Better Luck Next Time

by Denise Grover Swank

  He made his way into the room, which looked like the office of the therapist he’d gone to see after his falling-out with River. He’d gone to one appointment. The only person who knew was Dottie, who’d told him, “Dear, no need to be so ambitious. Most people don’t resolve their issues in a single session.”

  Which he knew, of course, but it had been an afternoon appointment, and the office had smelled strongly of egg salad. Something that had prevented him from focusing on anything but the egg salad.

  Adalia sat in one of the two chairs, and since the other was clearly intended for Lola, he settled onto the couch. As Lola sat down across from him, Finn found himself wondering what he’d signed up for. It felt like he was about to be interrogated.

  “Tell me a little about yourself,” Lola said. And he couldn’t help but glance at Adalia. He made eye contact for a second, which was enough to tell him they were thinking pretty much the same thing: what exactly did psychic mean if it didn’t mean, well, psychic?

  But Lola was onto them. “Like I told your friend,” she said patiently, “I don’t know everything. If I did, I’d have won the lottery years ago. But some of us are more…intuitive. More capable of tapping into deep truths. I’m not sure I can help you, but I’d like to try.”

  Point to Lola.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  Adalia snorted, and he flushed a little, knowing exactly what she was thinking.

  Pompous much?

  “I… I’m just trying to figure out where to get started.”

  “I know you founded Big Catch with Dottie’s nephew,” Lola said. “And I know about the sale and some of the fallout.”

  “So what do you want to know?” he asked uncertainly.

  “You’re at a crossroads,” Lola said. It wasn’t phrased as a question. “Do you find yourself torn between two paths?”

  Did he ever. But he only wanted one.

  “Yes. I guess one road would be to leave Asheville. To accept that I’m not wanted here. That would probably be the more prudent thing to do. It’s what my parents would like me to do. But it’s not what I want.” He glanced at Adalia. Go big or go home, Finn. “I’ve felt lost lately. Like nothing makes sense anymore. I thought it would be easy to find the next big idea after the sale went through, but I felt empty even before the blowback. Because I let down the people who matter to me.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than it had ever been in his life. His usual stylist, whom he’d considered a friendly acquaintance, had written a comment on the Gazette article. I know this guy!!! Good tipper, but he wouldn’t stop talking about himself. SO conceited. Finn had wanted to tell her that he was just someone who liked talking…that he’d thought you were supposed to talk to a stylist. That she was the one who’d asked him questions. But he’d turned off his computer instead. And let his hair grow.

  “I guess I was a little depressed,” he admitted. “I wasn’t leaving the house much. I didn’t know how to feel in my own skin anymore. Then I saw something I shouldn’t have seen—” He looked away from Adalia, not wanting to reveal her secret again. “Anyway, it made me realize I wasn’t the only person feeling that way. It…unleashed something in me. I realized that I don’t need to start another multimillion-dollar business right away.” Okay, he shouldn’t have said that part. He could practically feel Adalia rolling her eyes. “I can do something meaningful. Something that makes people’s lives better. Something that matters. And I want to help that other person too. The one who feels like I do.”

  “What if the other person just wants to be left alone?” Adalia asked, the question lacking any of the heat he might have expected.

  “Then I’ll do my best to give him space,” he said, smiling at her. “Sometimes my eagerness gets away from me.”

  “You need to let other people make up their own minds,” she answered. “Even if you don’t like the answer. There may be things you don’t know about this exceptionally handsome and charming young man.”

  He glanced back at Lola again. Her eyes had rounded. Probably she felt like she was in the middle of something, because she was. But her presence was pretty much the only reason Adalia had agreed to stick around, so he was grateful she was there. Grateful, too, that Dottie had unwittingly—or maybe not?—sent him Adalia’s way again.

  “Shall I take out the deck?” Lola asked, her tone kindly. As if she felt sorry for him.

  “Sure,” he said, embarrassed. The psychic thought he was a hot mess. Great. He shot another glance at Adalia. She was looking at him, but he couldn’t read her expression. At least she wasn’t staring daggers of hate at him. He’d take it.

  Lola went through the song and dance of shuffling the cards. Then she asked Finn to touch them so he could infuse them with his essence or whatever. So he held his hand against them for a moment, feeling Adalia’s eyes on him. Feeling an uncomfortable throb of self-consciousness.

  But he reminded himself this was nothing compared with what he’d witnessed Adalia doing. Worse, he’d shared her secret with River, and by proxy Georgie, which had clearly filled Adalia with shame.

  He’d expected Lola to chant, or roll her eyes back, or something equally dramatic, but she just shuffled again, letting his energy guide her or whatever. She frowned as she laid out the cards, so that probably wasn’t good, especially since the first one had a skull and crossbones on it. Was this what Dottie had seen in his tea? Maybe she’d figured it would be best if someone else passed on the sorry news.

  He glanced up at Adalia, but her eyes were on the cards. She shifted her gaze up to Lola, her expression accusatory.

  “What, do you pick the same draw for everyone?”

  “No,” Lola said, glancing from one of them to the other. If she was acting, she was a good actress, the kind who’d win awards. “But you’re right, they’re exactly the same. You’re both in the middle of transitions, so it’s not surprising there would be some overlap, but…well…I’ve been doing this since I was a teenager, and that’s never once happened.”

  “Lay it on me,” Finn said, joking but just barely. “Are we both going to die? Is a semi going to barrel down on us as soon as we leave?”

  “Trust me, I already asked,” Adalia said in an undertone.

  “No,” Lola said, her gaze darting over the cards. Then she gave them another look, first Adalia and then Finn. “No, I think it means you’re meant for each other.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Adalia burst out laughing. She wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to stay for the reading, but she had, and something had kept her there too. Maybe it was the look in Finn’s eyes whenever he darted a glance her way. That look told her she was his lifeline, and what he’d said to them…he felt just as messed up as she did. Sure, he’d caused his own problems, but couldn’t the same be said of her?

  Then Lola had said they were meant for each other, which was so obviously bogus, and now she couldn’t help but wonder if Dottie had somehow manipulated this into happening. Maybe she’d snuck into Georgie’s office and hypnotized Adalia.

  “I doubt it,” Adalia said, glancing at Finn. He looked shell-shocked, but she thought she saw something like hurt in his eyes. “Nothing personal. I’m not exactly looking for a relationship.”

  “Maybe I misspoke,” Lola said quickly, as if sensing she was losing her audience. “It might not be a romantic connection, but there’s no denying your futures are intertwined. I’ve never seen a stronger indication.” She gestured for them to look at the cards as she said it, and it struck Adalia that it wasn’t just the same spread: it was in the same order.

  Maybe Lola wasn’t totally full of it. There was no denying Adalia kept running into Finn, and he’d already had an impact on her life.

  If Lola was right—and that was a big if—what exactly did all of this mean?

  Was Finn freaking out at the thought of his future being hitched to hers? Or was he just as desperate to get out of this nightmare as she was?

 
“Do you smell something burning?” Adalia asked, wrinkling her nose.

  Lola’s eyes widened in alarm. “What?”

  She turned to Finn. “You smell that, don’t you?”

  He gave her a confused look.

  “It smells like burning plastic.” She leaned forward, locking eyes with him. “Don’t you smell it?” She lifted her eyebrows as high as she could.

  Understanding filled his eyes and he sat up straighter. “Yeah. Definitely.” He bobbed his head and got to his feet. “We should get out of here so you can figure out what it is, Lola.”

  “But I don’t smell anything,” she said, looking worried.

  Adalia felt guilty for scaring her, but not guilty enough to stay seated. “Maybe it’s just my nose.” She shrugged as she grabbed Finn’s wrist and dragged him to the door. “I burned a Pop-Tart this morning, and I haven’t been smelling right ever since.”

  Finn glanced back at Lola. “How much do I owe you?”

  “Just send the bill to Dottie!” Adalia called out, dragging Finn behind her. “He’s good for it!” She didn’t slow down until they were out the door and halfway down the street.

  “Where are we going?” he asked, but she noticed he wasn’t giving her any resistance.

  “I’m hungry. You’re buying me a late lunch.”

  “I am?” He gave a slight shake of his head, looking only slightly less dazed than he had on Lola’s couch. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do lunch.”

  “Let’s do lunch?” she asked, walking slower now but still holding his wrist. “You make it sound like we’re about to film a porno.”

  His face turned red. “Adalia, I—”

  “Relax,” she said, coming to a halt at the street corner. “I make inappropriate comments when I’m nervous or uncomfortable.” She gave him a direct look. “The more uncomfortable, the more inappropriate. For the record, I dialed it back so I wouldn’t scare you off.”

  She spotted a Mexican restaurant and started to drag him toward it. “I hear they have a great Taco Tuesday night…and yes, I’m well aware of the fact that it’s Thursday.” She was babbling, which was totally unlike her, just further proof of how shaken she was.

  He made a face when he saw their destination, like maybe he wasn’t in the mood for Mexican food. She might have asked him about it, but then he tried to lace his fingers with hers, and she stopped and jerked her hand away. “What are you doing?”

  He gave her a blank look. “I thought you wanted to hold hands.”

  “What? No!”

  He studied her for a long moment and then slowly reached out and grabbed her hand anyway.

  For some reason, she didn’t resist. She told herself she was doing it for him. From what he’d said in the weird psychic/therapist room, he clearly needed a friend. The fact that she hadn’t pulled away had nothing to do with the fact that his touch made her feel grounded and slowed down the spinning in her head.

  They were silent as they walked the rest of the way to the restaurant. He opened the door for her, still holding her hand, and part of her couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t one of those people who held hands while walking down the street, not with anyone, but life had a way of laying to rest personal rules and preconceived notions.

  The hostess showed them to a booth right away, likely because it was well after the lunch rush. Finn released her hand before sliding into one side, muttering something about déjà vu, but he didn’t explain, and she didn’t ask. The hostess placed a basket of chips and two containers of salsa on the table, then headed back to her stand at the front of the restaurant.

  Adalia took the seat across from him and set her purse down next to her.

  “What the hell happened back there?” Finn asked, running a hand through his hair. He had nice curls now that it had grown longer, the kind she would have liked to paint if asking him wouldn’t have stoked his ego.

  If she was ever going to paint or sculpt or screen-print again.

  “Which part?” she asked, flagging down a passing waiter. “We’re gonna need a pitcher of margaritas.” She turned to Finn. “Anything for you?” Then she hastily added, “Just kidding…maybe.”

  “The pitcher and two glasses,” Finn said, looking up at the waiter. “There’s a bonus twenty-dollar tip if you can get it here in less than five minutes.”

  The young waiter practically sprinted to the bar.

  “Frozen!” she called after him.

  “Back to what happened at the psychic’s,” Finn said, leaning his forearms on the table. “Did Dottie send you there so we’d run into one another? Is this one of her elaborate schemes?”

  “Trust me. I considered it. But this wasn’t her doing unless she hypnotized me,” she said, giving it another moment of consideration before dismissing it. Dottie was capable of many things, but it would have taken a master of manipulation to pull something like that off. “It was just like Lola said. I was a walk-in. After Georgie talked about having me committed, I took off and started walking around. That’s when I saw her storefront.” She tilted her head. “Does a psychic have a storefront or an office?”

  He leaned even closer, his eyes wide. “I was wondering the same thing, but go back to the part about Georgie having you committed. Are you kidding me?”

  He seemed outraged on her behalf, which felt kind of nice, but she couldn’t let him think that of her sister. “Okay, no,” she said with a sigh. “Not committed. But she and River want to pay for me to see a psychologist.” She started to drum her fingers on the table, trying to expel some of her pent-up nervous energy. “Do you think seeing Lola counts? Psychic. Psychologist. They’re practically spelled the same. There’s just a lot of extra letters after the C-H in psychologist. Plus, you saw her space.”

  He reached over and covered her hand with his, applying pressure when she tried to pull away. “Adalia. Take a breath. Just breathe.”

  If any other man had tried to tell her that, there was a good chance she would have slapped him, but for some reason she didn’t understand, Finn’s touch grounded her again. It stopped her from spinning out of control.

  He looked just as surprised as she was that she hadn’t decked him. She liked that he’d been willing to roll the dice.

  The waiter appeared next to the table with a sloshing pitcher and two margarita glasses. “Four minutes and three seconds.”

  Finn removed his hand from hers and pulled out his wallet, then handed the waiter a twenty-dollar bill. “A deal’s a deal.”

  The waiter picked up the money and headed back to the kitchen, licking spilled margarita off the back of his hand.

  “Did he just do what I think he did?” Adalia asked, turning at her waist to watch him walk away.

  “Waste not want not,” Finn said, pouring a frozen margarita into one of the glasses and handing it to her before filling his own glass. “So Georgie and River want you to see a therapist.… How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m sure it’s a good idea for some people, but I have my own way of dealing with things.”

  He gave her a lopsided grin. “I can see that.”

  She smacked his hand on the table. “If therapists are so great, then why aren’t you going to one?”

  “I tried one a month or so ago, and let’s just say it wasn’t a good fit.”

  “So you went to a psychic instead?”

  “That was Dottie’s doing.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did Lola really pull the same cards for you?”

  “Right down to the skull and crossbones and the card with the guy lying on the ground with a bunch of swords sticking out of him. Who knew tarot cards were so morbid? But at least she told me the death card didn’t mean I was going to bite it. She said it signified the end of something or some major change in my life.” She gave him a tight grin. “At least you already know what yours is—selling your brewery.” Her smile faded and a heaviness filled her chest. “Mine…”

  The thought of giving up her art stole her breath. Could she do it?
/>   “No, Adalia,” he said, his eyes burning with an intensity that made them look greener than blue. “Not that.”

  She took a generous sip of margarita and he took a drink too, eyeing her as though he was trying to read her.

  “Maybe it was about leaving New York. You’ve started a new life too.”

  She shrugged.

  “I really am sorry about telling River,” he said. She could tell he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it, yet there was a determination in his eyes that told her he felt the need to apologize properly.

  She shrugged again. “I guess they were going to find out at some point.” Then, before he could prod her about possibly giving up her art, she said, “So, about your charity art show…”

  “River and I discussed it last night, and I guess he talked to Georgie. Buchanan’s going to host the first one.”

  Georgie hadn’t mentioned that. She’d gone straight to the matter of Dottie’s garage.

  “Did you pick a charity?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the chip basket as she reached for one.

  “Yeah,” he said, sitting up a little. “My friend Maisie’s animal rescue. One of her big donors flaked on her, and they need the money.”

  “The one River’s known since he was like thirteen?” she asked, then gave him a knowing grin. “Good choice. Hard for River to say no when you’re raising money for his childhood friend and puppies.”

  “It wasn’t like that, Adalia,” he said defensively.

  She gave him a knowing look. “But it kind of was.” When he didn’t say anything, she said, “It’s a compliment, Finn.”

  “Is it, though?”

  Lifting her glass, she said, “To knowing what you want and going for it.”

  “I’m not sure I should drink to that,” he said, but the corners of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile, and he clicked his glass into hers. She drained her margarita, then put the glass on the table with a thud. “Hit me.”

  He refilled the glass as a waitress walked over. The woman gave Finn an odd look, like maybe she recognized him, and said, “Oh, you already have drinks.”