“And here I am, little old Addy, with tons of free time on her hands.” She pushed back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest, and while he was no body language expert, it seemed fairly clear as far as signs went. “I didn’t know you felt sorry for me, Finn. I don’t need people fighting my battles or inventing jobs for me. Whether or not you realize it, I can take care of myself. But the last thing I’d do is let down Blue and the other artists, so sure, I’ll do it.”
Silence hung between them for a moment, but only because Finn couldn’t think of a single way to improve upon it. He hadn’t intended for her to think any of those things. He’d wanted to let her know how much she meant to him—how much he respected her opinion and vision. Instead, she thought he was some micromanaging jerk.
And isn’t there a grain of truth to that? a voice in his head argued. What kind of nutjob sets up a charity art show so he’ll have an excuse to talk to a woman?
Except that wasn’t the full story either. It was part of it, he wouldn’t deny that, but he had thought of the art show because he believed in Adalia, and because she’d made him appreciate art in a way he had never experienced before. She had broadened his horizons and challenged him, and he’d wanted to pass that favor on to other people.
Finally, he found words. “I’ve never once felt sorry for you. You’re not the kind of person I could feel sorry for. And no, Adalia, I don’t want to fight your battles, but I would like it if you’d let me be a part of them. If I could maybe fight by your side.” He paused. “I’d like to at least know about them.”
For a moment, conflict raged in her eyes—he’d gotten through to her, whether she wanted to admit it or not—but then they hardened. “Well, we all want something, Finn, but that sure as hell doesn’t mean we’re going to get it.”
She got up and made for the stairs, then turned back around and blew out the candles before stomping her way upstairs, her perfect butt taunting him with every step.
Jezebel stalked toward the table, leapt onto Adalia’s chair in one perfect, fluid movement, and studied him with something like distaste. She was Beau Buchanan’s cat, and it almost felt like Adalia’s grandfather was taking him to task for screwing up, a thought that gave him the chills. He shook it off, telling himself he’d been listening to too many of Dottie’s superstitious notions lately.
“I know,” he said. “I said the wrong thing.” Her look sharpened. “Okay, the wrong things, plural. No need to rub it in.”
Except it might not matter what he said. Maybe he’d been right in the beginning, and Adalia wasn’t ready for another relationship. For all he knew, she wasn’t over Alan. Maybe they really were communicating. The thought made him want to crush the guy—not literally, Finn wasn’t that kind of person—but he would savor revealing Alan Stansworth’s sins to the world.
Finn knew how much it could hurt to be seen.
His heart ached in his chest. Should he go up after her? Talk to her?
But he’d said his piece, and ultimately, he hadn’t expressed himself badly.
If she decided to think the worst of him, the way almost everyone had decided to think the worst of him, he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d done everything he could to prove himself to her, and if that wasn’t enough…
Jezebel hacked as if she’d eaten poison, and he saw that she’d tried some of Adalia’s entree. Was it some kind of sign that the first dinner they’d cooked together had been delicious, while this one was inedible? The cat gave him a withering look of judgment, then slunk off as Adalia came back down the stairs. She had her clothes on, although she was carrying the fanny pack instead of wearing it—almost as if that bit of tongue-in-cheek fun was too much for such a weighty moment.
“You might want to get your clothes on,” she said. “I asked Jack to come over to help with the menagerie. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”
Her words were barbed, but he saw it for what it was—self-defense.
He stood from the table, and from the meal he hadn’t tried (not that he was keen to taste it at this point), and even though he knew she would likely turn him away, he went to her and wrapped his arms around her. There was a certain vulnerability to be in only boxer briefs while she was fully clothed. It made him a bit uncomfortable, but that was the point.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure why he said it like that. Maybe the words just felt like they should be spoken in an undertone.
The cat had slunk over to join the dog on the couch, and she and Tyrion were lying together in apparent harmony, grease-stained faces on the cushions. If Adalia saw, she’d likely worry about the furniture, but he thought it was kind of sweet. Like a lion lying down with a lamb. Focus, Finn.
At least Adalia hadn’t pulled away.
“The last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you. But in case you haven’t noticed, I sometimes speak a little faster than I think. Can we please talk about this? The company, Alan…all of it?”
He pulled back to look at her, and there were tears in her eyes. One of them tracked down her cheek, and he traced it with a finger.
“Oh, Addy, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“I know you didn’t,” she said with a trembling smile. “You’re just that good at it.”
“It’s about the last thing I’d like to be good at,” he said, cupping her cheek.
“I know, you goof. I’m kidding. I’m sorry too. It’s amazing that you’re doing this…the consulting thing, I mean. It’s a natural fit.”
Why did it sound like she thought that was a bad thing?
“Let’s talk this weekend,” she added. She must have seen the alarm on his face, because she bit her lip and looked down. “I need some time to think.”
“Whatever you need,” he said, pulling away. But her words had dug in under his skin. He knew he’d be interpreting and reinterpreting them tonight. Tomorrow. Every day and night until she agreed to see him again. “I’d better get dressed before Jack gets here.”
He took a step toward the stairs, but she tugged him back by the arm and kissed him. A sweet, simple kiss that confused the hell out of him.
“It was a beautiful day, Finn,” she said.
There was something sad about the way she said it, something that made him think he was maybe already turning into a memory for her. Something in her rearview mirror as she went on to do the great things he had no doubt she would accomplish.
He found himself thinking again about Lola and the cards she’d drawn for him and Adalia. She’d said someone from the past would come back into their lives, causing them heartache, and help would come from the last person they’d expected. He’d thought he would be that person for Adalia…but what if he was wrong?
And who was supposed to help him?
Chapter Thirty-Five
Jack pulled into the driveway just as Finn disappeared from view. Adalia stepped outside and stood on the porch, quickly closing the door behind her.
“Did you bring the cat carrier?” she asked the second he got out of the car.
He gave her a weird look as he pulled out a pet carrier and shut the car door. “Yeah. And I hurried, just as you requested. Is everything okay?”
“The deal was no questions, Jack,” she snapped.
Instead of getting pissed, he looked perplexed. “I take it you want me to deal with Jezebel since you seem to think I have some spell over her.”
She lifted her arms out at her sides. “My arms aren’t exactly prepared for a wrestling match with that cat. Now come on,” she said, reaching for the door handle. “We have to hurry.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t press her. He just followed her in and handed her the leash she hadn’t noticed he was carrying.
The truth was she didn’t want to see Finn again. At least not right now. She knew she’d have to see him eventually, but it couldn’t happen this weekend like she’d suggested, because even now she wanted to sweep all of her fear and anger and worry under the rug
and pretend like everything was okay. And if she saw him too soon, she’d do just that. Lord knew, she’d almost relented when she pulled him back and kissed him.
Seeing him again was inevitable. She’d agreed to help with the art show, and unlike him, she was going to finish what she started.
Jezebel was sitting on the back of the sofa, but she slowly turned her head toward Jack and watched him, as enthralled as though he were a snake charmer. He had the carrier in his hand, but instead of lifting it to scoop her inside, he calmly reached for her and cuddled her to his chest.
“Wow,” Adalia said. “I’m not sure whether to be impressed or terrified that she’s about to slash you across the jugular.”
He flinched. “Let’s not press our luck. Open the door.”
Adalia didn’t need to be prodded to move quickly. She could hear sounds upstairs. She hooked Tyrion’s leash onto his collar and opened the door, stepping out onto the porch as she heard Finn’s door open.
Jack walked out past her, snuggling Jezebel to his chest while holding the carrier in his free hand. Adalia reached for the door, preparing to close it behind her, just as Finn came into view, his face hopeful when he saw she hadn’t left yet.
She pulled it shut with more force than necessary. Maybe that was harsh—okay, it was—but her heart was already begging her to stay and she could feel her willpower draining away.
How was it possible to hurt this much when they’d barely begun this thing between them?
Thankfully, he didn’t follow.
Adalia reached for the car’s passenger door but quickly changed her mind after Jack gently released Jezebel into the car. The cat hopped onto the passenger seat and stared haughtily up at her. Then, when Adalia didn’t immediately stand down, she hissed.
“I’ll walk.”
Jack studied her in his quiet way, as if trying to gauge what variety of craziness was going on.
“Look, you may feel like staring death in the eye and laughing while you drive home that feral cat who has free rein of your car, but I choose life.” She flashed him a peace sign. “See you at home.”
“Okay,” he said and got inside.
She took off walking in the direction of their house, but before she could stop herself, she cast a glance at the front of the house. Sure enough, Finn was standing in the window, the look of hurt in his eyes so painful she wanted to forget everything and go in there and comfort him. Which only made her madder.
She didn’t head directly home. She wasn’t ready for the questions in Jack’s eyes. He’d want to know what had happened.
What had happened?
She was sure she’d known Finn well enough to judge his character. Sure, before they’d spent all this time together, she’d believed the stories about him, although she had to admit they’d been colored by Georgie’s disapproval. But the more time she’d spent with him, the easier it was to accept there were two sides to every story. That people were complex organisms who did things they thought were for the right reasons. And whether they were right or not depended on the vantage point.
That was why she’d let him explain, hoping she’d misunderstood. That she hadn’t been just another project. And while he hadn’t outright admitted it, he had admitted he’d never been all that invested in the art show. Not really. He’d done it for her.
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
She believed that. He truly hadn’t meant to hurt her, which in a way made it so much worse. She had thought he was as excited as she was to showcase the artists they’d chosen. She’d believed him when he’d said they were doing this as a team. But then he’d bailed. Granted, it was for the right reasons, but he’d given it up so quickly. So decisively, with absolutely no regret other than the fact it had hurt her.
How long until he moved on from her?
She couldn’t fault him for starting a new business, in fact, she was excited for him. A consulting business gave him endless opportunities. He could stay in Asheville, which meant that he wasn’t set on changing everything in his life. Maybe he was even looking for a long-term relationship. But their…entanglement hadn’t started out like a real relationship, had it? Sure, they’d known each other for a while, but he’d never shown any interest in her until he’d walked in on her destroying her painting.
A painting he’d repaired and hung on his wall without telling her.
She walked several blocks past the Buchanan house, then decided to turn around and head back home. Her cell phone was dead, and the last thing she needed was for River and/or Georgie to show up at Finn’s house looking for her.
Jack was on the front porch reading a book with Jezebel curled up on his lap.
“Aren’t you worried about losing your manhood?” she asked as she cautiously climbed the porch steps.
“She’s sweet,” he said, stroking the top of her head as she purred.
“That cat knows how to purr?” she asked in disbelief.
He made a face, his gaze still on the book. “You all keep saying she’s the devil, but she’s not so ferocious once you get to know her.”
Adalia gaped at him, sidestepping them both. “If you say so.”
“Decide to take a walk?” he asked, finally looking up.
“Yeah. I thought Tyrion might need to walk off some energy.”
“Tyrion, huh?” He hesitated, then asked, “Want to talk about it?”
“No,” she said decisively. “Definitely not.”
“Fair enough.” She started for the front door, and he said, “Sorry about letting Tyrion get away. Maybe we should look into putting in an invisible fence. I can probably install it. We’ll just need to train him.”
She turned back to him, horrified. “You want to shock my dog?”
“It wouldn’t hurt him. Plus, he’s smart. He’ll learn quickly.” When she didn’t respond, he added, “It’s better than risking he’ll get loose and be hit by a car or taken by someone who wants a husky.”
While she knew he had a point, she was in no frame of mind to consider it. “Yeah. I’ll think about it.”
She went inside and plugged in her phone, restless. And then she found herself going out to the shed, pulled by some magical force as if she had no free will to refuse. Tyrion followed her and sat by a tree as she opened the doors and stared into the studio created by the people who cared about her.
Finn had been one of them. There was no denying he cared about her, but she still couldn’t help thinking it was because he’d seen her at her worst—destroying her art, getting drunk at the Mexican restaurant. He’d seen her exposed and vulnerable, a state she didn’t allow many people to see. Not even Alan until she’d destroyed her own work.
Why would Finn stick around someone in her situation if not because he wanted to fix her? Because there was no doubt in her mind that’s what he’d been trying to do with the art show. This shed too. He’d tried to smooth out the cracks of her life as he’d done with the ripped seams of the painting.
You couldn’t build a relationship on that.
She grabbed a canvas and set it on the easel, then set up the paints and the brushes before smearing a line of red on the canvas.
The rip in her heart.
Using her palette, she added blues and greens and black, painting her pain and disappointment that one more person had hurt her.
She poured her heart onto the canvas, only becoming aware she was crying when Tyrion nuzzled her leg, whining. Setting down the brush, she squatted next to him and gave him a hug.
“I’m okay.” It was partially a lie, but he’d never know.
From her squat, she looked up at the painting, feeling the urge to slash it to bits so that no one would ever see it, let alone be able to repair it. Especially since it felt like she’d cut her chest open and attached her heart to the canvas. It was raw and real, and it made her feel more naked and exposed than any other painting before it.
She stood and touched a corner, fresh tears filling her eyes. Finn had been wrong, so,
so wrong. He couldn’t fix her. No one could.
No one but her.
The first step was to acknowledge that she was an artist. Art ran through her veins along with her blood. She could no more live without it than she could live without oxygen. Denying it was denying part of herself, and she’d never heal until she accepted it.
Which also meant no more destroying it. She could hide it, but to destroy it would be like slashing her own heart.
And as much as painting had purged her troubled mind, it wasn’t enough. It had been a stopgap over the last few months, but it would never be enough.
Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, she smiled down at Tyrion. “How about we take a drive?”
She ran upstairs and put on a fresh T-shirt and a worn pair of overalls, wrapping a large headband around her head to keep her hair back. Then she ran downstairs and grabbed her phone and called Blue.
“How was your date?” Blue asked, her excited tone knifing into Adalia.
“I know I said I’d drop by tomorrow, but can I come by today instead? Like, now?”
Blue must have heard the desperation in her voice because she didn’t ask any more questions. “I’m still at the studio,” she said. “I’ll wait for you.”
“See you in a few minutes.”
Adalia grabbed her charger and her purse, then headed out the front door, Tyrion’s leash in her hand.
“Will you be out long?” Jack asked, looking up from his book. Jezebel was now draped over his shoulders, licking her paws.
Adalia cocked her head. “Do we have some kind of witchery in our bloodline?”
He chuckled. “She’s a good cat. You all are just overreacting.”
“You’ve seen her at her worst, Jack.”
He reached up to pet the back of her head. “She just needed someone to understand her.”
“I’m not sure you should say that so openly,” she said, descending the steps. “Some people might think you’re a hellcat too.” She opened the passenger door of her car and let Tyrion in. “I have no idea when I’ll be back, but I brought a charger for my phone. I’m going to see my friend Blue.” A partial truth, but it was all he really needed to know.
Better Luck Next Time Page 29
