Better Luck Next Time

by Denise Grover Swank

  Only Dottie had known the truth. Until today. Adalia’s face flushed at the reminder of having been caught by Finn as she hurried up to her room, grateful Jack didn’t pop out. She stripped her clothes and stepped into the shower in the adjoining bathroom. How long had Finn been watching her?

  She’d gone over to Dottie’s studio after receiving another wheedling text from Alan, one in a series of texts and emails that had started weeks ago. After a discussion with Georgie, who was certain he was just trying to get back into her good graces so he could use her again—Georgie had, thank God, tricked him into dropping the charges against her—she had ignored them. But they still kept coming, and for some reason, she hadn’t blocked his number like her sister had suggested. It was as if part of her wanted to punish herself. So she’d gone to Dottie’s thinking she’d paint out her emotions about Alan. Instead, she’d found herself painting her relationship with her father, how he’d always been so disappointed in her. How he’d given most of his attention to Lee, and what little was left for Georgie, who had been so desperate for his approval too. That look of appreciation in Finn’s eyes, of wonder tinged with sadness, had strummed something inside of her—and then unleashed a fresh flood of anger that had her handing him the wet painting, slopping red paint on his designer clothes. Alan had admired her work too…and look where that had gotten her.

  But being caught in the act, as it were, had thrown her. How long could she go on like this? What if other people discovered what she was doing? She could hear her father’s voice in her head: Mature people don’t throw temper tantrums with paint and knives. Grow up, Adalia!

  What if he was right?

  After her shower, she went downstairs, wearing a pair of pajama pants and a cami with a built-in bra (only because Jack was there) and raided the fridge for something to eat. Sure enough, there were two casserole dishes in the fridge with notes: “Jack, eat this for a slice of home,” and the other, “Addy, you need more protein.”

  Dottie.

  She still had a key to the house and often left food in the fridge, even more so since Georgie had moved out.

  Adalia reached for the dish addressed to her.

  “You found Dottie’s food,” Jack said behind her as he walked through the back door.

  She nearly dropped the heavy glass dish. “God! You scared me!”

  “Sorry,” he said, still standing in front of the door with his phone in his hand.

  She set her dish on the counter and lifted the foil. “Enchiladas?”

  She grabbed a fork to poke inside and saw they were stuffed full of black beans.

  “Mine is goulash,” he said, moving closer. “Help yourself.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Goulash is a slice of home? I thought for sure that Dottie had figured out how to make a casserole deep-dish pizza.”

  A rare grin stretched across Jack’s face, and for the first time Adalia could see his resemblance to her brother Lee, especially in the eyes. Jack’s were brown and Lee’s were hazel, but they had a similar shape to them. “My nana used to make it for me.”

  Adalia’s eyes flew wide. “How did Dottie know that?”

  He laughed. “I know Dottie tries to convince everyone she’s psychic, but there’s an explanation for this one. I mentioned it to her during a video chat.”

  Adalia couldn’t help but feel a small wave of disappointment. Dottie might not be psychic, but she was intuitive. In a weird way, it would be nice to think there was more to it. “Missing home?”

  Jack looked caught off guard by her question, but to her surprise he answered. “Yeah.”

  Something told her it wasn’t a place he was missing, more like a who. She nearly peppered him with questions, but it occurred to her that Jack had spent thirty-plus years without knowing any of the Buchanans. He’d shown up at the will reading with a trunk full of baggage. She’d hate for him to start peppering her with questions about her massive issues, so instead she asked, “Have you eaten?”

  “No, but I’m sure it’s good.”

  She laughed. “No, doofus. I’m inviting you to eat with me. Apparently, we’re family, and we’re living together, so we might as well start doing some things together.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “Like having family dinners?”

  She shrugged, trying to pretend it was no big deal, but she and Georgie and, more often than not, River used to eat dinner together most nights. They still invited her over more than they should, but it wasn’t the same as the casual pattern they’d developed. She missed it. “We don’t have to…”

  “No,” he said quickly. Then, as though realizing he’d seemed too eager, he said more deliberately, “I’d like that.”

  “Well, okay then,” she said, pulling out the goulash for him. “Let’s fill our plates and sit at the table.”

  “Okay,” he said, “but I’m a little nervous about those enchiladas.”

  Adalia laughed again, relieved to see Jack loosening up. “Last week Dottie told me that I looked pale and was worried I might be anemic. She knows I don’t eat meat, so I guess she thought beans would do the trick.”

  “Got any Beano?” he joked as he pulled two plates out of a cabinet. “We’ve got a meeting with Georgie first thing in the morning.”

  “No, but now you really have to eat some. Then she won’t know who to blame for the stench.”

  He smiled, a genuine smile, and Adalia was surprised how happy it made her to know she’d been the one to put it there.

  “I think our first family dinner needs to be celebrated with alcohol. Beer or wine?” she asked, then shot him a teasing grin. “What wine goes with goulash and bean enchiladas?”

  He started to answer, then stopped himself, his smile stretching wider. “Isn’t it sacrilege to drink anything but Buchanan beer?”

  “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

  “I think there’s a cab on top of the fridge, although that’s the worst place to keep wine.” He made a face as he glanced up at the small foldable six-bottle wine rack.

  “A cab sounds great, and move the wine rack anywhere you see fit.” She paused and looked him square in the eye. “I know this is awkward for both of us. We barely know each other, and—surprise!—suddenly we’re family, but this is your house too. Move things around if you want.”

  He studied her for a moment, then said with a deadpan face, “You feel awkward with me?”

  Oh crap. Adalia tried to figure out how to smooth this over, but he broke out into another grin.

  “You asshole,” she said, but her laugh softened the words.

  “There’s the woman I met in the conference room.”

  She made a face, then said in a defensive tone, “Okay, I was a bitch. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry. I’ve always been the outcast Buchanan, and suddenly I had someone else vying for my spot.”

  He grinned. “Well, you apologize like a Buchanan, so I think I’m currently holding the title for biggest outcast.”

  Putting her hand on her hip, she gave him the side-eye. “I think I’m gonna like you, Jack. We can be outcasts together.”

  He reached above the fridge and grabbed the bottle of wine. “Let’s drink to that.”

  They fixed up their plates and heated them in the microwave while Jack opened the wine and poured two glasses. They carried their plates to the dining room table and fell into an easy conversation as Adalia gave him a very abbreviated, glossed-over retelling of growing up with Prescott Buchanan as a father.

  “You were lucky not to have him harassing you,” she said, pointing her fork at him to prove her point.

  “Maybe,” he conceded. He hadn’t told her much about himself other than mentioning his grandmother. Apparently she’d watched him while his mother worked. She’d been his entire world before she died while he was in middle school.

  “I’m sorry,” Adalia said softly. Jack hadn’t said his mother was difficult, but she heard it in his voice. If he’d been close to her, wouldn’t he have mentioned he
r with the same affection he’d used for his nana?

  He shrugged, pushing a couple of beans around on his plate with his fork. “I’m sorry that you lost your mother.”

  The way he said it made her think he’d reached the same conclusion about her as she’d come to about him: they had a lot of similarities. Both had wished they’d had a father in their life—or a loving father in Adalia’s case—and they’d lost the person who grounded them right around the same time.

  She poured the last of the wine into their nearly empty glasses and lifted hers. “To the youngest Buchanan siblings. We might be the outcasts, but we’re a scrappy lot.”

  His eyes lit up, and he clicked his glass with hers. “To us.”

  A knock rapped at the door, and Jack shot a look in that direction before glancing back at her. “Are you expecting anyone? Is that Georgie?”

  “No, and Georgie would just walk in.” Adalia got up from the table and walked to the door, worrying it was one of the neighbors, like the woman with the frizzy hair and wire-rimmed glasses from down the street, who was forever complaining about Jezebel. Come to think of it, the cat hadn’t been skulking around the kitchen while she and Jack heated up their food—which meant she’d probably gotten out again.

  Sucking in a breath for fortitude, she opened the front door, saying, “I’m sorry for Jezebel. I’m not sure how she got out again, but I’ll be happy to pay for the damage…”

  Her words trailed off when she found herself face-to-face with Finn.

  He gave her a sheepish look and started to say something, but she slammed the door in his face.

  “Who was it?” Jack called out.

  “No one.”

  Oh. God. Why was he here? What did he want? Was this some sort of wannabe intervention?

  Finn knocked on the door again. “Adalia. Open up. Please.”

  “Is that Finn Hamilton?” Jack asked in surprise. He’d followed her into the entryway and was looking out of one of the sidelight windows flanking the door.

  How did Jack know Finn? No, that wasn’t important. What was important was that Finn had seen her in her most vulnerable state and now he was here. On her front porch.

  Jack narrowed his eyes as he studied her. “Is there a reason Finn’s on the porch pounding on the door while you’re standing on the other side not letting him in?”

  “Tell him I’m not home.”

  Jack smirked. “I think that ship has sailed.” But when she didn’t smile back, he turned serious. “Is this where we move to phase two of family bonding and I step into my role as big brother? Do you want me to send him on his way and tell him to leave you alone?”

  Maybe it was Adalia’s humiliation that was making her emotional, because Jack’s offer brought tears to her eyes.

  Jack’s eyes darkened, his body tense. “So that’s a yes?”

  What was she doing? She didn’t let other people fight her battles. Or at least she tried not to. Georgie had helped her out of her legal snafu only a few months ago.

  She really was pathetic.

  Finn knocked again. “Adalia. Please. If you’ll just listen to what I have to say…”

  Jack reached for the doorknob, but Adalia put her hand on his. “Stop. I’m just being ridiculous. I’ll talk to him and send him away.”

  “You sure?” Jack asked, his brow lifted.

  “Yeah, but I definitely could have used you a few months ago.” Before he could ask questions, she pulled the door open.

  “You have ten seconds to tell me why you’re here—then we’ll pretend like this never happened.”

  Finn looked surprised, then turned serious. “I guess I better get started.”

  Chapter Four

  Dottie had come back to find Finn holding that wet, ruined painting, feeling both lost and found.

  “Oh,” she had said, nodding. “I wondered if you two would run into each other.” She hadn’t commented on the painting.

  And while she really had gone out to get some cream, or at least she’d gone to the trouble of buying some while she was out, he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d set this up. If she’d known, somehow, that seeing Adalia out in the studio—releasing her soul onto that canvas—was exactly what he needed.

  He hadn’t ended up telling Dottie about the whole Big Catch thing, if only because the Big Catch thing was now very much at the back of his mind. He had a new idea, and he was nearly bursting with it.

  If not for Dottie’s gentle admonition—“Dear, give her some space. And do take a shower. If people see you out on the streets looking like that, I shudder to think what the next article will say.”—he might have left for Beau’s old house then and there.

  Instead, he had gone home and showered. Because it was a fair point.

  Now, standing on Adalia’s doorstep, it occurred to him that Dottie had probably meant that he should give her more than a few hours.

  Still, he was nothing if not dogged. He wasn’t going to give up just because she was frowning like she’d caught him leaving a flaming bag of dog poop on her porch.

  “I have a proposition for you,” he said.

  “Oh boy, you’re not off to a good start,” Adalia commented. It was only then he noticed the big, dark-haired guy looming behind her. Jack, doing the whole big brother thing. They’d met in person a few days ago at the reopening of Buchanan, and he’d been perfectly friendly then. Not so much right now.

  “Explain yourself,” Jack said flatly.

  “When I saw you—”

  Adalia’s scowl deepened, and she turned to Jack. “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Did I just get upgraded from ten seconds?” Finn asked. And immediately regretted it when they both glowered at him.

  “I’ll be upstairs in my room,” Jack said as if he thought Finn might take advantage of his sister in some way. Had he met her?

  Adalia just nodded, but when Finn tried to come inside, she blocked his path. Moving her index finger back and forth, she said, “Nuh-uh-uh. To the back porch with you.”

  He was happy enough that she’d agreed to talk to him that he didn’t push his luck. Even if it would have been much quicker to cut through the house. He started walking around, figuring she’d follow him, but he heard the door shut behind him.

  Was this her way of getting rid of him?

  He circled around anyway, his mind buzzing, and found her waiting on the chair that her grandfather used to favor. Did she know that, or had she just felt drawn to it?

  She pointed to the other chair, which was unnecessary—there was only one—and he sat.

  It was obvious from the look on her face—and, well, the fact that she’d made him tromp around the house—that she was still angry, so he did what he should have done in the beginning. He apologized.

  “I’m sorry about earlier. I swear on all that’s holy that I didn’t know you were there. Dottie invited me over for tea the other day, and I wanted to talk to her, and then I heard you scream. I was worried that someone might be—”

  “Stealing Dottie’s art,” she said, something in her softening. “Yeah, you said. And I suppose I do have the car of a would-be art thief.” She rubbed between her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so snappy. I guess I’m a little embarrassed. Dottie lets me use the studio, and it’s a bit of—” her lips tipped up, “—art therapy. They say it works wonders, right? Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t say anything about this to Georgie or River. I don’t want to worry them. They’re so busy right now, and…”

  Her words trailed off, like she’d maybe run out of them.

  “I meant what I said,” he said, seeking out her gaze. She wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Your talent…it’s magnificent. Look, I’ve been feeling lost lately.” Somehow it was easier admitting that to her after what he’d seen. Like maybe she understood. “I thought the world would open up to me after I sold the company, but it didn’t work out like that. The ideas all dried up.”

  “Because of the article in the local p
aper?” she asked, as if drawn in despite herself.

  “No,” he said, admitting something to her he’d barely admitted to himself. “Before that. It almost felt like there were too many opportunities. I couldn’t focus on anything.”

  She huffed a little at that, not that he blamed her. He’d heard it before. Poor little rich boy. And the people who had said it to him—or thought it of him—were right.

  “My parents have been after me to leave Asheville. My father says I need to find a bigger pool. But I like this pool. Even if it no longer likes me.” He couldn’t help but let a little of his hurt leak into his tone.

  “Oh, they’ll get over it,” Adalia said, waving a hand. “People love gossip. Just you wait. Someone’s going to do something totally cracked in a week or two, and no one will remember.”

  “But I’ll remember,” he said. She lifted her gaze then, looking at him. Looking into him, it seemed. She had lovely, deep hazel eyes—hadn’t some old, dead English guy said eyes were the window to the soul?—and he felt a strange longing to touch her cheek. But that was beyond foolish, and he ignored it. “I’ve been lucky for as long as I can remember. Except I’ve realized it wasn’t luck at all. Or not just luck. My parents have been boosting me up the ladder for so long that I didn’t even realize it was happening. It just felt normal. It was my life.”

  He’d done a lot of introspection after finding out about the endowment his folks had given to Duke. Thought of at least a dozen other instances of them “helping.” Hell, the building they’d landed for Big Catch had been owned by an old golf buddy of his dad’s. Uncle Carl.

  “And now?” she said softly.

  “And now I want to do something without them.” A corner of his mouth ticked up. “Something they wouldn’t like.”

  She smiled back at him. “Now you’re talking.”

  “This city has done a lot for me. Even if the people here aren’t so fond of me right now, it feels like home. More so than my own home ever did. I want to give something back.” And because he had trouble shutting his mouth sometimes—River had told him he couldn’t help himself—he added, “And I want people to change their minds about me. I want them to realize that I might not have been born here, but I care about this city too. I’m part of it.”