Page 51 of Better Luck Next Time

“Let me just steal one more second of your time.” Blue gestured for Adalia to follow her, and Adalia jumped out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box. Finn felt his smile spread a little wider. They followed Blue to a door at the far right corner of her studio, and she opened it, revealing an open space with a cement floor, surrounded by windows.

“I know you said you’re not doing art anymore, Adalia. Or at least not right now, but I wanted to invite you to use this space. I lead yoga classes in here, but it’s empty more often than it’s full. You’re welcome to come to my classes too.”

To his surprise, Adalia didn’t say anything. She just stood there staring at the space, her eyes wide. He wanted to know what she was thinking, but it would seem wrong to ask. Like he’d be interrupting something important. So he didn’t. Neither did Blue.

Finally, Adalia looked up at them and smiled. “I guess we’d better get going. Thank you, Blue. You’re amazing.”

Blue hugged her, which was again something Finn wouldn’t have expected from a stranger, and when they left, Adalia sought out his hand and held it. There was no playfulness to it this time. It was as if it really meant something.

“What do you think?” she finally said. “Is the next surprise going to be a good one or a bad one?”

“Definitely bad,” Finn said. “Dottie likes to keep us on our toes. We’re going to see a Mr. Fred Wilcox, sculptor. I’ll bet they’re sculptures of human anatomy, based on nude models volunteering from an old folks’ home.”

“Oh, I hope so,” she said, “that sounds amazing.”

“Youwouldthink so, you deviant,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

But when they reached the studio in question, they found a different sort of surprise. The door was closed, but one of the sculptures sat outside of it. It was an enormous piece incorporating found objects like glass pebbles, buttons, and sections of chain-link fence. The sculpture was strange and glorious, and Adalia’s eyes filled with tears as soon as she saw it. This was her preferred medium, he remembered. He’d seen a few of her mixed media pieces on Instagram.

Finn tugged Adalia’s hand, still linked with his, and urged her away from the room, turning a corner.

“It’s good,” she said, a tear escaping her eye. “We need to go in there, Finn. We have to meet with him and ask him to be in the show.”

He traced the trail the tear had left on her face and, not thinking, leaned in and kissed her cheek. She tipped up her face a little, as if inviting him to kiss her, something he intended to do when the time was right. Being friends was only ajust for nowplan, after all. But she was too vulnerable right now, and he refused to take advantage of that.

“No,” he said. “We don’t go in there unless it’s what you want.”

“I can’t.” Her voice cracked a little. “Not right now. But I meant what I said. His work needs to be shown. Isn’t he waiting for you?”

“I have his number,” he said, already walking away, Adalia coming with him. “I’ll call him from the car.”

“Thank you, Finn,” Adalia said quietly.

But he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing again, and she only thought this was what she wanted.

Chapter Seventeen

Adalia couldn’t help feeling like she’d overreacted and looked foolish. But the sight of the mixed media piece had hit her square in the chest, resurfacing all the suppressed feelings of pain and betrayal. It was like she was back in that gallery, seeing her pieces with Alan’s name on them all over again.

Slopping the paint on them, she’d felt a vindictive sort of fury, but there’d been a moment afterward, before the police cuffed her, where she’d looked at them and felt a well of sorrow open inside of her. Of loss. That feeling had risen up now too.

Alan had texted again last night, waking her.

You know I don’t like to be kept waiting, Adalia. Call me.

Maybe it was time to tell Georgie that he was still bothering her, especially since the message sounded less wheedling and more demanding, but she didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t blocked him. Which was something she finallyhaddone. It felt freeing, but the messages still hung over her.

The feelings inside of her seethed, but they settled some once she and Finn left the building.

She tried to convince him to go inside and meet with the artist by himself, but he just took a long look at her and shook his head. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.” Then he hastily added, “In the car. It might get too hot. I don’t want you to end up like one of those dogs.”

If it had been someone else, Adalia would have gotten defensive. She would have said that she didn’t need a babysitter, thank you very much, she was just fine on her own. But this was Finn, and his presence tamed her anger and was like a balm to her pain. They both knew she could have rolled down the windows or opened the door. It wasn’t that warm today. He was giving her an out.

He placed the call on Bluetooth as he pulled out of the parking lot. The sculptor was understanding when Finn asked to reschedule, especially since Finn told him that he had an official invitation to participate. The meeting would just be to discuss logistics and which pieces he’d like to include.

Adalia felt Finn’s eyes on her as they reached a light, but she stared out the window, berating herself for her overreaction. The sculptor’s pieces would be at the show. How was she going to handle it there? Finn didn’t need a weepy assistant tailing him around. That would be a great way to drive off buyers.

Neither of them said anything when he ended the call, but he took her hand again, and she realized she was not only getting used to it but welcomed it. She was used to dating artistic types—men whose moods bounced around like a yo-yo and were emotionally draining. Finn was even-keeled and emotionally stable. She liked that she could rely on him when she was an emotional wreck, and while he had troubles of his own, he never made it seem like his dwarfed hers.

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