Page 3 of Better Luck Next Time

“There you are, dear,” Dottie said, sidling up to them.

Adalia started to respond, but then she realized Dottie was talking to Finn.

The older woman lifted her hand to his cheek and patted lightly. “Did you go see Lola as I suggested?”

Lola? Who was Lola? A therapist? A prostitute? A rabbit who could play the flute? With Dottie, there was no way of knowing.

He gave her a sheepish look. “No, but…”

Dottie shook her head and clucked. “When will you young people learn to trust me? Lola is a good friend, and she’s exactly the person who can help you”—her gaze shifted to Adalia—“helpbothof you figure out what comes next.”

Finn seemed to stumble over his words before saying, “Dottie…”

“I’m teasing,” she said with a grin. “Mostly. Just know I care about you.”

Adalia knew that part was true. Dottie cared about a lot of people. Soon after Adalia had come to Asheville, Dottie had invited her over for tea and brought her on a tour of the art studio in her detached garage. Adalia had wandered around in awe of the woman’s talent. Later, over tea, Dottie had given her a key and told her to use it anytime she pleased. If she wanted privacy, all she needed to do was tie a scarf around the door handle.

Adalia had protested, saying she refused to kick the woman out of her own studio, but Dottie had been persistent—one of her superpowers—and before Adalia knew it, she’d agreed to come at least once. She had been nearly a dozen times now, although she didn’t have anything to show for it.

Dottie had known what she needed without being told, and from the way Dottie was staring into Finn’s eyes, Adalia had a feeling Finn had his own intervention in store. Sure enough, Dottie said, “You must come to my house for tea. And soon. Promise me.”

He nodded. “I will.”

“Good boy,” she said, patting his cheek again. “Let Aunt Dottie help you set things right.”

If only Dottie could set all things right, but Adalia knew firsthand it wasn’t that easy, at least not for her. There were too many fresh wounds, too many scars. Some injuries never healed, especially wounds to the heart.

Chapter Two

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The article inFortunewas supposed to be Finn’s victory lap. He deserved it, damn it. He’d built Big Catch Brewing out of nothing. No, that wasn’t quite true. He and River had done it together. Without the beer, a brewery was just a building, and making beer hadn’t mattered much to him. It was the idea that had excited him. He liked selling. Marketing. Building.Doing.And sure, his father had given him part of the seed money, but he’d paid it back after the first year.

Except apparently everyone had thought he should hold on to that golden goose for the rest of his life, because no one in town seemed happy about the sale. He couldn’t go for a drink or a meal downtown without getting scowled at by someone. And when a pretty girl approached him, it was just as likely that she wanted to yell at him as proposition him. They thought he was a sellout, that he’d invited sharks into their tank. But he didn’t see it that way. Finn’s father had always told him that fish didn’t learn to swim half so fast if there wasn’t something with teeth chasing them.

Of course, Finn’s father’s response to theFortunearticle was that he could finally leave “that Podunk town” behind. He couldn’t understand why Finn hadn’t left yet. Charlotte was big and getting bigger—the kind of place where young people moved to become somebody.

“Time to grow up, Finn,” he’d said. “Set your sights on something bigger than a brewery.” If he knew about the local coverage, he hadn’t said anything. Neither had Finn, although it made him feel like a coward that he hadn’t confronted his parents about the whole Duke thing. He already knew what they’d say. They’d done it to help him, to be supportive, and no one had beenobligatedto accept him.

In truth, his father wouldn’t understand why the public vitriol was getting to him. His dad had always said that earning hatred was an earmark of success, but Finn had never felt that way. His mom wouldn’t have either. He’d inherited her desire to be liked—and until now, people always had liked him. That mattered to him, and this town mattered to him too. He wasn’t going to move on like it had been some stepping stone. His life was here.

But it sucked that he couldn’t talk it out with anyone. Most people weren’t sympathetic, it turned out, when you complained about the fallout of selling your company for millions. He’d made up with River, mostly, after screwing up their friendship by selling the brewery without consulting him (to be fair, Bev Corpwouldhave paid him a bundle to stay), but things weren’t the same, and River didn’t have much time on his hands. He had his relationship with Georgie, and both of them lived and breathed Buchanan Brewery. And for the first time in his life, it seemed Finn had nothing but time.

Three days after the grand reopening of Buchanan Brewery, he was sitting in his house in sweatpants—sweatpants—at two p.m. on a Tuesday, willing himself not to think about everything. Trying specifically not to dwell on the way Adalia Buchanan had treated him—like he was a sad sack, like she should be nice to him because he wasthatpathetic. Somehow he would have preferred it if she’d been more cutting.

His phone rang, jolting him out of the doldrums.

It was Gretchen, the Bev Corp exec who’d handled the sale.

Warily, he picked up the call. “Let me guess. You saw the article inThe Asheville Gazette, and you want to give it back.”

She laughed. “Well, I did see the article, but no, we’re still happy with the sale. Even if it was disappointing to see River Reeves…jump ship.”

From the pause, he understood she was nodding to the nautical theme of the brewery, a joke he and River had cooked up because of their names—River and Finn.

“Yeah, but the guy you brought in from Charlotte is the real deal.” Which was true, but he was still being treated as an outsider. If Bev Corp had thought they were playing it safe by choosing a North Carolinian, they’d miscalculated. Finn was from Charlotte too, and it had been commented on a time or two in their early days.

“We’re very happy with him. The problem is one of publicity. We didn’t foresee this much pushback from the locals.”

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