Better Luck Next Time

by Denise Grover Swank

  She glanced at him, as if daring him to dispute the offer. Like he would. Even if the pieces had been knitted sex organs, he would have accepted Blue with a grin on his face. Anything to see that look in Adalia’s eyes.

  “It’s going to benefit an animal shelter,” Adalia said pointedly, as if knowing that might sway her. Finn wasn’t the only one who knew how to push for what he wanted.

  Blue smiled again. “I already told Dottie I’d do it. I could use the exposure. My pieces aren’t your usual impulse buys.”

  “That’s because people are stupid,” Adalia said bluntly. “You’re a genius.”

  “Will you be this nice to me if I learn how to knit?” Finn asked, quirking his brow. Adalia gave him a playful shove, but she didn’t lean away afterward, her body pressing into his.

  “Would you like to sit down?” Blue asked, gesturing to the chairs in front of her desk.

  They lowered into the chairs and discussed the details of the show—how much space would be available to each of the artists (something they didn’t know yet since Finn had only lined up a few people, but Adalia insisted Blue would have all the space she needed), who would select the pieces (Blue agreed to send photos of the selections she wanted to bring to Adalia, who’d make the final choices), and the possibility for future shows. Finn was still running with the idea that they’d do it twice a year. The pieces that didn’t sell would be put on display at the venue until they sold or the artist requested them back.

  Finn glanced at his watch, aware that they were coming up on the time they needed to visit the last studio, a sculptor.

  “Does that mean you need to leave?” Blue asked. If anyone else had asked him that, he might have assumed they were annoyed, but she seemed incredibly Zen, like she did yoga in her sleep and dosed her coffee with chia seeds. Realizing he’d internalized Adalia’s ‘Who are you?’ game, he couldn’t help but smile.

  “Yeah, we have one more meeting. But we’re excited to have you on board.” He gestured to Adalia, who was still almost bouncing with excitement in her seat. “Obviously.”

  “Let me just steal one more second of your time.” Blue gestured for Adalia to follow her, and Adalia jumped out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box. Finn felt his smile spread a little wider. They followed Blue to a door at the far right corner of her studio, and she opened it, revealing an open space with a cement floor, surrounded by windows.

  “I know you said you’re not doing art anymore, Adalia. Or at least not right now, but I wanted to invite you to use this space. I lead yoga classes in here, but it’s empty more often than it’s full. You’re welcome to come to my classes too.”

  To his surprise, Adalia didn’t say anything. She just stood there staring at the space, her eyes wide. He wanted to know what she was thinking, but it would seem wrong to ask. Like he’d be interrupting something important. So he didn’t. Neither did Blue.

  Finally, Adalia looked up at them and smiled. “I guess we’d better get going. Thank you, Blue. You’re amazing.”

  Blue hugged her, which was again something Finn wouldn’t have expected from a stranger, and when they left, Adalia sought out his hand and held it. There was no playfulness to it this time. It was as if it really meant something.

  “What do you think?” she finally said. “Is the next surprise going to be a good one or a bad one?”

  “Definitely bad,” Finn said. “Dottie likes to keep us on our toes. We’re going to see a Mr. Fred Wilcox, sculptor. I’ll bet they’re sculptures of human anatomy, based on nude models volunteering from an old folks’ home.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” she said, “that sounds amazing.”

  “You would think so, you deviant,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

  But when they reached the studio in question, they found a different sort of surprise. The door was closed, but one of the sculptures sat outside of it. It was an enormous piece incorporating found objects like glass pebbles, buttons, and sections of chain-link fence. The sculpture was strange and glorious, and Adalia’s eyes filled with tears as soon as she saw it. This was her preferred medium, he remembered. He’d seen a few of her mixed media pieces on Instagram.

  Finn tugged Adalia’s hand, still linked with his, and urged her away from the room, turning a corner.

  “It’s good,” she said, a tear escaping her eye. “We need to go in there, Finn. We have to meet with him and ask him to be in the show.”

  He traced the trail the tear had left on her face and, not thinking, leaned in and kissed her cheek. She tipped up her face a little, as if inviting him to kiss her, something he intended to do when the time was right. Being friends was only a just for now plan, after all. But she was too vulnerable right now, and he refused to take advantage of that.

  “No,” he said. “We don’t go in there unless it’s what you want.”

  “I can’t.” Her voice cracked a little. “Not right now. But I meant what I said. His work needs to be shown. Isn’t he waiting for you?”

  “I have his number,” he said, already walking away, Adalia coming with him. “I’ll call him from the car.”

  “Thank you, Finn,” Adalia said quietly.

  But he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing again, and she only thought this was what she wanted.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Adalia couldn’t help feeling like she’d overreacted and looked foolish. But the sight of the mixed media piece had hit her square in the chest, resurfacing all the suppressed feelings of pain and betrayal. It was like she was back in that gallery, seeing her pieces with Alan’s name on them all over again.

  Slopping the paint on them, she’d felt a vindictive sort of fury, but there’d been a moment afterward, before the police cuffed her, where she’d looked at them and felt a well of sorrow open inside of her. Of loss. That feeling had risen up now too.

  Alan had texted again last night, waking her.

  You know I don’t like to be kept waiting, Adalia. Call me.

  Maybe it was time to tell Georgie that he was still bothering her, especially since the message sounded less wheedling and more demanding, but she didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t blocked him. Which was something she finally had done. It felt freeing, but the messages still hung over her.

  The feelings inside of her seethed, but they settled some once she and Finn left the building.

  She tried to convince him to go inside and meet with the artist by himself, but he just took a long look at her and shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.” Then he hastily added, “In the car. It might get too hot. I don’t want you to end up like one of those dogs.”

  If it had been someone else, Adalia would have gotten defensive. She would have said that she didn’t need a babysitter, thank you very much, she was just fine on her own. But this was Finn, and his presence tamed her anger and was like a balm to her pain. They both knew she could have rolled down the windows or opened the door. It wasn’t that warm today. He was giving her an out.

  He placed the call on Bluetooth as he pulled out of the parking lot. The sculptor was understanding when Finn asked to reschedule, especially since Finn told him that he had an official invitation to participate. The meeting would just be to discuss logistics and which pieces he’d like to include.

  Adalia felt Finn’s eyes on her as they reached a light, but she stared out the window, berating herself for her overreaction. The sculptor’s pieces would be at the show. How was she going to handle it there? Finn didn’t need a weepy assistant tailing him around. That would be a great way to drive off buyers.

  Neither of them said anything when he ended the call, but he took her hand again, and she realized she was not only getting used to it but welcomed it. She was used to dating artistic types—men whose moods bounced around like a yo-yo and were emotionally draining. Finn was even-keeled and emotionally stable. She liked that she could rely on him when she was an emotional wreck, and while he had troubles of his own, he never made it seem like his dwarf
ed hers.

  She’d been lost in her own thoughts for several minutes before she realized they weren’t headed back to her car. In fact, he was heading in the direction of her house.

  “Are you taking me home?” she asked in surprise. The thought of being alone in the empty house made her uneasy. It was too quiet just for her. Too lonely. Jezebel would be there, probably, but she wasn’t much for company.

  “No,” he said, casting a nervous glance at her. “Unless you want me to. I thought we might head to my house and…” His words trailed off as if he’d decided that it was a bad idea halfway through the explanation.

  “I’d love to see your house,” she said softly. “I’m not ready to go home yet.”

  He squeezed her hand and shot her a warm smile that would have melted the iciest of hearts, but hers had already thawed to him. She couldn’t believe she used to think he was full of himself.

  He parked his car in front of a contemporary building with straight lines and asymmetrical windows that didn’t look like it belonged next to the Victorians and Arts and Crafts homes around him. She loved it, though. It fit him.

  “What made you buy this place?” she asked in awe.

  “This is a well-established area that’s been growing in value.”

  She turned in the seat to face him. “Come on, Finn. You did it purely for investment reasons? There wasn’t some part of you that loved it?”

  He smiled, his eyes lighting up. “Most people hate it. Are you telling me you don’t?”

  “What’s there to hate?”

  “It’s been called an eyesore from time to time.”

  She could see why other people might hate it, even if she didn’t agree. The house next to it was a two-story Victorian with pale blue siding, and the house on the other side was a bungalow.

  “It’s a masterpiece,” she said in awe, studying it again. “Very Frank Lloyd Wright meets Mies van der Rohe.” She shrugged when his brow rose. “I took an architecture class or two in art school.”

  He laughed. “I wish you’d been around when I showed it to my mother.”

  “Why, because my charming personality would have distracted her?”

  “That too. Want to go inside?”

  “Uh. Yeah.”

  He hopped out of the car, and she was still studying the house through the car window when he came around and opened her door. She smiled at him as he offered a hand to help her out. Truth be told, though she’d teased Finn about it earlier, she liked his Southern gentleman vibe. Didn’t matter that it would have annoyed her had someone else done it. Maybe she didn’t mind with him because there wasn’t an ounce of social obligation. It was like he really wanted to open her door.

  “So what am I going to find in there?” she asked as they approached the front door. “Will it smell like a locker room, with clothes and dirty dishes lying around everywhere? Or will it be so uber neat I’ll be afraid to touch anything?”

  He grinned back at her. “You can touch things.”

  “Ah-ha!” she said, pointing a finger at him. “I knew it. Uber neat.”

  He unlocked the door, then pushed it open. “See for yourself.”

  Her stomach fluttered as she crossed the threshold into Finn’s living room. The walls were painted light gray, and there was a black leather sofa in front of a big-screen TV. Several armchairs were arranged on either side. Two glass and iron end tables bearing lamps bracketed the sofa, and a matching coffee table sat in front of it. It looked sleek and contemporary, the decor matching the exterior, but there were well-placed accessories as well as several tapestry throw pillows that softened the vibe. It was clean yet inviting.

  “You decorated this yourself, didn’t you?” she asked, aching to take off her boots and curl her toes in the thick wool rug that anchored the room.

  “Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “Is it that bad?”

  She turned back to look at him, surprised to see that her opinion mattered so much to him.

  “No, Finn. It’s that good.” She gave him a huge grin. “Maybe you should become an interior designer.”

  He laughed. “I think I’ll pass.”

  She headed into the kitchen at the end of the long, open concept room. The cabinets were a dark walnut, which was a nice contrast to the white quartz counters and stainless steel appliances. He had a couple of barstools at the island. The counters were bare with the exception of a very expensive-looking espresso machine and a stainless steel toaster.

  “Well?” he asked as he followed her in. “What do you think?”

  She shrugged but let a smile slip through. “It’ll do.” It pleased her to think of him living here—stretched out on the sofa, watching a movie or a game. Cooking in the kitchen. Hanging out with friends. But then it occurred to her that he would have brought his old girlfriends here too, and a sudden stab of jealousy caught her by surprise. She wasn’t typically a jealous person, but she didn’t like the thought of another woman with Finn.

  “Can I see upstairs?” she asked, her voice lower than before, and she wished she could hit rewind and say it more playfully. She could see that Finn was reading all kinds of things into her husky tone, and the way he hesitated suggested they weren’t entirely pleasant thoughts.

  The sting of rejection stole her breath, but she told herself that it wasn’t that he wasn’t interested—he obviously was—but something was holding him back.

  “On second thought,” she said, opening the refrigerator door. “I’m hungry.”

  “You won’t find much in there, sad to say, but we can order something.”

  He was right. All she found was a half-gallon of skim milk, a nearly empty jar of pickles, a carton of eggs, and a couple of takeout containers.

  “Dottie doesn’t bring you food?” she asked in disbelief.

  He shrugged. “She doesn’t have a key.” A smile tugged at his mouth. “Besides, she’s too busy feeding all of you ingrates.”

  “From the bare refrigerator, I take it you don’t cook much?”

  “I can cook the basics.”

  “Like eggs?” she teased.

  “Scrambled eggs are easy.”

  “Finn,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re letting this gorgeous kitchen go to waste. I’m going to make you dinner.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Adalia,” he protested, but she noticed the gleam in his eyes. The thought pleased him.

  “Don’t you worry,” she said. “This won’t be me cooking while you watch a college football game on TV. You’re helping.”

  He grimaced. “I have to warn you that I don’t know the first thing about cooking.”

  “So you say, but I’m a genius, and I’m going to teach you. The real question is what to make?”

  They settled on eggplant parmesan with roasted broccoli and a side salad with homemade vinaigrette dressing. Unfortunately, he didn’t have any of the ingredients or most of the basic kitchen equipment. Adalia offered to take care of the equipment by picking some up from her house, but Finn insisted he wanted his own stuff.

  “So we’ll have them the next time we cook,” he said.

  Adalia ignored the flutter in her stomach at the thought of cooking with him again.

  Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  So they made a Target run, buying Finn a cartful of kitchen essentials, from measuring cups to a decent set of pots and pans. She felt guilty when she saw the total, but he waved it off as if it were nothing and told her he’d been wanting to fill his cabinets with more than plates and glasses and the odd serving dish he could fit into his microwave, but he hadn’t known what to buy.

  They hit the grocery store next and got spices and pantry essentials as well as the ingredients for their meal and some extras. He picked out a couple of bottles of wine, and they checked out and headed back to his place.

  Finn hadn’t lied about not knowing how to cook, but he was a fast and eager learner.

  “Maybe you should be a chef,” she teased.

  “
I considered buying a restaurant once, before I met River, but I wasn’t convinced it would pay off in the end,” he said as he chopped broccoli. He paused mid-chop, giving her a sheepish look. “I didn’t mean that to sound so pretentious.”

  “You weren’t being pretentious. You were stating a fact.” She hated that he didn’t feel like he could be himself with her, that he had to watch his words, and she was determined to change that. “So I guess that means you don’t want to be a chef?”

  “’Fraid not. They work grueling hours and have to absolutely love cooking food.”

  “Are you saying you aren’t enjoying cooking with me?” she teased.

  He picked up his glass of wine and took a slow sip, then lowered the glass, never taking his eyes off her. “I’m loving every minute of cooking with you, Adalia.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. Yes, he wanted her, but he wasn’t making any moves. Did he think she wasn’t interested?

  “You’re a quick study and good with your hands,” she said. “You’re a natural.”

  She’d intended the innuendo, and he’d obviously noticed, because he picked up his wine and took a gulp. But when he set it down, he turned his attention back to cutting broccoli as if it had never happened.

  Had Finn sworn off women?

  The eggplant parmesan took some time to assemble before it went into the oven, but she’d planned it that way—wanting an involved dish so she could spend more time with him. They cleaned up the dirty dishes while the main meal baked, then set the table, chatting about everything and anything. Well, except for art, which both of them avoided mentioning by silent agreement. She loved his wit, and he gave as good as he got with her teasing. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. Definitely not with any of her past boyfriends.

  They’d spent so much time shopping and getting everything ready before they even started cooking that it was getting dark outside. Adalia had found a couple of candlesticks and taper candles in a cabinet while putting things away. She figured they were probably left over from a past girlfriend, but she didn’t ask. Truthfully, she didn’t want it confirmed. She just put them on the table and lit them before she could change her mind.