12. Chapter 12
July
W ren was alone in the shop as she sorted through the mail. It was always hard to get going the day after a holiday when there wasn’t anything to do. As she sorted, she contemplated switching the canvas size she usually painted on. Her usual canvas size needed an easel which would take up too much space in the shop. But if she used a smaller canvas, she could paint when it was slow. It would be a hassle to set it down to answer the phone or help a walk-in customer, but the hassle might be worth it.
Finally . Wren gave a sigh of relief as she came to a thick envelope from Ball Realty. She’d called Greg Ball several times to set up an appointment to renew her lease, but he’d never returned her phone calls. When she’d called again last week, she’d spoken with Eric Ball and not the receptionist. Looks like Eric came through . She ripped open the envelope and scanned the cover letter. She got to the end and reread it from the beginning slowly. It wasn’t a lease, it was an eviction notice! She had to vacate the building, including her apartment, within sixty days. September 5. I can still do Emily’s wedding flowers, was her first thought as her world fell apart.
She walked to the front door, locked it, and switched the sign to Closed . She climbed the stairs to her apartment and boiled water for tea. Once the numbness subsided, she would have a lot of thinking to do. She texted Miller, canceling their plans for the evening. Wren claimed a migraine. A small lie, but she didn’t feel guilty. She didn’t have a migraine now, but she would later. If all the planning didn’t cause one, the crying would.
Stay focused , she reminded herself whenever panic crept in. According to the local newspaper and various websites, there wasn’t a lot of space for rent in the downtown area, and what was available was too large or out of her price range. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She needed a relator’s help, but she wanted to keep this quiet. Her only option was to call Eric. He worked for his dad so he’d already know about the eviction, and hopefully her instincts were right and he wasn’t a sleazeball like his dad.
After they’d exchanged pleasantries, Wren got down to business. She explained what she needed in a new space and wondered if Eric could help her as a friend and not say anything about this to anyone. It took Eric a few minutes to understand what she was saying. He hadn’t known about the eviction. From his stuttering, it sounded like he went from stunned to mad to ashamed. Once he’d recovered, he promised to keep his eyes and ears open for locations, but he told her that right now the downtown market was tight. She’d have better luck looking out by the mall or the highway. Wren rubbed her forehead and thanked Eric for his time and help. She ended the call and went in search of some ibuprofen. She’d hoped Eric would be like a knight in shining armor astride a white stallion, determined to rescue her. Instead, he was more like a common man on a dappled pony giving her instructions.
Her shoulders slumped and she rubbed a hand over her queasy stomach. It looked like she might be out of business temporarily. What’s my Plan B? She reviewed the calendar. Other than her contract to service the Hart Hotel, there were eight weddings scheduled in the fall. Five of them had already paid down payments and three hadn’t. She made a note to follow up with the three brides next week to see if they’d made a decision. Hopefully, they’d decided to use another florist and just hadn’t told her. She’d rather they cancel the order than have to do it herself.
The other five she might be able to do, but she’d need to check with Barb’s Buds and see if they could come to an agreement, like subletting a cooler and some space for supplies. She had a good working relationship with them since they served different areas of the Haven community. Plus, work would still be slow, so Barb might welcome the additional income. Wren crossed her fingers. I’ll be a freelance florist until I find a new location. I have money saved, I can do this. Wren repeated I can do this until her breathing slowed.
She rearranged the order of her growing to-do list. Thirty minutes later Wren re-focused on the sheet and realized it didn’t matter whether it was Plan A or Plan B, everything flowed back to Barb.
Help Cindy and Dale get other jobs. Temporary? - CHECK WITH BARB.
Rent space? - CHECK WITH BARB.
Sell delivery van? - CHECK WITH BARB.
Sell excess inventory, tools, and equipment? - CHECK WITH BARB.
Sell current customer list - CHECK WITH BARB.
If Eric found a new location for her before her current lease ended, she would keep the inventory and delivery van. The van was in decent shape, but the coolers had to go. They were old and Wren was running out of tricks to keep them going. She’d probably give them to Barb just so she didn’t have to dispose of them. I can do this.
Wren debated about asking Barb for a temporary job, since she was going to check for Cindy and Dale, but working for someone else felt like a step down. She had money in the bank. She’d be OK until she found a new location. I can do this.
She had excess inventory she could sell, but she’d hold on to her tools and customer list until the bitter end. If she hadn’t found a new space by the end of the year, she’d take it as a sign from above that it was time to move on. Maybe she’d move back south where the winters weren’t so cruel, and seeing Miller every day wouldn’t hurt. But , I can do this. I just need a location.
Moving. Biscuits! Where am I going to live? Barb couldn’t help her with that one, but maybe Emily could. She was moving in with Jackson after the wedding. Her bungalow would be empty then. That might be an option. An apartment would come with a lease, and she didn’t want to tie herself down in case the universe had other plans for her. She stared at the blank wall, wondering if there were any other options. Nope. None. If Emily’s bungalow was a bust, she didn’t know what she’d do. A text interrupted her fears of becoming a bag-lady.
Friday, 1:15 PM
Miller : Ginge, sorry about the migraine. Let me know if you need anything or if you want a head and neck massage. I’ll keep my hands above your shoulders. Promise. Unless you want otherwise ;-)
‘Want otherwise’ is what had gotten Wren into this mess. Her gut told her there was something fishy about Ball Realty not renewing her lease, and it wouldn’t surprise her if Diane was behind it. Greg had mentioned he and Diane were friends when he’d hit on her at the disastrous AAS dinner. If she’d stuck to her guns and hadn’t let the smooth-talking lawyer convince her they could manage a short-term relationship, she’d still have her business and her heart. Instead of watching out for him, she should have been looking out for herself.
Again. Once again, she’d lost everything because some man wanted to be partner in a law firm. What did I do to deserve this? Wren slumped down in her kitchen chair.
With her marriage, she’d lost who she was. With Miller, she’d lost her business, her home, her dreams, and her heart. She threw her pen against the wall and watched it bounce to the floor and roll. It was satisfying, but not helpful.
Wren woke up the next morning with the headache she’d promised herself. Caffeine and ibuprofen had helped, and Miller brought her a sweet tea after lunch. Wren was with a customer, so he’d placed it on the counter and mimed ‘call me’ with his fingers. She smiled, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes.
Diane breezed through the door mid-afternoon as Wren started her end-of-day routine. “Oh, good, you’re here. I stopped by yesterday, but you’d already closed for the day.”
“What can I help you with, Diane,” Wren said. Diane pulled a tape measure and a notepad out of her purse.
“I just want to take a few measurements. We’re trying to determine the best place for Miller’s desk.”
Wren walked to the front of the shop and opened the front door. “I still hold the lease, and as long as I do, you’re not welcome here. You can expect my final invoice tomorrow, and I expect it to be paid in full by the end of the week.” Diane’s mouth opened and closed a few times, like a startled fish. Did she think I’d roll over and cooperate?! Maybe even hold one end of the tape measure for her?
“Well, I suppose a few more weeks won’t set us back too far,” she said as she shoved the tape measure and notepad back into her purse. “Although it will be an inconvenience for Miller, but I’m sure he and Michelle will figure something out.”
“I’m sure they will,” Wren said woodenly. She wasn’t going to give Diane the satisfaction of a meltdown.
“Let’s keep this between us, shall we? It isn’t official yet, and I’d hate to ruin Miller’s surprise,” Diane said as she walked out the door.
Wren spent the next week avoiding Miller. Luckily, Emily’s wedding duties kept her busy. Besides painting, Wren was also a calligraphist. She found it relaxing and enjoyable, unlike painting, which could be a struggle. With calligraphy, she just followed the structure and copied the address. There wasn’t any creating to do and she could sit while doing it. And, most importantly, she had to focus while doing it. Mistakes happened when she let her mind wander. Four hundred envelopes to address provided her with plenty of excuses to avoid him. She also had her bridesmaid dress fitting and went with Emily to her gown fitting.
Miller had stopped in the shop several times. Wren grabbed the phone each time he’d walked in the door, and pretended to take an order. It was always an involved, lengthy one. She’d roll her eyes and make a motion she would call him. She never did. She’d send a brief text explaining how busy she was. Wren couldn’t avoid him forever, though, especially since she needed to finish her part of the wedding gift.
She wasn’t sleeping well, either. In addition to her worries about her business was the stress from procrastinating in breaking up with Miller. She told herself it would be like removing a Band-Aid. She just had to find the courage to yank it off quickly. It would sting a lot at first, but then the pain would stop. Unless it was over an artery and she bled to death.
M iller was a patient man, but he’d reached his limit. Something was up with Wren. She’d been avoiding him for the last two weeks. For once in their relationship, he’d like it if she would freely share her problems instead of making him drag them out of her. Wren Busch was a piece of work. An incredible, stubborn, scared piece of work. He didn’t know what it would take for her to trust him.
Today, he came prepared. He arrived with a sweet tea for her, coffee for him, and a bakery bag. Wren was on the phone, again. Miller went to the back room, sat down, and took a chocolate chip cookie out of the bag. He held up the second cookie for Wren to see. He wasn’t leaving. Wren eventually ended her call and joined him in the back.
“Hi, stranger,” he said, leaning back in his chair. She looked tired, but she gave him a slight smile. He didn’t smile back.
“Hi, yourself.”
“Long time no see.” It sounded like an accusation even to his own ears. He needed to calm down. Putting Wren on the defensive wouldn’t help solve whatever the problem was this time.
“I know. Emily’s had me busy with wedding stuff and I’ve been busy here, too, especially since Cindy and Dale are both on vacation.” Wren played with the paper wrapper from her straw. It was evidently much more fascinating than looking at him.
“Lots of carry-out orders, I imagine.”
“Lots, and deliveries, too.” Wren nodded her head in agreement.
“That’s odd, since the delivery van hasn’t moved in two days.” Wren didn’t say anything.
“Say it, Wren. Stop avoiding me, and say whatever it is you need to say,” he pleaded. “I can’t solve something if I don’t know what it is.” Wren’s mouth tightened and her eyes glistened.
“It’s me, and you can’t solve me.” Miller reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “This was supposed to be short term. It wasn’t supposed to last this long.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“Yes. It is. For me. You’re up for partnership soon, and you know I can’t do that.”
“You can, but you won’t.”
“Choose whichever verb you want, Counselor, but the outcome will be the same,” the ice maiden said. She stood.
“Why are you so afraid to take a chance on us?”
“You’ve never been married to a lawyer, to a partner, I have! I don’t want to be lonely again. I don’t want to play second fiddle again. All the nights and weekends at work, I won’t do it again.” Her voice broke.
“Have you noticed me working a lot of nights and weekends?”
“No, but it will change once you’re a partner. It did for Michael.”
“Did it ever occur to you that maybe he wasn’t always working? Maybe he was screwing his mistress?” Miller all but shouted. He took a deep breath. Backing Wren into a corner wouldn’t solve the situation. They both needed a time-out. He needed to calm-the-hell-down, and she needed to come to her senses. “What about the wedding gift? You’re not done with your part,” he said. That was better. He sounded reasonable, like he was discussing mild weather and not like he was about to bust out of his skin.
“I know your schedule. I can work on it when you’re not at home, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Fine.” He looked hard at her. “Is this what you really want?” He saw Wren take a deep breath and rub her compass ring. She finally looked at him.
“No, it’s not,” she whispered.
“It’s not what I want either, so why are you doing this to us?”
“Because I love you, and I want what’s best for you, and that isn’t me,” she said. The tears rolled down her face. She cupped his face and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I’m sorry.” She dropped her hands and walked away.
Miller sat there for a few minutes. He’d walked into Wallflowers ten minutes ago to fix the situation, clear-up whatever stupid-ass idea the stubborn woman had in her head. And instead of making it better, it was worse, a whole lot worse.
He was alone. He didn’t get it. The ice maiden had melted and said she’d loved him. How could she say she loved him and dump him in the same breath? It was like that stupid poem. The one that usually had a butterfly with it as the artwork. What was it? Something about if you loved someone you set them free. Right now, he felt as free as a butterfly hitting the grill of a semi going seventy miles down the highway. He wasn’t free; he was demolished.
H is legs felt like jelly and his lungs burned. Sitting on his butt all week avoiding the world had not been a good idea, and he was paying for it now. He focused on the trail ahead. Just a few more minutes and they would be back on the sidewalk. He’d let his mind wander when his feet hit the pavement. Until then, he’d focus on avoiding tree roots and loose gravel. Jackson and Croix were ahead of him, and Parker was heavily sucking air behind him. Focus on your feet , Miller reminded himself when his mind wandered back to Wren.
Jackson and Croix slowed their pace, and Miller and Parker caught up. “I thought you said you ran?” Croix asked Parker between breaths.
“I do.” Parker bent over to catch his breath. “And running on a treadmill is nothing like running a trail with you three.” Jackson did a few light stretches and started to walk. “Cool down time?” Parker sounded hopeful.
“Better. Trust me.” The men followed Jackson. They walked for several minutes, talking about nothing in particular when Jackson turned up a driveway. Mrs. Hart met them at the side door.
“Finally,” she said. Jackson gave her a quick kiss. “I was starting to worry. You should have been here by now,” she chastised the men as they entered the house.
“My fault, I’m afraid,” Parker admitted. “I’m not up to their speed.”
“It’s like running with an old woman,” Croix complained.
“Really?” Mrs. Hart asked. Croix blushed.
“No offense, ma’am,” he said.
“Come on, boys, breakfast is getting cold.” She ushered them into the sunny kitchen. “I just took the rolls out of the oven. They need to cool a bit more.” The men washed up and helped themselves to the buffet-style breakfast. Mrs. Hart had made an egg-bake casserole and fruit salad. A carafe of fresh-brewed coffee sat on the oak kitchen table.
“This is wonderful, Mrs. H., thank you,” Parker said, as he topped off everyone’s coffee mug.
“Well, I thought it would be nice to have one last hurrah before the wedding, and to catch up with all of you.” Mrs. Hart proceeded to gently interrogate each of them. Miller chuckled when Croix was under the microscope, and Mrs. Hart looked at him.
“You would have made an excellent attorney,” he commented. She smiled at that.
“I imagine I would have.” She leaned forward. “Now, how are things at AAS? You’re due for partnership soon, right?”
“Yes.” He fiddled with his coffee mug.
“You don’t seem too excited about it.”
“It’s been a rough few weeks.” He shrugged his shoulders. He didn’t want to talk about this. and he hoped she’d get the hint.
“But you like it there? You want to be a partner?”
“It’s tough. There are things I’d like to do differently, but I’m not sure they’ll make changes even when I’m a partner.” Earlier in the week, old man Anderson had pointed out that Miller needed to be logging in his copies. AAS could only charge a client for copies if they had been tracked. And he’d been reprimanded for taking on a pro bono case, again. A teeny, tiny case that had taken him no more than two hours, but had meant the world to his client.
“Like what?” she asked. Miller didn’t want to air the firm’s dirty laundry in public, so he found a safe complaint.
“I really enjoy corporate law, but ever since I’ve been with the firm they keep giving me the divorce cases. Each time I bring a business client into the firm and start to work on their case, it gets transferred to Harvey. It happened twice this week. And both times the reason given was that new divorce cases had come in. If I bring the client in, shouldn’t I be the one working on their account?” Miller had said more than he’d meant to. He shrugged, hoping to give the impression it wasn’t that big of a deal.
“Like last year when you drew up all the paperwork for CHART’s incorporation and its purchase of Chance Resorts, but on the day of the deal William Anderson took your place?” Croix asked.
“I heard about that,” Parker said. “That’s a lousy way to treat someone.”
“Exactly.” Miller poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Yes, I can see where that would be frustrating,” Mrs. Hart said before clearing her throat and looking at Jackson.
“So, work is why you’ve been holed up for the last few weeks?” Jackson asked. Miller leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. He didn’t want to lie to his closest friends and Mrs. H., but he didn’t want to talk about it either. He shrugged his shoulders and busied himself with adding lots of cream and sugar to his coffee.
Mrs. Hart left the table. She brought back a fresh carafe of coffee and set a caramel roll in front of each of the men, except Miller. She placed his off to her side. Croix cut off a piece of his roll and made exaggerated happy noises. “Mrs. H., these are by far the best caramel rolls you have ever made. In fact, I might eat Miller’s when I’m done with mine.”
“Classic interrogation technique, Mrs. H.,” Miller pointed out. “Withhold something I want in exchange for cooperation. I take back my attorney comment. The FBI could have used you.” He still didn’t know what information they wanted, however, professional, or worse, personal.
“Not so much an interrogation as an intervention,” Parker said. Miller held up his hands in surrender. “Guys, I’m not drinking, honest,” he said and reached across the table for his caramel roll. Mrs. Hart gently slapped his hand away.
“We didn’t say you were drinking,” Jackson said, “but something’s up. You’ve made excuses every time one of us has tried to do something with you in the last few weeks. From what I can tell, you’re either at home or at work. And it sounds like you’re antisocial at work, too. Croix has the role of rude hermit in this group, not you,” Jackson said, pushing his hair back. Miller didn’t care for Jackson’s tone, but he understood his concern. His behavior had been atypical.
“What Jackson is trying to say”—Mrs. Hart gave Jackson’s hand a pat—“is that we’re worried about you, and we’d like to help. But we can’t help you if we don’t know what the problem is.” She held up the roll and wiggled it, like a treat you’d tempt a dog with. Evil, she’s pure evil , Miller thought, without any venom. He didn’t want to talk, but he wanted the caramel roll. Surely he could talk but not say anything, right?
“Fine, you win,” he said in surrender, reaching for the roll, but Mrs. Hart shook her head.
“Talk first,” she commanded.
“She dumped me.” Mrs. Hart passed the caramel roll to Miller.
“Now that you’ve given us the end, enlighten us on the beginning and middle of this story. I didn’t even know you were seeing anyone,” Parker said, helping himself to more coffee.
“Well, I was, and she dumped me.”
“Someone dumped you? Mr. I-used-to-be-a-model-and-still-could-but-I’m-a-successful-lawyer-now?” Croix said around a mouthful of caramel roll.
“Being a lawyer was the problem. She didn’t want to be involved with me because of the partnership issue.”
“Because you weren’t a partner? What a gold digger!” Parker said.
“No, because I was going to be a partner. I think she would have been OK if I was going to be an associate for the rest of my life.”
“So, why did she agree to date you knowing you were on track to be a partner?” Miller wished Parker would pull his reporter’s nose out of his business.
“I told her it would just be short term. Enjoy each other for the time being. Keep it light. Keep it easy.”
“So, what’s the problem with the break-up? You knew it was coming,” Croix said matter-of-factly. Miller didn’t say anything. He stuffed his mouth with more caramel roll. Can’t eat and hit Croix at the same time.
“Short term became long term in your mind and not hers, right?” Jackson guessed.
“Bingo,” Miller muttered.
“So, the thing you’ve been working toward is the thing that drove her away?” Croix’s voice sounded like it was a mixture of pity and amusement.
“Yes. No. I don’t know,” Miller said and shrugged. “It’s complicated.” He didn’t want to share Wren’s secrets. “She clung to the idea of short term. Maybe she really wasn’t interested in the long term. Maybe I had it wrong all along.”
“She might be scared,” Jackson said. “Maybe she’ll come around with time.”
“She’s scared and stubborn. She’s got it into her head that she’s not partner-wife material. I don’t think time will help with that.”
“Which do you want more, partnership or the girl?” Parker asked.
“I want both.”
“Well, you can’t have both, dumb-ass. That’s your problem,” Croix pointed out. “Pick one, accept it, and move on.”
“Thanks for the insight, Dr. Croix. I’ll get right on that.” Miller stood and began to clear the table.
“Maybe you can have both. Is there a way to shift things so you get what you want and she gets what she wants?” Jackson asked.
Miller sat back down with a huff. Evidently, the conversation wasn’t over. “I’m not following.”
“Is there a way for you to get the benefits of being a partner without actually being a partner? Or pushing back the partner goal for a year to give her more time to get used to the idea. Something like that.”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Miller scraped up some remaining caramel from his plate and popped it into his mouth.
“You know, Miller,” Mrs. Hart said, “goals are important, but sometimes you need to change them when they no longer work for you. There’s no shame in that. Think about it.” She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. Miller stood and started to clear the table again. The men made quick work of clean-up and soon they were outside saying their thanks and goodbyes to Mrs. Hart.
“I say we roll down the hill,” Parker suggested, patting his full belly.
“I have a better idea,” Mrs. Hart said. “Jackson, take my car keys. You can bring it back later.” Jackson bent down and gave her a quick kiss. “Thanks, Gram, you really are the best.” Miller saw her pull out her phone and type as they backed out of the driveway. Huh, look at that. Mrs. H texts .