Better Luck Next Time

by Denise Grover Swank

  Was she trying to seduce Finn with food and candlelight?

  Maybe…

  The timer went off, and she had him pull out the casserole dish and cookie sheet while she mixed the vinaigrette. They set out the food and sat down on opposite sides of the table.

  “This looks so good, Addy.”

  “You helped make it too, but let’s see how it tastes before we make any judgments,” she said, slicing into the eggplant parmesan and lifting a piece onto Finn’s plate.

  He waited until she’d served herself before he took a bite, moaning with pleasure.

  The sound blasted straight to her core, making her breathing shallow. Would he make that sound if he took her up to his bedroom?

  “You like?” she forced out, in case he realized she wasn’t acting normal.

  “It’s delicious. I think you should cook for me every night.”

  “You mean cook with you,” she said. “You were a very active participant in this meal.”

  But she wanted him to be an active participant in another activity. She was going to need to splash cold water on her face if they kept up this dance of innuendo and attraction.

  They discussed books and movies, and Adalia shook her head when he admitted he hadn’t seen her favorite, the Keira Knightley version of Pride and Prejudice.

  “How is that possible?” she demanded. “It’s a classic.”

  “I think by definition, a classic is something at least a few decades old,” he said, working on his second helping.

  “Well, then it’s the best version ever made.”

  “I’ll take your word for it since I haven’t seen any version.”

  “Then we must rectify that,” she said. “I have a copy at home in my room.”

  He laughed. “You own the DVD?”

  “I used to watch part of it every night before I went to sleep while I was in art school.” She shrugged. “And for a few years after too.”

  A strange look covered Finn’s face. Then his gaze quickly dropped to his plate. “You don’t have to go home to get it. We can just buy it online and watch it.”

  “You’ll watch it?” she asked in surprise.

  “Yeah. If it’s your favorite movie, then…yeah.”

  “What’s your favorite movie?” she asked. “If you’re watching mine, then the least I can do is watch yours.”

  He took a second to think about it, then said, “The Bride of Chucky.”

  Her jaw dropped and she scrambled for a response. The corners of his mouth twitched, and she threw her napkin at him. “You’re the worst!”

  His eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t resist.”

  “So what’s really your favorite movie?”

  “Fast Five,” he said unapologetically.

  She shook her head. “What’s that?”

  “It’s in the Fast and Furious franchise.” He grinned. “It’s a classic.”

  Since her napkin was gone, she considered throwing a piece of broccoli at him but reminded herself she was working on being a grown-up. “Well,” she said coyly. “If it’s a classic, I guess we have to watch it.”

  “But Pride and Prejudice first,” Finn said. “I had a woman tell me I was like Mr. Darcy, so I want to see if it’s true.”

  Adalia took a gulp of wine. She had a feeling it hadn’t been intended as a compliment. Maybe he’d deserved it, but she suspected she wasn’t the only one who’d misunderstood Finn. If he hadn’t discovered her secret, she might never have learned that there was more to him than his button-ups and docksiders, than his ambition and drive. So she was grateful he’d seen her that day, because it had allowed her to see him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Finn’s house had always felt a little lonely. He’d had out-of-town friends come to visit and locals over for dinner. Plenty of women had spent the night. But it had always felt a little big, a little empty. His mother hadn’t just found the style obscene, she’d considered it a strange choice for a young man like him, a bachelor, to buy a house large enough for a family. She’d clearly perceived it as a worrying development in her plan to get him to move back to Charlotte. Her disapproval had stayed with him, though, making him wonder if the purchase had been a mistake.

  But the house didn’t seem too big with Adalia in it. Shopping with her, making dinner with her…he didn’t want her to leave. Which was why he’d suggested the movie, but the moment she asked if he had any blankets they could share, he worried it had been an impulsive mistake.

  All night long, he’d been fighting the temptation to pull her to him and kiss her. To take her hand and lead her upstairs.

  Because this was kind of a date, wasn’t it? When was the last time someone other than Dottie had made him dinner? And she kept making those innuendo-laced comments that were driving him nuts. And when she’d talked about watching her favorite romance movie in bed…it had planted an image in his head of Adalia in his bed. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

  Part of him wondered why he was hesitating. Yes, Adalia was wounded, but she was also a fierce Valkyrie, very capable of knowing what she wanted and reaching for it. If she wanted him, shouldn’t he just consider himself the luckiest man alive and roll with it?

  He had to conclude that Adalia’s past wasn’t the only speed bump. He knew how to charm women, but he didn’t know how to keep them around. No, that wasn’t precisely true…he’d just never been this worried about messing things up. Maybe it went back to that fortune-teller. She may have said he and Adalia were meant for each other, but she’d also said Adalia would be leaving something behind. He didn’t want that something to be Asheville. Or him.

  Of course, he wasn’t sure he believed in fortune-tellers. But he couldn’t help feeling a little twinge of superstition about the whole thing.

  “Are you sure you want to watch this?” Adalia said, misinterpreting his hesitation. “It is profoundly moving. You may never be the same.”

  Didn’t he know it.

  “A deal’s a deal,” he said, retrieving a fuzzy red blanket from the chest beneath the TV. “Just don’t renege on your part of it. Fast Five is also profoundly moving. The cars are unbelievably fast.”

  “Oh. My. God. You just made a dad joke,” she said in mock horror. “I now have doubts about this entire enterprise.” But even as she said it, she snuggled onto the couch.

  Finn lowered down next to her, keeping a little distance between them, but she instantly snuggled closer, pulling the blanket over both of them. Her side was pressed up against him, her warmth suffusing him.

  It was so distracting, it took him a solid five minutes to find the movie and set it up. (They really had made about a dozen different versions.)

  At some point during the movie, Adalia’s hand landed on his thigh. It happened organically. She’d raised her hand to point at the screen, accusing one of the characters—Finn had no idea what his name was, something British that ended with “ham”—of being a bounder and a cad, and when she’d lowered it, it had landed on Finn’s leg. She hadn’t moved it, and several of his brain cells had fled from Pride and Prejudice. He also had to concentrate enormously, and shift the blanket, to avoid embarrassing himself.

  When the heroine visited Mr. Darcy’s enormous estate, Adalia poked him. “Pay attention, this is the good part.”

  A grin crossed his lips. “What? She’s going to look at him differently because she realizes he has a big house?”

  “Oh, don’t you besmirch Elizabeth Bennett that way,” she cried out. “Besides, it’s not just a big house—it’s Pemberley! But that has nothing to do with why she changes her mind about him.”

  “Oh yeah?” he asked, giving into temptation and putting his hand on top of hers. “Maybe you should give me some tips? Like I said, I’ve been told I’m like this guy, and from what I can tell, he’s a bit of a jackanapes.” Which was another word she’d used for the Ham guy.

  Adalia surprised him by reaching for the remote and turning off the TV. It took a moment for his eyes
to adjust, her profile swathed in shadow now. Her lips came into focus first.

  “You can start by kissing me, you jackanapes. How long are you going to keep a girl waiting?”

  He opened his mouth to explain, to tell her what he’d been thinking, but they’d all be the wrong words, so he let himself do what he’d wanted to do all night. What he’d wanted to do since that day at Dottie’s. He kissed her.

  It was a soft kiss first, exploratory, but Adalia lifted that hand on his leg—the one that had maddened and delighted him—and grabbed a handful of his shirt, pulling him closer, and something inside of him shattered. He opened his mouth and she did the same, and as they were tasting each other, breathing each other in, she straddled his lap.

  Groaning, knowing Adalia was feeling his arousal, which had been there since the first act, he wove one hand through her curls, bringing her closer yet, and let the other slip under the hem of her shirt, touching the soft skin of her back as their mouths moved together, tilting for better access, never satisfied. Adalia rocked against him, the sensation maddening.

  She started ripping at his shirt buttons, making a little sound of protest in her throat, and he broke away for a moment, already missing the feel of her, and unbuttoned a few before pulling it over his head.

  “Hey,” she said, her voice husky. “I was supposed to do that.” Her hand tracked to his chest, tracing the muscles. “Don’t you punch numbers all day? How does a guy like you get a chest like that?”

  She said it teasingly, her fingers tracing the ridges of muscle.

  “I get some of my best ideas in the gym,” he said, sliding his hand under the hem of her shirt again, lifting it up slightly.

  “Fair is fair,” she said, grabbing the hem and pulling her shirt off. She wore a lacy yellow bra—a sunny blast of fabric—and he took a moment to just take in her beauty, her curls all mussed from his touch, her eyes bright and glimmering even in the dark, her breasts cupped in yellow lace.

  “You’re gorgeous. If I had even a slight bit of talent, I’d paint you.”

  She smiled, fingers still exploring him, and he leaned in to kiss her neck and started trailing a line of kisses down to her breasts. She wove her fingers through his hair, gripping—maybe the longer hair hadn’t been such a bad idea—and said, “Maybe we can get Blue to knit me.”

  And suddenly they were both laughing, their chests pressed together, Adalia cradled to him.

  When had this ever happened?

  Never. He’d never laughed with someone when he was this aroused. But it only made him feel closer to her.

  He leaned forward and kissed her again, wanting to show her how much she affected him—how much this meant to him—but the doorbell rang.

  Which might have been fine if River hadn’t shouted out, “Finn? You in there? I see your car.”

  “Shit,” Adalia said, “shit, shit, shit.”

  She grabbed her shirt and shoved his button-down at him, and even though he absolutely did not want River to see them like this, he couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

  “What are you laughing about, you ingrate?” she said in an undertone.

  “Don’t you suddenly feel like you’re a high schooler and your dad just walked in?”

  “Trust me when I say we’re both lucky River is not my father.”

  “For any number of reasons,” he said as they both pulled on their shirts, and they laughed again. A helpless, semi-hysterical kind of laughter.

  “Finn?” River shouted again.

  “Be right there!” he called back.

  “Any other evidence?” Adalia asked in that same urgent almost-whisper, poring over the room like a forensic examiner at a crime scene. Finn did the same. There wasn’t, not really, but there were a dozen little things that would stand out to his friend: the single fuzzy blanket, discarded on the couch, the smell of eggplant parmesan that hung in the air, the two wine glasses on the coffee table. Those damn candles centered on the table.

  But there was no way they were going to strip the whole house of any sign they’d been on a date, or a sort of date, and truthfully he didn’t want to. He wanted those things to stay after Adalia left, because they were the things that made his house finally feel full.

  His glance fell on her again, on the beautiful mess of her hair and her swollen lips.

  “Do you have a hair elastic?” he asked softly.

  “Oh my god, I’ve got sex hair, don’t I?” she asked.

  The way she said it, so blunt and forthright, like everything she said, sent a zip through him that made him tempted to forget all about River banging down his door. But then she was throwing her hair up into one of those inadequate little buns that let the tendrils spill out, and he shook some sense into himself and made his way to the door, flicking the light on when he got there. Blinking in it like a bat thrown into the midday sun.

  When he opened it, River immediately peered past him, his gaze finding Adalia.

  “There you are,” he said. “You weren’t answering your phone, and Georgie got worried.”

  “The battery died hours ago,” Adalia said, collecting her bag. Something wrenched inside of Finn at the realization that she’d be leaving. He’d guessed that, of course, but part of him had hoped she wouldn’t. Now that their couch frenzy had come to a crashing halt, he realized they’d leapt into things way too fast. But he would have liked to finish her movie, even if it drove him utterly crazy to be under that blanket with her.

  “Sorry,” River said, making a face, “but you know how she gets. Plus, she thought it was just a coffee thing. I guess the two of you had talked about doing dinner tonight.” His gaze drifted to Finn’s shirt, and a quick glance revealed he’d messed up and missed a button, giving the top half a crooked look. It was the kind of thing Finn would never have overlooked under normal circumstances. Their eyes met, and Finn knew he’d be having a conversation about this sooner rather than later.

  “It was just coffee,” Adalia said. “But then it became a meeting thing, and a dinner thing, and a movie thing.” Her gaze darted to the couch, to that mussed blanket, before searching out Finn’s.

  He mentally filled in for her: and it became a kissing thing too.

  “So,” River said, clearly uncomfortable, “do you want a ride home?”

  “Can you give me a lift to Bessie?” Adalia asked. “I left her outside the coffee shop, and I worry that she might get stolen.”

  She glanced at Finn as she said it, and he knew she was messing with him, so he messed back.

  “You’re right, that car has a big ‘Steal Me’ sign on it. You don’t want to take risks.”

  “Um, sure,” River said. “Why don’t I go out to the car and wait for you?” Too Finn, he said, “We’ll talk later.”

  Obviously. Finn nodded. “Later.”

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Adalia gave Finn a severe look, like she was a teacher and he was an errant pupil, and just like that, he was turned on again.

  “Don’t you dare say that was a mistake,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “Although I do think we were moving too fast.”

  She scowled at him, her lips making a pretty pout. He wanted to kiss them, so he did.

  She pulled away, but only slightly. “Why’d you make such a big deal of the ‘just friends’ thing if you felt like this?”

  He could tell his answer meant something to her, so he decided to be honest. As if he could help himself.

  “After the whole Alan thing…I wasn’t sure you were ready to date. I didn’t want to be just one more guy who was asking something from you. I thought you needed a friend more than you needed…well, this. And if that’s still true, then we can take an even bigger step back. We can forget this happened. We—”

  “Finn,” she said, her tone serious but not cutting, like he’d worried it might be, “I’m a big girl. You don’t need to worry about what I’m ready for and not. And I absolutely do not
want to forget this happened.”

  “Good,” he said, “because I don’t either.”

  River honked the horn, and Adalia rolled her eyes.

  “I guess I have some ’splaining to do.”

  “Are we telling them?” he blurted out.

  “Not yet.” She pulled a face. “If you can bear to keep quiet about it, of course. I’d rather figure this out before we bring anyone else into it.”

  “So we’re going to be furtive,” he said, his voice husky to his own ears.

  “Very,” she said with a grin. “Do you have a trench coat?”

  “I thought we were talking about being spies, not flashers,” he said, running a finger down her cheek and then cupping her chin.

  Kissing her one last time.

  She said goodbye and walked out, closing the door behind her, but he stayed put, watching from the window by the door as she got into River’s car. Watching as it pulled away.

  And then he was left in a house that suddenly felt emptier than it ever had before.

  He sucked it up and brought his laptop to the couch—wanting to sit there so he could be closer to the memories of the night, to the feel of her. He added some finishing touches to his proposal for Gretchen, feeling increasingly good about it. He’d look it over tomorrow and then send it along Monday. If she decided to move forward, he’d talk to River and Georgie and some of the other brewery owners to see if they’d be willing to participate in the beer festival. He couldn’t think why they wouldn’t—it really was a win-win for everyone involved, sore feelings or not.

  An ad popped up on his computer, and an idea suddenly struck him. The perfect date for him to bring Adalia on. If she’d agree. If he could manage to keep it a surprise.

  Care to play hookie on Wednesday? he texted. I have an idea I think you’ll like, but it’ll take an indeterminate amount of time, and I have to be in Charlotte tomorrow night. He’d arranged to talk to the robotics people on Monday morning in Charlotte, so he’d agreed to have Sunday dinner at his parents’ house. No doubt his mom wanted to interrogate him about the woman he’d mentioned to his father.