6. Chapter 6
January
W hy do restrooms always have to be at the end of the hallway? Wren huffed. It didn’t help that she was out of practice in wearing her Christian Louboutin heels. She shortened her stride to help with her balance. Tonight, she’d pulled out all the stops for Haven’s annual bachelor auction. Normally, she avoided these events, but the money went to a good cause and after the holiday season busyness, January was a little boring.
The last thing she needed was to spend her hard-earned money on a man. She’d rather buy oils and canvas, but Krista and London were in the mood to shop. As a financial adviser, Rica had said the return on investment would be too low, so, like Wren, she was just here to mingle and network.
“Another one.” She heard the deep voice and a sizzle shot down her back and into her cramped toes. Trouble? Wren stopped and retraced her steps. She peeked around the solid oak doors, and, sure enough, leaning against a high top was Trouble in a tux. Lord have mercy! He’s a tall drink of water on a hot summer’s day. The server brought his drink and removed his empty glass. He smiled at her and then stared at the drink.
Wren, suddenly parched, forgot the restroom trip and moved toward Miller. He didn’t seem to notice her until she’d boosted herself into the seat across from him.
“Hi,” she said, picking up his lowball glass and draining it. Wren coughed and pounded on her chest before grabbing the cocktail napkin and dabbing her eyes. She’d spent twenty minutes doing her makeup for the evening and she didn’t want to ruin it with raccoon eyes.
“Can I get you a drink?” He sounded irritated.
“No, I think I’m good,” she croaked between the last few coughs. “I think that will hold me for most of the evening. I thought it was Coke, not dark rum!”
“Expensive dark rum.” He sounded madder than a box of frogs.
“Why are you drinking?”
“Was drinking.” Miller frowned and pointed to the now-empty glass. He flagged the server over.
“I’ll buy you another,” Wren offered.
“It probably won’t help.”
“Two Cokes, please,” Wren blurted, wanting the server to leave before Miller changed her order. She sensed something was wrong, and she didn’t know how to handle this conversation. “So, what’s new?” Wren asked, trying to sound casual.
“Not much. How about you?” Miller settled into the chair across from Wren and leaned over the table. The candlelight in the dim bar highlighted the perfect features of his face. Wren studied him as an artist and a woman. The man’s features were perfectly symmetrical and miserable. High flushed cheek bones. Clenched chiseled jaw. Full scowling lips.
His body screamed anger and Wren didn’t buy his casual act for a minute. He’d been a friend to her when she’d “celebrated” her divorce— even if he had left her hungover and branded with the chaste kiss he’d left on her forehead. If not for his clear thinking, she would have kissed him, and then she really would have needed to avoid him—and she owed him the same courtesy tonight.
This was the first time she’d seen Miller since that evening, so she hadn’t had a chance to repay the kindness.
The server returned with their drinks, and Wren paid for them.
“Looks like you’re feeding me now,” he commented.
“Drinks are not food,” Wren chastised him, before taking a sip of her Coke. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
“I’ve never seen you drink alcohol, you’re standing in a bar alone drinking expensive rum, and you said it wouldn’t help. All that implies you’re in a bad mood.”
Miller leaned back in the chair and rolled his shoulders. “I’m one of the bachelors tonight.”
“Congratulations?”
“Hardly. My boss’s wife just told me their daughter is bidding on me.”
“Diane said Michelle’s bidding on you?”
“Yes.” He scowled. Wren felt a stab of jealously, but reminded herself she wasn’t looking to get involved with anyone right now, especially Miller. Michelle would make a perfect partner’s wife. She was the best match for Miller.
“I think most people would consider the boss’s daughter taking an interest in them to be a good thing.”
“We’re colleagues. Even if I was attracted to her, it would be unprofessional and awkward at work.”
“You’re not attracted to her?”
“No, I’m not.” Miller gave her a hard look. His admission shouldn’t make Wren happy, but it did. Her heart softened.
“Still, it could be helpful. Maybe you should find the good in this.”
“No thanks, Pollyanna, I’m not for sale. Thanks for the drink.” Miller stood, tossed a few dollars on the table for a tip, and stalked out of the bar.
Wren sucked on an ice cube and stared at her pointy toes. She loved these shoes, but looking at them now, she remembered why she had them. She’d seen them on display while passing through Nordstrom’s during a weekend conference in Nashville and Michael had insisted on buying them for her. A reward for putting up with all his meetings and being left to entertain herself while he’d been gone.
She’d been bought. He’d bought the shoes and everything else for her so she could maintain their society-perfect illusion. He’d paid cash that day, but the real currency had been her self-respect and identity. Too high of a price for a closetful of designer clothes and accessories.
Yeah, being bought sucks . Wren frowned as she found her way to the restroom and then made her way back to the ballroom for the auction. She wove through the crowd and neared Diane Swanson and a few of her friends. Wren did the social smile-and-nod so she could keep moving, but Diane touched her arm, stopping her.
“Wren, don’t you look nice this evening,” Diane said, sounding surprised. “Awfully fancy for just checking on the flowers, don’t you think, Char?” The lady offered a benign smile.
“Oh, no, I’m not working. I have a ticket.” Wren smiled.
Diane introduced her circle of friends. “Wren owns that charming little floral shop next door to us, Wallflowers. We get all our flowers there, but Wren, dear, lately they’ve been looking a little pedestrian. They’re still lovely, but not quite to our usual standards.” Diane slammed Wren’s business with a smile all under the guise of being concerned.
Killing her would be bad PR . She smiled at all the ladies and rested her gaze on Diane. “Thank you for your feedback, Mrs. Swanson. I appreciate your business and how difficult telling me this must be for you, especially in front of your friends.” Wren patted Diane’s arm in sympathy. “Let’s set up an appointment next week to review your expectations and we can adjust the pricing accordingly. I’m sure we can come to a better understanding.” Wren smiled at the ladies and turned to leave, but Diane stepped closer and her ring-encrusted hand grabbed Wren’s arm.
“I saw you with him. In the bar. Stay away from Miller,” she warned.
“I don’t know what you mean.” Wren tried to escape, but the crowd held her in place.
“Don’t be coy. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you drop off flowers. Set your sights on someone else. Leave him alone.” Diane sneered.
Wren pried Diane’s fingers off her forearm and stepped back. “Enjoy your evening.”
Black uniformed waitstaff circulated with appetizers and champagne. The organizers of the auction knew relaxed women led to relaxed purse strings. Wren grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing tray. The first one was empty within five strides.
Wren found her friends toward the side of the room near the silent auction items. “What are you doing here, Emily? Does Jackson know you’re shopping for a replacement?”
“No, they’ll be no replacing him. He’s a keeper.”
“I’m glad to hear that, my dear,” Mrs. Hart, Jackson’s grandmother, said as she joined the group. “Emily is helping me with some of the details tonight. This fundraiser for the hospital and youth enrichment program has gotten bigger and bigger each year, especially since we’ve moved it toward the end of the month. Rumor has it we’re even getting women from Minneapolis coming to bid.”
“You look spectacular this evening,” Emily said to Wren.
“You all look lovely,” Mrs. Hart added.
“Oh, this old thing?” Wren plucked at the sleeveless, purple-lace cocktail dress. It fell mid-thigh and made the most of her modest curves. The boat neckline was conservative but then plunged to an unexpected mid-back V. “It’s been ages since I had an excuse to wear anything other than jeans and work shirts. It’s fun playing dress-up.”
“You’re lucky,” Rica said. “I have to dress up every day. I wish I could get away with casual clothes, but I don’t think people would trust me to manage their investments if I showed up in jeans and a Goldy Gopher sweatshirt.”
“You’d be surprised what you can get away with. When I work at home, I live in sweats or yoga pants, but I’ll wear business-casual on top in case I get a video call,” London confessed. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. Trust me.” London winked and grabbed a few appetizers from a passing server.
“Speaking of trust,” Krista said pointedly and looked at Wren. “I helped set up the silent auction area this afternoon. I love the wildflower painting you donated.” Wren’s heart raced. Krista had an eye for detail and she’d hoped her friend had noticed the signature. Wren was counting on Krista to ask her about it. She was ready to tell her friends about her divorce and she hoped her set-up worked.
She prayed Miller would be right and her friends wouldn’t be too upset. Either way, Wren knew they wouldn’t make a scene in public. “The back of the painting had the inscription Wren Nash.” Wren focused on her ring as she tipped her head back and drained the rest of her champagne. She had nothing to be ashamed of. Other than selling your soul for security, of course, shame piped in. Shame rarely spoke up anymore, but it hadn’t left yet, either. Her therapist had said it would leave with time as Wren built her new life.
Krista continued as Wren gathered her thoughts. “Wren is an uncommon name, I was wondering if—”
“Nash was my married name,” Wren answered before Krista could ask the question. No one said anything. Her friends looked at each other as if to see if the others had heard what they had.
“You must have been quite young,” Mrs. Hart said, touching her arm. The small touch conveyed understanding and compassion, and Wren was grateful for it.
“Yes, yes I was.” Wren grabbed onto the lifeline Mrs. Hart had given her.
“Wow. That’s quite a secret to keep,” Krista said, sounding hurt.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell you guys, but it never came up in conversation.”
“That’s convenient, putting it back on us,” Krista accused. Wren took a deep breath. Miller was right, she should have told them earlier.
“I’m sorry. When I came to Haven, I left that part of me behind. I wanted a fresh start. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
“But it’s part of who you are,” Rica observed. “You can’t outrun it.”
“I know that, but I didn’t like myself before, and none of you would have liked me either.” She looked at her friends. “I’m happy here, and I’m more myself than I have been in a long time. I’m a successful businesswoman in a city I love with friends I adore. I really am sorry.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. I’m going to make a walk-through to make sure everything’s still OK,” Krista said before walking away from the group.
“Should I go after her?” Wren asked. London and Rica shrugged their shoulders.
“No. Let her blow off some steam. Krista has a huge heart that’s easily bruised. She probably sees this as a reflection on her, like you couldn’t trust her or something. I wouldn’t worry about it,” Emily reassured her. “She’s very loyal. She’ll come around. Just give her some time.”
“If it’s not too painful, I’d like to know more. You’ve always been pretty tight-lipped about your past. Maybe the next time we’re all together for brunch?” Rica suggested.
“Brunch would be a better place than here,” London agreed. “Is there anything we can do?”
“I’m fine, and I’ll answer all your questions later, I promise.” Wren felt lighter now that she’d shared. Secrets had a way of weighing down her soul.
“Wren,” Mrs. Hart said, “the arrangements on stage are just lovely. You always do such a spectacular job.”
“Thank you. I’m glad someone is happy with my work.”
“Who complained?” asked London. One large swill of rum and two glasses of champagne had taken their effect. All of Wren’s bottled anger burst free.
“Diane Swanson had the gall to call my arrangements pedestrian in front of her friends. I’m great at what I do!”
“That seems like a random comment,” Emily said.
“Diane often helps at AAS,” Rica said. “And from what I’ve seen, she’s anything but random. She’s calculating. Something must have set her off, or she wanted to impress someone.”
“That makes sense,” Wren admitted. “As I was leaving, she told me to stay away from Miller. Michelle is planning to bid on him, and I think Diane considers me to be the competition.”
“Diane’s always had a mean streak in her. She made Jackson’s mother cry at her very own birthday party once,” Mrs. Hart observed. “I’m sorry you were her target.”
“Yes, well, she’s a good client, so I’ll tolerate some abuse, but if it gets to be too much, she’ll have to find another florist to pick on.” A server thrust a fully loaded tray of appetizers in front of them. Wren surveyed the newest offerings and grabbed a stuffed mushroom and loaded potato skin. “I feel sorry for Miller, though. No man deserves to be stuck with that!” She crammed the mushroom into her mouth to keep from saying anything else.
“Yes, poor Miller.” Mrs. Hart shook her head. “I overheard her at the club last week. It sounds like she has high hopes for him and Michelle.”
The lights dimmed, teasing the crowd that the bachelor auction would soon begin. Wren thought about leaving. She’d accomplished what she’d wanted to for the evening; she’d faced her past and had told her friends the truth. If she left now, she wouldn’t have to watch Michelle bid on Miller. That would hurt too much. Wren couldn’t have him, but she didn’t want anyone else to, either.
She liked Miller, too much for her own good, but she’d learned her lesson. She wouldn’t change herself for him or for his career. She’d only be a liability to him.
Michelle, however, would be perfect for him. It might not be a long-term success, but in the short term, Michelle could give him everything he wanted. She handed her empty flute to a passing server and decided to leave. She didn’t want to watch the beginning of the Michelle and Miller train wreck.
“I think I’m going to head home. Wish Krista and London good luck for me. I hope you earn lots of money for the charities, Mrs. Hart.”
“Jackson’s backstage helping out, but I’m sure he’s just in the way and spending all his time teasing the other guys. I’ll get him to drive you home,” Emily said to her.
“I’m good with walking. Thanks, though.”
“In Louboutin heels?” London asked. “I’m impressed.”
“No.” Wren laughed. “My winter boots are at the coat check. There’s no way I would let these shoes touch a salty sidewalk.”
“Wren, I want to check my bid for your painting. Walk with me,” Mrs. Hart said. Her request sounded more like a command. The silent auction display was on the way to the coat check, so it was easy for Wren to agree.
She toyed with her ring, wondering what Mrs. Hart wanted. She knew the old woman was up to something. Wren hoped it was for good and not for evil. She’d had enough evil for the evening from Diane Swanson.
“Wren, do you believe in karma?” Mrs. Hart asked as she reviewed the bid sheets. “Darn! Number forty-two outbid me again.” She upped the last bid by ten dollars.
“Yes, ma’am, I do.”
“Good. I do, too. And here’s what I think. Sometimes karma needs a helping hand.” She looked Wren in the eyes and Wren forced herself not to squirm. “I like Miller. I always have. He’s a good man and has been a wonderful friend to Jackson. I think he needs to be rescued.” She pointed at Wren. “You should bid on him.”
“I considered it, but to be honest, I’m afraid Diane would retaliate, and I’m not sure I can afford a bidding war with Michelle.”
“Hmmm. You have a point. Diane is unpredictable and vindictive.”
“Maybe though…” Wren stopped. “Never mind, it’s too ridiculous.”
“The best plans usually are,” Mrs. Hart observed. “What’s your thought?”
“What if you bid on Miller and I’ll pay you back with a painting? Either something I have in inventory or something custom. Whatever you want.” Wren looked expectantly at Mrs. Hart. “Diane wouldn’t dare mess with you.”
“Because I’m old?” Mrs. Hart asked without any heat.
“No, because of your social standing. You’ll always outclass and outrank her.” Mrs. Hart seemed pleased with Wren’s answer.
“Any painting I want?”
“Yes!” Wren nodded her head.
“Well, dear,” Mrs. Hart said, linking her arm through Wren’s, “let’s go rescue Miller.”
The Master of Ceremonies took the stage. “Good evening and welcome to the Haven bachelor auction. Before I bring out our first bachelor, I’d like to remind you that bidding on the silent auction items will continue for another thirty minutes. If your bid wins, remember to settle up before you leave. And remember folks, proceeds from tonight’s event go to support the Haven Hospital Outreach and the Parks and Recreation Youth Enrichment Programs. Even if you don’t leave with any arm candy, everyone’s a winner in Haven tonight!” The audience applauded.
“I also just heard the waitstaff are making their final round with champagne. Ladies, remember, the more champagne you drink, the better looking the bachelors get.” He let the laughter die down. Wren went to find her friends as the MC continued to work the crowd.
“Bid on as many bachelors as you’d like. You can have more than one, but not at the same time. Cash, check, and credit cards accepted at checkout. And now, let me introduce our first bachelor.”
She found them near the front of the room. Wren reached for Krista’s hand. “Do you forgive me?” she asked Krista.
“Yes, but I’m still mad at you,” Krista said.
“That’s OK. Mad fades as long as it’s been forgiven.”
“I feel bad, though. We should have been able to help you. It must have been so hard moving here and buying your aunt’s business and doing it all with a broken heart. I just feel like we should have made it easier for you.”
“Krista, you guys were more helpful than you’ll ever know.”
Now that she’d patched it up with Krista, Wren turned her attention back to the MC. She’d never been to a bachelor auction. She’d been to art auctions, but those were stuffy and staid compared to this.
The MC would read a brief bio about the bachelor as he walked down the catwalk. The bachelor would then describe the date the winner would experience. They ranged in age from mid-twenties through seventy. Tall, short, muscular, gangly, thin, thick, professional, laborer. It was a wide range of Haven men, and they all had one thing in common—the women loved them! Some of the women were lewd, but the men on stage took it in stride.
“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Wren said to Emily, gesturing toward the stage.
“I think they’re faking it. Jackson told me the best thing about being engaged is it got him out of this,” Emily said.
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t. I showed him the best thing about being engaged,” Emily bragged and then blushed. Wren laughed. She was so happy for Emily.
The bidding was competitive and fun to watch, especially in their little group. The first time Rica tried to stop London was the last. London leveled her with an icy glare, frigid enough to stop lava. So, Rica doubled down on saving Krista. Every time Krista raised her paddle, Rica tried to pull it down. “Invest wisely,” she harped to Krista.
“I am! Just look at that guy! I bet he has great dividends,” Krista said. She waggled her well-groomed eyebrows.
Wren held her breath each time the MC introduced the next bachelor.
T he butterflies in his stomach had morphed into African killer bees about five minutes ago. Miller licked his lips and looked around at the last few remaining bachelors. They all looked calm and cool, unlike him. He hadn’t been this nervous since his modeling days. Miller bounced on the balls of his feet, hoping to dispel his nerves.
He hated this. Hated being on display and treated like a piece of meat. Man up. It’s for a good cause, he reminded himself again and tugged on his tight collar.
Although he hadn’t appreciated it at the time, Wren had done him a favor when she’d downed his twenty-five-dollar glass of rum. He didn’t need alcohol mixing with the killer bees in his stomach. He didn’t know what type of havoc drunk killer bees would produce. It made for an interesting visual, and he smirked. And, most importantly, if Wren hadn’t interrupted his drinking, his chances of walking a straight line down the runway would have been nonexistent. Him becoming like his father was the last thing he wanted the people of Haven to see.
“Our next bachelor is the home-grown, six-foot-tall, blue-eyed, dark-haired senior associate at Anderson, Anderson & Swanson, Miller Lynch.” Miller stepped into the spotlight and made his way down the catwalk. “Miller likes to spend his free time running the trails along the bluffs of the Poplar River, coaching youth soccer in our very own parks and recreation league, and cooking.” Miller executed his turn at the end and headed back toward the MC.
“Does he clean up the kitchen afterwards?” a loud woman from the back interrupted. The crowd chuckled.
“Well, Miller, you heard the lady. Do you clean up?”
Miller looked toward where the question came from and said, “Yes.”
“Well, then count me in!” the happy lady claimed.
“So, Miller, what can the lucky winner expect on her date with you?”
“A relaxed time getting to know each other.” Miller worked the room, making pretend eye contact with the crowd. “Dinner at my place with homemade deep-dish pizza, and for dessert —”
“You!” another woman shouted.
“Triple chocolate brownies with sea salt caramel frosting,” Miller said over the laughter. “Then, it’s lady’s choice. We can either go to a Minnesota Wild hockey game, or we can stay in and watch a movie.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted. Miller felt their excitement. He wanted to run, but he held his ground. These women were intense and determined. He focused on the charities that would benefit from his sale.
“Let’s start the bidding at two hundred dollars,” the MC suggested. From that point on, it was fast and furious. Miller couldn’t see faces, but he saw paddles flashing in the air.
As time went on and the bids climbed, Miller grew curious about who was bidding on him. If he squinted and tilted his head to the side, he could see the people in the first few rows. He scanned for any friendly faces. Krista and Rica appeared to be arm wrestling for the paddle. He hoped neither of them was bidding on him. That would be uncomfortable. They were like sisters to him. He spotted a group of servers from the Galley checking their phones. Yeah, he was probably too old for them, anyway.
“And we’re at nine hundred fifty dollars.” The MC dramatically wiped his brow. “Miller, these ladies want your brownies baaad,” he teased. The audience caught the obvious innuendo and laughed.
Great, a comedian , Miller thought as he forced his smile not to dip. A paddle flashed, and the MC turned toward it.
“Yes! Nine hundred fifty from the pretty blond in the front row.” Miller continued his scan and sure enough, there were Michelle and her mom. Maybe the rum would have helped to dull his pain and embarrassment.
“Do I have nine hundred seventy-five?” The MC scanned the crowd.
“Yes! Nine hundred seventy-five from the lady in the back.” Miller turned to look in the direction the MC had pointed to, but it was too far away and the lights were too strong. The MC looked at Michelle.
“Do I hear one thousand? One thousand dollars?” Miller saw Michelle and Diane deep in conversation. Diane grabbed the paddle and thrust it up. Michelle pulled it down, but she was too late. “We have one thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen. I’ve been with you folks several years now at this event, and I can never remember any man going for so much. I hope the other bachelors are paying attention for next year. The ladies of Haven like a man who knows how to cook,” he teased.
“And clean!” reminded the woman from the back.
“And clean,” agreed the MC. “I’ll remind you the current bid is one thousand dollars from the pretty blond in the front row. Do I have one thousand twenty-five? One thousand twenty-five?” He scanned the crowd and pointed at the lady in the back. “Are you in or out?”
“Out,” she said with a sigh.
“Final call. One thousand twenty-five? Going once, going twice —”
“Two thousand dollars,” said a mature voice behind Michelle and Diane. It’s down to a co-worker or a geriatric? What the hell did I do wrong in a previous life? Miller asked himself.
He should have given Wren money to bid on him. If she hadn’t sidetracked him with her long legs in that short dress or the way her golden-brown eyes had sparkled in the bar, he would have thought of that. But she probably wouldn’t have done it. She thought Michelle would make a great Mrs. Lynch. Miller frowned at that thought.
“Two thousand dollars from the classy dame,” the MC announced. He looked at Michelle. “Do I hear two thousand twenty-five?” Michelle hesitated. “Going once.” Diane grabbed for the paddle, and in the struggle, it fell to the floor.
“Going twice.” Mrs. Hart stepped on the fallen paddle and pushed it behind her.
“Sold, to the classy dame!” announced the MC. “An all-time record. Two thousand dollars for Miller Lynch!” Miller stayed and waved to the crowd. He wanted to see if he could figure out the theatrics in front of him.
“You dropped the paddle!” Diane screeched.
“You pulled it away,” Michelle defended.
“You weren’t raising your hand,” Diane scolded.
“Two thousand dollars is a lot of money when I can eat lunch with Miller for free,” Michelle justified. Her tone was calm and reasonable, unlike her mother’s.
“Lunch is not the same as dinner at his house, and you know it,” Diane hissed. “You are hopeless! And, you!” Diane spun toward the winner.
“That was fun!” the winner exclaimed. Miller still couldn’t see past the front row, but he could hear her. “Maybe I should buy another man? I wonder who’s left?”
“You weren’t even bidding until the end. You hijacked it,” Diane accused.
“I did, didn’t I? But my feet hurt and I was bored. It seemed the quickest way to get what I wanted: home and bed. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go pay for my man.” She walked away and Diane started to berate Michelle again.
“It’s not a successful bachelor auction until a cat fight breaks out,” the MC said to Miller out of the side of his mouth. “Congratulations, and see you next year.”
“Not if I can help it,” Miller grumbled and went to the check-in station to see who owned him.
“Mrs. Hart?”
“Good evening, Miller. Don’t you look handsome tonight?” Mrs. Hart reached up and straightened his already straight tie.
“Thanks, I think.” He waited for Mrs. Hart to explain, because there had to be a good reason why his best friend’s grandmother had just paid two thousand dollars to spend an evening with him.
“About that date, we’ll need to modify it,” she said.
“Sure, just let me know what you have in mind. And, Mrs. Hart, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For bailing me out of a tough situation.”
She patted his arm. “Well, let’s just say a little birdy told me you needed help.”