Georgie cocked an eyebrow, but she was grinning as she turned to Jack. “How’s that for a welcome to the family?” She gave him a hug, then took a step back. “I’ll see you both tomorrow morning.”
She glared at Adalia, as if challenging her to disobey.
No worries there. Adalia needed the money, and she was actually eager to work more on her branding project. She’d already come up with the look she was going for with the photos, and maybe Jack would be open to helping her with the copy, which seemed more in his wheelhouse than hers.
Maybe she really could marry her art to the brewery and still be satisfied. Or maybe this was just another thimble full of water.
Only time would tell.
Chapter Eight
Finn had felt weirdly nervous about texting River. It had occurred to him—belatedly, as things often did—that he should have already talked to him about the art show, which had sent him down a path of wondering why he hadn’t talked to him about it. They weren’t as close as they’d been, and it was Finn’s fault. If River reacted badly to his plan, or perhaps his continued efforts to include Adalia in said plan, Finn worried it would strike another blow to their wounded friendship.
So he’d put off contacting him until after he got home that afternoon. And then he found himself looking up the muralists Dottie had hand-selected for Gretchen. One had a portfolio that included a couple of graphic sex murals, which were artistically pleasing, although perhaps not what they were going for given they’d be covering up the STD graffiti. He recommended the other two but made himself a note to contact the third painter about the show. (She had other work that would be a little more appropriate for a wide audience.) So he texted Gretchen the information and started his proposal for the event he’d conceived for her on the fly, only to realize he was still avoiding what he’d set out to do.
Just like he’d avoided telling River about the whole Bev Corp thing.
A quick glance at his watch told him it was somehow already five forty-five.
More likely than not, River was at home with Georgie, and the two already had dinner plans—a thought that made him feel a strange ache—but he’d text him anyway. And if River invited him over, which he did sometimes, Finn would accept. Even if he still felt a little weird around Georgie on account of he’d broken them up and all.
I have an idea I’d like to run by you, he wrote to River. Free for dinner? And then, because he still felt a little nervous, he added, Nothing to do with Bev Corp.
He immediately cursed himself. Why’d he mention them at all? He fully intended to tell River about the thing he was doing for Gretchen, but it would be better to explain in person, and he was also more interested in talking to him about the art show than the beer festival.
Sorry, that was weird, he added, because he couldn’t help himself. Want to go to that place we like that has Taco Tuesday?
Another pause, and he saw the three dots indicating River was writing something. Which was when Finn realized it was Wednesday.
I mean, it’s Wednesday, he added. Obviously. But they’re still open.
He waited for those dots to form words, pushing forward and back in his office chair.
Finally, River’s message came through: Good God, Finn. Give me time to respond. Yes. Tacos sound good. Meet at 7?
Finn grinned at that, grateful he’d said yes. Grateful, too, that he wouldn’t have to go over to their loft and explain the whole art show thing in front of Adalia’s sister, who probably didn’t like him and definitely wouldn’t approve of him.
Not that he needed her approval, of course.
He sent a thumbs-up to River, then decided he should invite Maisie too. She’d always joined them for Taco Tuesday. Sure, it was Wednesday, but he felt bad that he’d gone so long without seeing her, plus he liked Dottie’s suggestion about donating the first show’s profits to her shelter. Adalia would probably think he was being manipulative—that he was just asking her because it would twist River’s arm—and to be honest, he wouldn’t mind if that happened (a little), but he really did just want to see her. There was nothing wrong with that, was there?
Hey, stranger. It’s the bro. What are you doing for dinner? he texted her as he pulled on his docksiders. River always laughed at him, but he didn’t like to wear sandals, even in the summer. He hated getting his feet dirty .
I’m currently looking at a frozen dinner covered in two layers of ice. Do these things go bad? Also, do you have a better option?
Anything goes bad if you put enough effort into it. Know it’s Wednesday, but are you up for that Taco Tuesday place? Seven?
Make it six thirty. I’m almost hungry enough to roll the dice on this piece of brown and red ice.
He wasn’t exactly hungry, having eaten a huge plate of food at Dottie’s (she’d given him enough leftovers to take home to feed him for at least two days), but he’d had more company than usual over the last few days, and it had felt good. He craved more. So he sent another thumbs-up.
When he got to the restaurant, Maisie was already sitting at a table in the back. She had a view of the door, and she grinned and waved at him as he came in. Her red hair was down, and it struck him that it was longer than when he’d seen her last.
He headed toward her, ignoring a couple of dirty looks, one of them from a toddler, which, to be fair, might have had nothing to do with the whole public infamy thing.
Before he could sit down, Maisie got up and wrapped him in a hug.
“It’s good to see you,” she said, letting him go and sitting back down. “I was bummed to miss the whole Buchanan reopening.”
“Yeah,” he said, taking a seat, “I was surprised not to see you there.”
She shrugged, but before she could say anything else, a waitress came by.
He nodded to the enormous margarita sitting in front of Maisie. “One of those, please?”
“Any food?”
He shook his head. “No, I think I’ll wait until the rest of our group gets here.” Turning to Maisie, he added, “I’m sure River won’t mind if you don’t want to wait, Maisie. He knows how hangry you get.”
Maisie was always pale—it was the Irish in her, she’d say—but she lost what little color she had.
“You invited River?” she hissed.
The waitress lifted her eyebrow and stepped away, wisely assuming she didn’t want to get in the middle of…whatever this was.
“Um, yeah,” he said. “This is our Taco Tuesday place.”
“So what,” she fumed back. “It’s Wednesday, and the three of us haven’t hung out in months. It’s no longer a thing.” Her gaze shot to the door.
“It’s okay,” he said, feeling like he’d messed up again, although he didn’t understand why. Maisie and River had been best friends since they were teenagers—something Finn had felt the weight of sometimes, since River was the closest friend he had ever had. So what the hell was going on? “He’s not going to be here until seven. Sorry. I thought I’d mentioned it.” Or maybe he’d just assumed she wouldn’t care.
“Well, you didn’t, or otherwise I wouldn’t have come.”
She flagged down the waitress, and the look on her face must have scared the poor woman half to death, because she was there in an instant.
“I’d like my food to go, please,” Maisie said. “And the check.”
The waitress hurried off.
“What happened?” Finn asked.
Maisie looked away, but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes. Oh crap. Were those tears? He’d never, ever seen her cry before.
Finn was dense sometimes, but he wasn’t stupid.
“Oh,” he said. “I never… I didn’t know how you felt.”
“Yeah, well, neither does he,” she said bitterly. “No need for both of us to be miserable about it. He’s been so busy in Loved-Up Land he’s barely noticed.” She shook her head, as if chastening herself. “Which is the way it should be. I’m glad he’s happy—really I am—and I don’t want to
ruin it. Every time he texts, I text back. I tell him I’m busy, which is true. I was out of town for half the summer getting some dogs rehabbed at the Moon Barn and visiting my sisters. Beatrice and Dustin have been holding down the fort. The crumbling fort. But River and I haven’t seen each other in months.”
“Shit,” he said, feeling like the worst kind of scum. The waitress showed up with his margarita, and he took a big gulp. “Well, I guess this isn’t the greatest time to tell you, but I’m putting together a charity art show, which I’m hoping to launch at Buchanan Brewery…” He shrugged a little as he said it. “I want to donate the proceeds to the shelter.” And, because he could imagine Adalia telling him he was trying to act like Saint Finn, he added, “Dottie’s idea.”
Maisie brightened a little, but it was like she was on a dimmer. “Well, I want to hear how that came about sometime. That’s so generous of you, Finn. We could really use the help. What would we need to do?”
“Well…” He paused, uncertain of what he should say, but he admitted, “I still need to talk to River about it to see if they’re open to hosting it there. We might want you to come in for the event, talk a little bit about what you do. Maybe bring some of the dogs.”
She nodded. “I’ll send someone.”
“Maisie,” he said slowly, worrying how she would react. “Are you going to talk to him about it?”
“What’s the point? I just need to get over it. Fully over it. And then we can pretend nothing happened.”
“But he won’t be pretending if he doesn’t know. He just…won’t know.”
The waitress returned, hurrying over to the table with Maisie’s takeout bag and the check.
Maisie glanced at her watch again, then slapped some cash down on the table.
“We’ll talk about the show later, Finn. Thank you. And please, please don’t say anything to River.”
Then she was gone, and Finn was sitting in front of two margaritas.
“See, I told you he was a drunk,” he heard a woman say in a stage whisper to her friend. Finn raised the drink as if toasting her, winked, and took a big sip. Her scandalized gasp put him in mind of Adalia and her game.
God, being around her this afternoon had made him feel so good, as if his worries had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders. He wished she were here now so they could come up with a story for Karen at the other table. So he could tell her about the weirdness with Maisie, and she could help him figure out what the hell he was supposed to say to River.
Nothing was the appropriate answer. But he was terrible at keeping secrets. Sure, he’d kept the whole Bev Corp thing mum, but that was business, and business had always been something different for him. Something separate.
By the time River showed up, Finn had started in on Maisie’s margarita and the basket of chips was down to the dregs.
They hugged, and River seemed genuinely glad to see him, but Finn felt weighed down by what he knew. Maybe it would be better if he told? If River knew, he and Maisie could have an honest conversation at least, and that would be for the best, right? Keeping secrets certainly hadn’t done any favors for him in his friendship with River.
“Something wrong?” A corner of River’s mouth tipped up. “I mean besides the whole being tarred and feathered thing.”
“Um…”
Maisie was supposed to come, but she ran away because she found out you were coming. She’s in love with you, I think.
“No,” he said slowly. “But I do want to proposition Georgie’s sister.”
Wait, that hadn’t come out right.
River raised his brow. “Say what?”
Finn fidgeted. “Sorry. I meant, I do have a proposition for Georgie’s sister.” River was still looking at him funny, so he hastened to add, “A work thing.”
He spent the next several minutes explaining his idea, Dottie’s contribution, and his hope that Adalia would play a role, the conversation only halting, briefly, when the waitress came by to take their orders.
“I think Georgie will be pumped,” River said. “It’ll be great for the brewery, plus I know she’s been worried about Adalia. Other than the stuff she’s done for Buchanan, which is amazing, she hasn’t picked up a paintbrush or made as much as a magnet since coming here.”
Finn wished there was such a thing as jaw glue. Did River really not know that Adalia had been working in Dottie’s studio? Did that mean Dottie hadn’t told him?
If not, then this was yet another thing Finn was supposed to shut up about. It felt a little like torture, knowing things you shouldn’t.
You kept the Bev Corp negotiations secret. You’re capable of shutting up if the situation requires it. And ding, ding, the situation requires it!
River frowned. “How’d you know about her art, anyway?”
“Something’s up with Maisie,” Finn blurted out.
Shit. It was like all of the various secrets he knew had vied to come out of his mouth first, and that one had won.
“What?” River asked, in genuine shock. And no wonder. He hadn’t known Maisie was in on the whole dinner invite, so Finn’s comment must have seemed like it had come out of nowhere.
“I asked her to come to dinner, and she showed up, but she left when she found out you were coming,” he said in a rush of words.
River cursed, his expression darkening. “I thought she was avoiding me again, but I guess I didn’t want to believe it.”
Finn didn’t want to betray her further by saying anything else—hadn’t he already made everything worse?—so he just said, “I think you should talk to her. We’re going to donate the proceeds of the first show to the shelter. Which means we should probably get her to come.”
“Oh, I’ll talk to her,” River said. “I’ll tell her Hops is sick or something. She might turn me away, but she’d never refuse to help a dog.”
There was something a little bitter in his tone, and Finn wanted to tell him he was getting it wrong, that Maisie was staying away out of self-preservation, but he’d already crossed enough lines. He’d do best to stay silent.
Right?
Right.
“You never did answer my question about Adalia,” River commented, giving him a look. The kind of look that said River knew he’d deflected that earlier question, because of course River had noticed.
Oh, he was in for it, all right.
Chapter Nine
If Adalia had thought family bonding night would make Georgie chill out, she was wrong. Thursday morning, Adalia caught her sister watching her several times with even more concern than before. She’d asked her more than once if she needed more coffee or if she wanted donuts from the shop down the street. Something was up with her, and it was getting on Adalia’s last nerve.
After offer number four, Adalia glared at Georgie. “I think I need to move my desk.”
“Why?” she asked, then frowned. “I know Jack has an office and you don’t, and I know you got here first, but—”
“Georgie. Stop,” Adalia said with a sigh. “Jack’s the events coordinator. Of course he needs an office. It’s just that I need more…space.”
“We’ll find it.” Giving Adalia her full, undivided attention, she added, “You just tell me what you need.”
Adalia narrowed her eyes. Something was definitely up. “Why are you acting so weird?”
Her sister’s eyes flew open. “Am I acting weird?… I’m not acting weird.”
“Yes. You are,” Adalia said, turning in her seat to study her sister. “You’ve been treating me like I was told I only have forty-eight hours to live. Like I’m some delicate, fragile glass bottle that’s about to break. What the hell is going on?”
Georgie’s eyes filled with tears.
“What?” Adalia pressed, wondering for a split second if she and River were having some sort of fight, but no, Georgie wouldn’t react this way. She’d be more likely to retreat into herself. “What is it?”
“I know about Dottie’s studio,” Georgie said softl
y, her eyes full of concern.
It took Adalia a half second to realize what she was talking about. Then horror washed over her. “What? How did you…”
But she didn’t need to finish the question, because she already knew.
Finn.
Her dismay was just as quickly replaced with anger. “I’m going to kill him.”
Georgie got up and closed her open office door, dragging a guest chair over to Adalia’s and grabbing both of her hands. “I know we haven’t talked much about what happened right before you moved here—”
“I don’t want to talk about what happened!” Adalia started to get to her feet, but her sister tugged her back down.
Worry etched her sister’s face. “You don’t have to talk to me, but I think you should talk to someone. River thinks so too.”
“You talked to River about this?” Adalia snatched her hands free as humiliation heated her cheeks. Then she understood. River had known first, and he’d told Georgie.
Oh, my God. How many people knew?
“I know money’s tight,” Georgie rushed on, desperation on her face, “but River and I are more than happy to pay for your visits.”
Adalia shook her head, sure she’d heard her sister wrong. “You and your boyfriend want to pay for me to see a therapist?”
“There’s no shame in seeing a therapist, Addy. Trust me. I did it for years.”
“No, but there is a heaping amount of shame when you can’t pay for it yourself.”
A tear slid down Georgie’s face. “I can’t stand the thought of you creating art and destroying it. River said that Finn told him your work is breathtaking.”
“Did he now?” Adalia asked in a snotty tone, but she was in self-preservation mode. Red alert. Batten down the hatches. “I know Finn Hamilton thinks he knows everything, but I didn’t realize he was an art connoisseur.”
“Addy, this is all coming out wrong.”
“Actually,” she said in a deadly calm voice, “I think it’s coming out exactly right.” She turned in her seat and snatched up her purse from the floor. “I’ve got to go.” Then, as an afterthought, she snapped the laptop shut and cradled it to her chest as she stood.
Better Luck Next Time Page 7