Page 20 of Better Luck Next Time

When they walked out the door shortly afterward, they stood on the busy Asheville sidewalk for a moment, the three of them suddenly unsure of what to say. They’d been in a bubble, and now it felt suddenly fragile, as if it were on the verge of bursting. Finally, Georgie said, “Thank you, Addy. That was fun, and I think I actually needed that.”

“Good,” Adalia said smugly. “And I won’t even say I told you so.”

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 wonderingwhyhe 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.

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