Page 61 of Better Luck Next Time

He shrugged it off. “I don’t disagree, but the fact remains that she only ate food in salad form. Fruit salad. Chef salad. Pasta salad. I never knew there were so many types.”

“Please tell me you left early.”

His grin wicked, he said, “Would you have? I spent an hour and a half asking her questions about it, and she was more than happy to answer me. Turns out she was writing a book proposal on it. She was certain it would be the next health craze.”

“Guess what I’m ordering for lunch?” Adalia teased.

“You would,” he said, pulling her to him. He kissed her in a way that told her what she already knew—he might think the slow plan was best, but he didn’t necessarily want to follow it. Neither did she. And yet it had sounded pretty nice when Finn wasn’t in front of her. When he wasn’t kissing her with the same kind of fervor with which Mr. Darcy had taken Elizabeth Bennet’s hand. (A person didn’t watch or read Regency stories for the steam factor, although Adalia had learned that touching a person’s hand could look sexy as hell.) But something held her back, and she was the one who stepped away.

She reached up and caressed his cheek. “While part of me is very much on board with forgetting all about our plans, the other part of me wants to go slow.” She kissed him one last time, just because she wanted to. “Now let’s go before I change my mind.”

She picked up her purse and flounced out the door, fully aware that Finn’s gaze had zeroed in on her butt.

Good.

Chapter Twenty

“Are we seriously going to Big Catch?” Adalia asked, giving him a little shove. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Because he still wasn’t sure it was a good idea. But he was proud of what he’d done there, and it was, ironically enough, one of the few places in town where people didn’t give him funny looks or throw rolls at him. River wasn’t the only one who’d quit, but the workers who’d stayed were happy with the deal—he’d negotiated for them all to get a nice salary bump, and Bev Corp had a much better benefits package than he’d been able to afford.

The mural was coming along nicely outside. The artist hadn’t finished yet, but she’d covered up the STDs slogan with a rushing river. The hull of a boat had just been started within it.

“I wanted you to see it, and I guess I wasn’t sure you’d be up for going,” he blurted out.

“Of course I want to see it,” she said. “If only so I can lord it over River.”

“For my health and well-being,pleasedon’t do that,” he said. River had texted him to ask about his intentions (again), but truthfully his friend hadn’t given him a hard time.I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that, he’d written.I won’t say Georgie isn’t worried, but then again, she’s worried about everything when it comes to Adalia.

Which was maybe just the way of things with siblings. Finn had felt some of that same worry about River and Georgie getting together, so he didn’t hold it against her.

“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 anI’ve seen you around townkind 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? Youruinedthis 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.

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