare. “This is important. If I’m lucky, I’m only doing this once and I want to get it right.”
“What about when it’s your turn to tie on the ball and chain?” Jackson asked, and Emily gave him a gentle elbow jab to his ribs.
“Watch it, buster,” she cautioned.
“I’m serious. You’re the best, Em. Whoever Miller marries will be a ball and chain compared to you.” Jackson leaned in and kissed Emily. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer. Miller spoke before the love fest went any further.
“If the Gods are smiling on me, it will be a weekend in Las Vegas.”
“What if she wants a traditional wedding with all the trimmings, or even a destination wedding?” Emily asked.
“Really, whatever she wants is fine with me. I’d just prefer something fast, because once I decide, I won’t want to wait, and Vegas fits that bill.” Miller was done talking about a hypothetical distant event. “So, we’re all agreed on a big old ‘no’ for the strip-tease DJ at the Elk’s, right?” Everyone nodded as the cocktail server delivered their hot drinks. Just as he’d predicted, Wren wrapped both hands around her mug. Miller moved his mug in front of her. “Here, now you have one for each hand.”
She looked surprised but didn’t argue. He went back to his notes and from the corner of his eye noticed that she’d wrapped a hand around each mug. “Let’s see what everyone put down,” Jackson said. Emily liked the first band from the country club, and Jackson liked the band they had just heard at the hotel.
“Tie,” Jackson said. “Well, proxies, let’s see what you have. Wren and Miller handed their ballots to Jackson. “Huh, you both picked the lady DJ across the street.” He gave Emily a resigned look and she shrugged her shoulders.
“Great minds think alike. We must be friends,” Miller said to Wren as he took his mug back. He smiled to seal the deal.
“Acquaintances,” she insisted and took a sip of her drink. Miller leaned forward and wiped a drop of whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a cocktail napkin.
“Friends,” Miller said as he crumpled up the napkin. “So tell me, what’s the name of the guy who broke your heart and ruined you for the rest of us?” Wren leaned back and laughed. Her laugh was deep and smooth and it woke up every cell in his body.
“You are so full of yourself, Miller Lynch. Why is it guys like you always think it is another guy instead of the one staring back at you in the mirror?” She stopped and grinned, and he noticed the sparkle in her eyes. “That made more sense in my head, but you know what I mean.” Laughter and an insult were not the reactions he’d hoped for when he’d wiped away the whipped cream.
“No. I don’t know what you mean,” he said nervously.
“I know what she means,” Emily said. Jackson cocked an eyebrow, encouraging her to continue. “Let’s face it, Miller, women think you’re the full meal deal. You’re handsome, successful, and you’re a nice guy. You’re what every parent hopes their daughter brings home. And, as a result, if a woman isn’t interested, you think she’s broken or it’s because of someone else. You can’t comprehend a woman not being interested in you for no reason.”
Jackson chuckled.
“Watch it, Coach.” She pointed at Jackson. “Don’t even get me started on you,” Emily warned him, but she softened it with a quick kiss.
“Wow, ladies, tell me how you really feel,” Miller complained. He took a sip of his lukewarm hot chocolate to avoid eye contact. They made him sound shallow. Arrogant. He didn’t think he was that guy, but Emily’s description seemed to fit. Now wasn’t the time for introspection, though. He looked back at his friends. Wren looked contrite, but Emily and Jackson were lost in each other.
“I’m sorry, Miller. I shouldn’t have teased. I have a hard time warming up to new people and I don’t like to be pushed. I’ll get there eventually.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he promised. It disappointed him when she didn’t have a scathing comeback. Instead, she lightly squeezed his hand before stifling a yawn.
“Jackson, my date is falling asleep. Let’s call it a night.” Both men threw bills on the table, which more than covered their tab. Wren didn’t protest the date comment and Miller didn’t protest when she slipped her icy hand into his on the walk back to the car.