“We’ll see,” she said, eyes twinkling. “How does this work with our whole plan to keep things covert?”
She said it like it was a naughty word, and it took everything in him to keep walking forward rather than back.
Take it slow, Finn. Don’t scare her off.
“Nothing strange about two co-chairs having a business lunch together.” He patted his messenger bag. “I even brought some more artists’ portfolios for us to look at. I figure it’ll save us from scheduling in-person meetings with another Stella.”
“Oh, is that what’s in there? I figured you were just into man purses.” She laughed, and it was such a happy, carefree sound, he immediately wanted to hear it again—even if it was at his expense.
“I prefer the term bro bag.”
She laughed harder, and he felt that familiar warm glow she always seemed to inspire. “You would,” she said. “Do business colleagues hold hands?”
“Frequently.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it.
They stepped into the brewery, which had been designed to look like the interior of an old boat. The inspiration for it was the Vasa Museum in Sweden—an entire museum centered around an ancient ship, perfectly preserved, reminiscent of the Vikings and Valhalla. The foyer was bustling, several people waiting on benches or milling about outside, but the hostess, Claire, broke away from the stand to hug him.
“We miss you and River around here.” She shot an assessing look at Adalia, her gaze lingering on their linked hands. Finn wasn’t much of a hand-holder usually, but Adalia brought it out in him. “Come on back. We have a table set aside for y’all.”
A red-faced man on one of the benches got to his feet, his expression sour. “Why are they getting seated? They just got here, and we’ve been waiting for half an hour.”
So much for the whole friendly vibes idea. The guy looked sort of familiar in an I’ve seen you around town kind of way, but Finn didn’t know him personally. Recognition flickered on the man’s face, and if anything, his cheeks got redder.
“Hey, aren’t you that jerk who sold this place to Bev Corp? You ruined this place.”
Finn had learned how to cut these conversations short quickly—be polite, take what they dished out, move on—but Adalia cut in before he could say anything.
“If you’re so unhappy with the new management, why have you been waiting so long to get a seat?”
The man just stood there for a moment, mouth open, as if considering whether to make an ugly reply. Finn sincerely hoped he didn’t. He didn’t want to make a scene, but he wasn’t about to let someone insult Adalia.
Finally, the guy shrugged. “They still have the same chef. He makes the best hot wings in town.”
“Fair enough.” Adalia shot Finn a wicked grin. “Why don’t you get your hot wings to go and head down to Buchanan Brewery. There’s no wait, and our beer’s even better.”
“You’re one of Beau Buchanan’s granddaughters?” the man asked with interest.
“Sure am,” she said, “and our brewery’s the best in the city!”
A couple who’d been making beleaguered sighs while they waited for their table exchanged a glance and headed out the door, bound for Buchanan, if Finn had to guess.
Claire shot Adalia a dirty look, like maybe she suspected her of having written the STD graffiti, but she led them to their table—a nice, covert booth in the back— without further comment.
The expression on Adalia’s face suggested she was enjoying herself immensely.
“Nicely done,” he said. “Although I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have brought a competitor through their doors.”
“A competitor? You say that like you still have a stake in the brewery.” She must have seen something on his face, because some of the joy slid out of her expression. “Do you?”
“No…” Except that wasn’t quite true. He didn’t want to lie to her, though he wished he’d talked to River first about the work he was doing for Bev Corp. “Well, not really.”
She tilted her head. “What does that mean?”
“I’ve been doing a little consulting work for them. Helping them find more of a niche in the community.”
She gestured at the crowded room. “Doesn’t seem like they’re hurting.”
“No,” he said honestly, “that’s never been a problem here. There’s a tasting room on the floor below us, and that’s usually full too.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“The problem is one of reputation,” he said. “Most of the customers are tourists. They’d like to do better with locals, and they don’t want to be the bad guys in town.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Kind of like someone I know.”
Finn just shrugged, knowing it was true.
A server Finn didn’t recognize came by with food and beer menus.
“Have you been here before, folks?” he asked, his tone bubbly.
Adalia shot Finn a challenging look. “No”—she looked at the server’s name tag—“Bryan, we haven’t. What’s the origin story?”
The guy gave her the long-suffering smile of someone who’d been asked that question often. “Well, the place was started by Finn Hamilton, a local entrepreneur, with River Reeves as the brewmaster. They say it was named after Finn’s stories. He always embellishes them like a fisherman exaggerates the size of his catch.”
Adalia burst into laughter. “So, this Finn guy likes to embellish the size of his…catch?”
“Very funny,” Finn said, winking at her, “but there’s no need for embellishment.” Turning to Bryan, he added, “Still, you might want to rethink the way you phrase your story.”
Poor Bryan fidgeted in place. He seemed to have caught on to the situation, but it was clear he couldn’t decide whether to acknowledge it.
“Um. Do you need a minute with the menus?”
“Nah, that’s okay,” Adalia said, handing them back. “My colleague here is very familiar with them.”
The mounting evidence that Finn was, in fact, the Finn Hamilton seemed to fluster Bryan even more, so Finn put him out of his misery.
“I’ll have a Blue Whale IPA, and a Lake Trout Lager for the lady. We’ll both have burgers.”
Bryan practically launched himself away from the table.
“I think you frightened him half to death,” Finn commented.
“We’ll tip him well,” Adalia said. “I guess I should have mentioned the fact that while I’m not a saladatarian, since it doesn’t exist and all, I am a pescatarian.”
“Oh shit,” Finn said, getting to his feet. But Bryan had pulled off an admirably quick retreat and was nowhere to be seen. Settling back down, he shrugged. “We’ll break the news to him when he brings our drinks.”
“So, you were saying?”
Her teasing had taken on a slightly antagonistic edge, and he suspected it had something to do with his partial revelation about Bev Corp.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” he said. “I’d never do anything to hurt River and Georgie, not again, and the art show has nothing to do with Bev Corp. It’s a completely separate project.”
A corner of her mouth tipped up. “For a man in search of his next big idea, you sure have a lot going on. So what are you doing for them, Big Catch?”
Oh, God. The way she said that, her gaze raking over him…the last thing he wanted to talk about was work. He wanted to convince her—and himself—the slow approach was not working, and they should take this back to his house, or hers, but first he needed her to understand.
He told her about his ideas for Gretchen, Bryan arriving with their beers sometime in the middle of their conversation.
When Finn told him one of the burgers would need to be switched to a veggie, Bryan apologized to him. If that wasn’t confirmation enough that someone had confirmed his identity to Bryan, the server called him Mr. Hamilton. And sir.
Adalia grinned at him the whole time, her eyes bright with repressed laughter.
&nbs
p; “Hey,” he said when Bryan walked away. “It’s not like I asked him to say that. But I’m not going to lie—it feels better than being called a jerk.”
“Fair enough.”
He finished up his spiel about the beer festival right after Bryan brought out the burgers, practically bowing as he backed away, and Adalia thought for a minute, tapping the side of her glass in a way that increased Finn’s suspense.
“This is good. Similar to our Hair of Hops lager but different,” she said. “River’s super talented.”
“No kidding,” he said. “So, what’s the verdict? Tell me what you think.”
“You need to talk to him sooner rather than later. He’s going to flip if he finds out from someone other than you.” He’d rested his hand on the table, and she put hers over it. “And no, I’m not going to tell him. I’m not sure they’ll go for it, but I think they should. You’re right. It’s a win-win.”
He released a breath. “Thanks. I was planning on telling him as soon as Gretchen gives me an idea of whether they want to move forward with the event. I figured…”
“No need to cause trouble if it’s not going to work,” she finished for him. “Practical. You’re good at this, you know.”
He met her gaze. “It’s what I like best. Figuring things out. Troubleshooting. The day-to-day stuff doesn’t interest me as much.”
She was quiet for a moment, and he was about to shift the conversation when she said, “You would have sold the brewery a long time ago, if it weren’t for River.”
It wasn’t a question. She’d seen it in him somehow. He found himself thinking again about Lola, and the tarot cards all lined up in a neat row.
“You’re right,” he said simply.
She moved her hand off of his. For a moment, he regretted its loss, but she lowered it onto his thigh instead, the heat instantly driving him mad. “What are we doing on Wednesday?”
“I’ll never tell,” he said, leaning into her touch. “Well, except for on Wednesday morning, when it will, of course, become need-to-know information.”
“You are being covert. Now, let’s see what you have in that man purse.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Based on the portfolios he’d compiled, some handed to him by Dottie, the rest found through his own research, they decided to invite three of the artists to participate in the show, to visit five others, and to (hopefully) forget the last one, whose realistic clown paintings would probably haunt Finn for the rest of his life. Had Dottie known about his irrational fear of clowns?
They drove over to Dog is Love, talking about the show and hypothesizing about the models used by the clown artist. Did he travel from circus to circus? Were they based on people he didn’t like? When Finn pulled into the lot, ten minutes late—lunch had taken longer than he’d thought, partially because Bryan had brought over his origin story speech at the end of their meal and asked Finn to both edit and sign it—he saw River’s car.
“Well, there you go,” Adalia said, grinning. “You need to talk to him, and the universe delivered. I’m sure Dottie would have something to say about that.”
Except he suspected it wasn’t a coincidence at all. Maisie must have been desperate enough to duck River—or at least being alone with River—that she’d changed her meeting with him to coincide with Finn’s visit. And she’d neglected to tell Finn, fearing (correctly) that he’d cancel. He was tempted to just pull out of the lot and leave, but if he did that he’d have to explain to Adalia, and she might feel compelled to say something to Georgie, and then…
“It’s not a coincidence, is it?” Adalia said. He started to say something, but she raised a hand. “Say no more. I can tell you’re on the verge of telling me what’s going on in there. But I’d prefer to keep it a horrible surprise.”
“Well, I’m not inclined to argue with that.”
He went around to open her door, and she hooked her arm through his like they were about to go on a picnic.
The front door was open, since they’d come during the shelter’s regular hours, and an older bearded guy sat behind the desk, eating some sort of smelly cheese Danish.
Seeing them, he swallowed thickly.
Finn introduced himself, thought about shaking the guy’s hand, thought about the Danish, and settled for a nod.
“Maisie’s already back there with River,” the guy said. “They’re in the visiting room. Do you need me to show you back?”
Finn grappled with his conscience. Maisie obviously didn’t want to talk to River alone, and part of him thought he should go back there and save her. But another part of him genuinely believed that she was avoiding the inevitable. That her hesitation to talk to River, and maybe even divulge her secret, was causing both of them pain. Besides, he believed in River and Maisie’s friendship—even knowing what he knew—and it was never going to get back on track if they didn’t talk it out.
“Actually, maybe we could look at the adoptable dogs first?” He shot a glance at Adalia and gently pulled her to his side. “This one’s thinking of becoming a foster mom.”
Chapter Twenty-One
The man got up and walked around the desk, licking his fingers and thumb, and Adalia resisted the urge to cringe. Was that a wise idea in a place like this?
“I’m Dustin, by the way,” he said, leading them to a side door. “Are you sure you don’t want to head back and see Maisie? She seemed pretty insistent that I send you back as soon as you got here.”
“No,” Finn said, but Adalia caught the glance he shot to the closed door in the back before he headed for the door marked Kennels. “I promised Adalia she could see the dogs first.”
“Okay…” Dustin said, sounding like he wasn’t sure that was a good idea.
“You don’t need to show us around if you’re busy,” Finn said. “I know my way around.”
Dustin appeared reluctant, but his gaze drifted longingly to the Danish on his desk. “If you’re sure you don’t mind…”
“Not in the least,” Finn said, already opening the door.
“But try to hurry,” Dustin said. “Maisie really wanted you to join her.”
Finn didn’t answer, and instead ushered Adalia into a large room with multiple kennels on one side and lots of windows on the other. The fans on the ten-foot ceiling were circulating the air, but the room still stank of dog.
Barks and howls filled the space, and the first kennel held a large lab mix who was adding to the chorus. He jumped up, the metal door clanging under his paws.
“Oh, that poor dog,” she said, reaching toward the door.
“Be careful,” Finn said, pulling her hand away. “Some of them are biters.” He released her, nodding to the door. “But this one seems to be okay. Maisie labels the ones that you need to be careful with.”
She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. “Why didn’t we go back to the room with Maisie and River? What’s going on?”
“I thought you didn’t want to know,” he challenged with a small smile. “I thought you wanted it to be a horrible surprise.”
“Well…the fact that you’re avoiding it like it’s a smallpox plague has me intrigued. You don’t tend to shy away from conflict.”
He grimaced. “River was supposed to come see Maisie this morning, but she obviously rearranged her schedule so that we’d be here when he showed up.”
Her brow lifted. “And you didn’t know she’d rescheduled?”
“Not a clue or I wouldn’t have agreed to come. Which is why she purposely kept it from me.”
Adalia looked at the door to the lobby, worry starting to brew in her chest. “Should I be concerned?” Her gaze lifted to Finn’s. “Should Georgie?”
“No.” He took her hand and held it against his hard pec. Maybe she shouldn’t notice something like that at a time like this, but sue her. She had hormones. “River loves Georgie,” he continued. “I would never be part of anything that would tear them apart.”
When she made a face, he
added, “Again.”
“So what’s going on?”
“River and Maisie have been friends for a long time, and they’ve always been tight. They used to hang out all the time, and the three of us got together every week for Taco Tuesday.”
“But he doesn’t do that anymore,” she said. “At least Georgie never mentions it, and I know she would.”
“You’re right.” He dropped her hand and walked past several of the kennels.
The dogs leapt in their cages, eager for attention, and while Adalia felt compelled to give it to them, this conversation was too important for her to let it go.
“Georgie wouldn’t forbid River to see his friend,” Adalia said defensively. “She’s not the jealous type.”
“I know,” he said, his mouth twisting to the side. “Or at least I know Georgie’s not the reason they haven’t gotten together.”
“River?” she asked, giving it some thought. “Did he stop meeting you two weekly after he and Georgie started seeing each other? Partially because he was pissed with you?”
“The weekly Bro Club dinners? Yeah, that had something to do with it.”
“Bro Club dinners?” she teased. “Really?”
He smirked. “That’s what Maisie called them, and it kind of stuck. As a joke.”
“But he stopped seeing Maisie?” That bothered her more than she cared to admit. She understood why he’d shied away from Finn for a while, but had he really just abandoned his childhood friend? If so, it didn’t say much for his character.
Finn grimaced again. “This is not my business to tell.”
He was protecting someone. River? Maisie? Georgie?
“Were River and Maisie ever more than friends?”
“No, Addy. If they were, I would tell you. Honest.” His expression said he meant it.
“But something’s going on, otherwise we wouldn’t be hiding back here. We’d be with River and Maisie.”
“They had a fight,” Finn blurted. “No, not really a fight, more like a misunderstanding. I advised Maisie to talk to him about it, but apparently she doesn’t want to, otherwise we wouldn’t be here right now. We’d be at my place or yours watching Fast Five.”
Better Luck Next Time Page 18