Better Luck Next Time

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Friends in low places,” Adalia said. “Do you have shrimp tacos?”

  “Yeah, but I can bring you a menu…”

  “Not necessary. Just bring me that,” Adalia said, challenging Finn with a raised eyebrow. “Live on the wild side with me.”

  He rolled his eyes, but that smile was finally escaping. “Bring me the special of the day.”

  “Do you want me to tell you what it is?” the waitress asked in confusion.

  “Nope,” he said, grinning at Adalia.

  “Okay…,” she said as she walked away.

  “Look at you, Finn Hamilton,” Adalia said appreciatively as she sipped more of her drink. The tequila was already making her head fuzzy, but she didn’t care. Her plan was to get shit-faced. “I’ll help you with your charity thing.”

  His eyes brightened with excitement. “You will?”

  She held up her hand. “Yeah, but not how you think. I’ll help you pick the artists and set things up the night of the event, but I won’t be displaying any of my own art.”

  Disappointment flickered in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. “I’d be grateful for any help you’re willing to give. Dottie has made a bunch of suggestions, some of them great, but we both know her taste runs on the eccentric side.”

  Adalia grinned. “I love that woman, but agreed.” She finished off her margarita and shook her empty glass. “Again.”

  Finn gave her a long look, but just as she was starting to wonder if he was about to get all withholding on her, he refilled her glass. “How are you not getting brain freeze?”

  Her body felt deliciously warm, now that he mentioned it. “It’s one of my many talents. Tell me more about yourself, Finn Hamilton.”

  He hesitated, studying her. “What do you want to know that you don’t already?”

  “First of all, how is a cute guy like you still single?”

  His face flushed. “Just what every man wants to hear, a beautiful woman calling him cute like he’s a purse dog.”

  “You are the furthest thing from a lap dog,” she teased, letting herself take a good look at him.

  Funny, she’d never given him much consideration as a potential love interest, maybe because the very first time they’d met, she’d thought him a prowler, and as soon as that impression had faded, he’d gone and broken up Georgie and River. But looking at him now…how had she not noticed how he filled out that button-down shirt? Or how observant his gorgeous eyes were? Or how beautiful those curls were now that they’d grown a bit? Her fingers were itching to touch them. And his lips… Finn had lips that looked soft yet firm, and she suddenly wondered what it would be like if he kissed her.

  Where had that come from?

  Lola. She’d done this. She’d insinuated the idea of Finn in her head, and now she was thinking crazy thoughts.

  She needed to change the subject, yet she couldn’t help asking, “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”

  He looked her straight in the eyes. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right woman.”

  Now it was her turn to blush, and she took another sip before changing the topic. They talked a little about his time at Duke and hers at the Lanier School of Fine Art. The waitress brought their food and Finn made a face when he realized the special was chili rellenos, so Adalia gave him one of her tacos and ordered nachos and another pitcher of margaritas.

  Finn looked like he was about to stop her, but he must have thought better of it.

  She’d always taken him for a smart man.

  The nachos came out around the same time the new pitcher arrived, and Adalia giggled as she poured some into her glass, spilling a little on the table.

  “Why’d you move to Asheville?” Finn asked quietly.

  She held up a finger, waggling it back and forth. “I’m not drunk enough yet to tell you that.”

  “Then why did you go see Lola?”

  “I told you already.”

  “But did you?”

  She grabbed a chip from the nacho pile. “Lola told me that something from my past would come back to haunt me. Since we had the same cards, it must be true for you too. Do you know what that could be?”

  He pursed his lips. “I guess it could be a number of things. The Duke mess. My parents’ money. My decision to sell Big Catch. What about you?”

  She narrowed her eyes, wondering if she should tell him. Part of her couldn’t believe she was considering it, but the whole psychic experience had created an unexpected bond. Grabbing her phone out of her purse, she unlocked it and pushed it across the table.

  Hesitating, he picked it up, his eyes darkening when he saw the unread text on the screen.

  “Who’s Alan?” he said, handing back the phone.

  Was that jealousy she heard in his voice? No, that had to be the margaritas talking. Finn hardly knew her and knew nothing about Alan. “My former mentor.”

  His jaw set, hinting at a side of Finn she hadn’t seen before. “A mentor who calls his protégé baby?”

  She nibbled on a chip.

  “What’s he so eager to talk about?”

  “Beats me,” she said. “Surely he knows I’m smart enough not to let him use me again, but he won’t leave me alone.”

  “What do you mean, use you again?”

  When she didn’t answer him, he set down his fork slowly, as if working to control a burgeoning anger.

  “Adalia. What did he do?”

  He wasn’t angry at her, she knew. It was a protective anger.

  So she relented, and told him everything, even more than she’d told Georgie. “He was one of my art school professors. I wasn’t even sure he knew who I was, but then he dropped by this small show I had last year. He seemed impressed and introduced himself. I reminded him that I’d been in a couple of his classes. He played it off like he really did remember me, but I wasn’t so sure. It didn’t matter. He was this amazing artist, one of the most sought-after professors, and he was interested in my work. I was awestruck. He asked if I had any more pieces he could see.”

  Finn watched her with dark eyes, making her feel self-conscious, and she vaguely wondered if he was mad at her, but then he reached across the table, covering her hand with his own.

  “So you let him see your work?” he asked, prodding her to continue.

  Was he remembering what he’d seen in Dottie’s garage? Somehow she knew he was.

  She nodded. “I had a small studio space I was renting with a few other artists, and he started coming by once a week or so to look at what I was working on and give me advice. After a couple of months, he suggested I work in his studio. My mixed media pieces are—were—fairly large, and I didn’t have much room in my existing space. I was thrilled. He rented part of a warehouse and the light was great. He seemed excited to have me there, and I basked in his attention. It was no surprise when he kissed me.” She paused. “I’ll admit that I had a crush on him, but I never suspected he was interested in me. Not like that. Plus, he was letting me use his studio space for free.”

  Finn’s hand tightened over hers. “Did he take advantage of you, Adalia?”

  She glanced up at him, surprised at the concern on his face. “I wasn’t some underage fool.”

  His eyes darkened. “That doesn’t answer my question, does it?”

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “It was consensual. We started sleeping together, and although I didn’t move out of my apartment, I spent most of my time at Alan’s. But then my pieces started disappearing. Alan said the studio was running out of room and he was having them moved to storage. Around that time, he started treating me differently, making me feel like I was stupid. That his opinion mattered more than mine did. I broke up with him, but he chased me, showering me with gifts and attention, and convinced me to take him back. He promised things would change. And they did for a bit, but then they got worse. He started insulting my work, telling me I was a hack and that I’d be nothing without him. He alienated me from my friends. I told my brother Lee w
hat was going on, and he offered to help me, but only if I agreed to leave Alan. Around that time, Alan told me that he was having a show, but I’d hardly seen him work on any pieces, and the ones I had seen were honestly not worthy of a show at Michael Roe.”

  She picked up her glass and finished it off, her head swimming, but everything else felt numb. It occurred to her that she’d purposely gotten this drunk so she’d find the courage to tell him the truth. So that he’d understand why she’d destroyed that piece and why she couldn’t, no matter how much she wanted to, create anything for his show. She’d done it so she wouldn’t fall to pieces when she explained how Alan had stolen her soul.

  “What happened?” he asked so quietly she could hardly hear him.

  “He wouldn’t let me watch him set up for the show, which was weird. He told me that he was being superstitious, that he was afraid I’d jinx it, but things weren’t adding up. I dropped by the gallery the night before the exhibit opened, and then I realized why he hadn’t wanted me to come—they were all my pieces. Every last one of them. He’d stolen my work and put his name on it.”

  “Adalia,” he gasped.

  She ignored him. “I was so furious. Furious with him for gaslighting me and stealing my art all while tearing me down and making me question my talent, but I was even angrier with myself for letting him get away with it. He used me in every way imaginable, but most of all, he stole the deepest part of me and claimed it as his own. I lost it. I found a couple of gallons of paint in the back and started tossing it on the pieces—every last one of them. Someone at the gallery called the police, and I was arrested for felony vandalism. Alan had shown up by then. I guess someone had called him too, and he stood by and just let them put me in cuffs.”

  Finn didn’t say a word, but Adalia could see the fury in his eyes.

  “I called Georgie, and she and River arranged to have me released on bail. After I got out, I packed up as much of my stuff as I could fit into a few suitcases, then hopped on a flight to Asheville.” She grinned. “That was the night I threw a crystal at you and bruised your pretty face.”

  He didn’t grin back like she’d expected him too. Instead, he looked like he was about to murder someone.

  “And now you destroy your art before anyone else can steal the innermost part of you,” he said, holding her gaze.

  Even drunk, she knew that he could see deep into her soul, much deeper than Alan had ever cared to look.

  He cleared his throat. “He dared to send this text after he had you arrested? What happened to the charges?”

  “Georgie convinced him to drop them. She made him realize it was in his best interest to make this go away.” She finished off her glass. “She can be very persuasive when she wants to be.”

  He nodded slightly. “Trust me, I know.”

  Adalia was sure he did.

  “This isn’t the first time he’s tried to get in touch either. He’s been doing this for weeks.”

  “Do you want to talk to him?”

  Apparently, she wasn’t drunk enough to dull the pain, because tears stung her eyes. “No. I never want to hear from him again.”

  Finn didn’t ask why she hadn’t blocked Alan’s number. Instead, he got out of his seat and slid in next to her. Without a word, he wrapped an arm around her back and snuggled her into his side, letting her cheek rest on his chest.

  They sat like that for longer than Adalia would have expected, Finn holding her while letting her just be. Part of her wanted to tease him for not talking, but the rest of her was too afraid to ruin the moment. Somehow he had known exactly what she needed.

  And that was a dangerous thing indeed.

  Chapter Twelve

  I think it means you’re meant for each other, Lola had said. And damn if Finn hadn’t found himself thinking back to that teacup Dottie had taken such an interest in yesterday. Was this what she’d seen?

  Running into Adalia at the coffee shop yesterday and outside Lola’s shop today…it felt like it meant something. And the fact that she’d chosen the exact same restaurant he’d gone to with River last night? That only added to the feeling of weirdness. The feeling of fate tugging at him.

  Because, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t just have a casual interest in Adalia Buchanan. Nor was he on some martyr’s mission to convince her to embrace her art. He was interested in her. Enthralled by her, in a way he couldn’t remember feeling before. And Finn had dated a lot of women. But he’d never thought about any of them the way he did Adalia.

  Didn’t matter. That Alan asshole had hurt Adalia in a deep way. It was going to take her time to bounce back, and to his surprise, he cared more about her bouncing back than he did about having her in the show. More than he did about giving in to the consuming desire to touch her curls. To kiss her. He longed to tell her that she was somebody of worth—deep worth—whether or not she ever made another piece of art. But he wanted to encourage her to express herself anyway, because it was clearly part of who she was, even if she chose not to show it. Even if she felt compelled to destroy it.

  Maybe Adalia thought he was the kind of man who took what he wanted, whatever it cost, but that wasn’t totally true. Other people mattered to him. He couldn’t be happy if he raked in a big prize at the expense of someone he cared about. This whole Big Catch situation had taught him that, if nothing else.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said softly, still holding Adalia.

  “But we didn’t finish the margaritas,” she objected, slurring her words slightly.

  “I think it’s time for me to get you home,” he said.

  “No,” she said, pulling away. “I don’t want Jack to see me like this.”

  “It’s only three o’clock. Jack’s probably still at work,” he said wryly. “I can sneak you up to your room, and he’ll be none the wiser.”

  Of course, Jack might have chosen to stay home after finishing their little project earlier, and he probably wouldn’t be grateful that Finn had helped her get soused.

  There was also the logistical problem of getting there. He wasn’t confident he could get her to walk that far, and while he wasn’t as drunk as she was, he was in no condition to drive.

  “Let’s just stay here,” she said.

  It was tempting. He didn’t want to let go of her. He didn’t want her to snap out of it and remember that he was the bigmouth who’d spilled her secret. That he was someone unworthy of her trust.

  But her eyes were fluttering in a way that suggested she probably wouldn’t be awake for much longer, plus the waitress was already giving him looks that indicated she thought he was a weirdo for coming back for lunch eighteen hours after he’d left for dinner. If his companion fell asleep in the booth, she’d probably assume he was angling to move in.

  So he called the person who’d always been there for him, with the exception of those several weeks after he’d screwed everything up.

  By the time River showed up, Finn had paid the bill, and Adalia was snoozing against his shoulder. The waitress’s eyes bugged out a bit when she saw River had returned too.

  “I’m glad y’all like our food so much,” she said, “but we’re closing for the two hours between lunch and dinner. Maybe you can come back for dinner service?” The suggestion seemed to pain her.

  “I’m just here to get them,” River said, gesturing to Finn and Adalia. He didn’t look as pissed as Finn had feared, but he didn’t seem exactly pleased either.

  “Okay,” the waitress said, her tone indicating she still had plenty of questions that she’d happily keep to herself so long as they left.

  “I told Jack to distract Georgie,” River said. “She’s intent on cheering Addy up, and if she sees her like this…”

  “She’ll assume the worst,” Finn agreed. “But I think this was what Adalia needed, in a weird way. She told me why she’s been tearing up her art.”

  “You know about the arrest?” River asked, surprised.

  Finn just nodded, becau
se he didn’t want to risk telling him anything he didn’t already know. He felt protective of what Adalia had shared, enough so that he didn’t feel the usual compulsion to let the information leak out of him like he was a faulty balloon.

  “She hasn’t even told Jack or their other brother, Lee,” River commented, and Finn felt a warm glow inside of him. Despite everything, she’d chosen him to trust. Him to tell. He couldn’t betray that. He wouldn’t.

  “Well, let’s get her home,” River said. “Dottie already left for their house to fix her a hangover cure.”

  “Don’t you need to stop being drunk to be hung over?” Finn asked.

  A corner of River’s mouth kicked up. “I guess we’re about to find out.”

  River offered to help carry Adalia out to the car, but Finn shook his head and cradled her in his arms. She only stirred once, but she didn’t say anything, just made a satisfied sound, like a cat in a patch of sunlight, and settled in deeper. It was like he was her safe place, and he felt the glow inside of him grow a little bigger and brighter. They laid her out in the back seat, securing the middle belt around her, and River set off at a slow speed, careful not to jolt her.

  “So,” River said after a while. “You finally went to see Dottie’s psychic, huh?”

  Finn might have overexplained a little in his (multiple) texts, telling River about the random run-in with Adalia, her decision to sit in on his reading, and the fact that the reading had driven them both to drink.

  “Do you know her?”

  “No, but Dottie’s mentioned her about a hundred times.” He shot a quick smirk at Finn. “She met her in line at the DMV.”

  “Of course she did.”

  Silence hung between them for a beat. Then River said, “So what did you think?”

  “She wasn’t like I’d expected. I figured since she was one of Dottie’s people she’d be more…”

  “Loud? Eccentric?”

  “Those two words did come to mind.” He paused, trying to put the experience into words. “But it wasn’t like some vaudeville fortune-telling tent.”