Page 15 of Better Luck Next Time

He shot off a quick text to Dottie:Know of any muralists? Got a job down at Big Catch.

She replied immediately:Ah, yes. I heard about the STDs. Come over for lunch.

And since he was hoping he’d also be able to talk to her about Adalia, he sent her a thumbs-up.

“I took the liberty of making you an appointment with Lola,” Dottie said as soon as he entered the kitchen. As always, she had set out more food than any two people could reasonably eat. Some sort of vegetable something, mac and cheese, and fresh cornbread. He suspected she’d selected the menu especially for him and whatever problems she thought he was having. Probably some of it would end up in River and Georgie’s refrigerator. She always stopped by and left River things, like some kind of good food fairy.

“The fortune-teller?” he asked. She’d been after him to see her since the whole fallout from the Bev Corp sale. “When?”

“Tomorrow afternoon at two,” she said. “I had a sense you wouldn’t be busy.”

Likely because he hadn’t been busy for months. He wasn’t going to compliment her foresight on that one. His father was actually passing through town tomorrow night, which meant hedidhave dinner plans, but his dinner plans wouldn’t interfere with a two o’clock appointment. Although, to be honest, he was more inclined to try skipping the dinner than his unsolicited appointment with the psychic.

We’re going to figure out your next step, Son,his dad had said, as if he were a wayward child. He had no intention of going along with whatever plan his father had cooked up, but he respected him enough to hear him out.

Just like he respected Dottie enough to go along with the whole psychic thing.

“Fine,” he said grudgingly. “I’ll go. If you give me a few good recs for a muralist. I know you know everyone in this town.”

“Of course,” she said, retrieving a slip of lilac-colored paper from the kitchen counter. “I already wrote some ideas down for you. Now, help yourself to some food. I worry about how you eat.”

Probably because he always ate like a starved person whenever he was around her. Something about homemade food did that to him. His parents had never cooked at home, and he’d never really learned how either. He subsisted off of takeout and easy-to-fix meals. It felt nice, being around Dottie. Letting her spoil him like he was her own. Like she did with all of the people in her circle.

He accepted the paper and then served himself some food. By the time he sat down, there was a cup of hot tea in front of him. He wasn’t really in the mood for it again, to be honest, in the heat of summer, but he knew better than to turn it down. She probably wanted to read the leaves or something.

Dottie sat across from him, having served herself.

“She said no, didn’t she?” she said conversationally.

“Did Adalia talk to you?” he asked, his brow furrowed. He took a bite of food and nearly moaned. God, Dottie was a good cook.

“No, dear, and I suspect she didn’t talk to anyone else about it either. Art is very personal.”

He was beginning to realize that.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “she said no—a hard no—but I was hoping you might talk her around.” A corner of his mouth ticked up. “Turns out she’s not amenable to my type of persuasion.”

“Did you try to seduce her?” Dottie said eagerly.

“What?!” His fork clattered on his plate. “No!”

“Pity,” she said. “That girl needs some loving.”

Despite his protest, dangerous images popped into his head. Of Adalia’s soft lips. Of her chest splattered with paint. Of those bouncy curls, barely held back by anything she used to try to contain them. Of the way emotion lit up her hazel eyes, bringing out different colors.

Then, as if she hadn’t just thrown a grenade into their conversation, Dottie continued, “I’ll see what I can do to help. In the meantime, I have a few friends who have expressed an interest in the show, and if you intend to follow through, I expect we can spread the word quickly.”

Happy to change the subject, he said, “Yes, I fully intend to follow through. In fact, I’d like to have your thoughts on something. I talked to a friend about warehouse spaces for the show, and it doesn’t sound like anything appropriate will be available in the next few months. I know Georgie worked a big event space into the redesign of the brewery. Do you think she’d be open to hosting the show? I figure we can make opening night a big event, and any pieces that didn’t sell can be on display in the brewery for the following month. Available for sale, of course. It’ll be a good promotion opportunity for the brewery and for the artists.”

She nodded sagely. “I like the way you think. What if we do it before the holidays? Maybe early November.”

It would be a quick turnaround, so the artists would largely have to use pieces they already had. Unless they worked fast. Would that eliminate the possibility of including Adalia’s work?

“But Adalia…”

“Doesn’t have a stockpile of work. Yet. But if we consider the number of paintings she’s destroyed, I believe she’ll have time to make one.”

Hearing it felt like a stab to his gut. How many had there been? He hated to think of her feeling that angry, that desperate.

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