Page 30 of Better Luck Next Time

“What the hell happened back there?” Finn asked, running a hand through his hair. He had nice curls now that it had grown longer, the kind she would have liked to paint if asking him wouldn’t have stoked his ego.

If she was ever going to paint or sculpt or screen-print again.

“Which part?” she asked, flagging down a passing waiter. “We’re gonna need a pitcher of margaritas.” She turned to Finn. “Anything for you?” Then she hastily added, “Just kidding…maybe.”

“The pitcher and two glasses,” Finn said, looking up at the waiter. “There’s a bonus twenty-dollar tip if you can get it here in less than five minutes.”

The young waiter practically sprinted to the bar.

“Frozen!” she called after him.

“Back to what happened at the psychic’s,” Finn said, leaning his forearms on the table. “Did Dottie send you there so we’d run into one another? Is this one of her elaborate schemes?”

“Trust me. I considered it. But this wasn’t her doing unless she hypnotized me,” she said, giving it another moment of consideration before dismissing it. Dottiewascapable of many things, but it would have taken a master of manipulation to pull something like that off. “It was just like Lola said. I was a walk-in. After Georgie talked about having me committed, I took off and started walking around. That’s when I saw her storefront.” She tilted her head. “Does a psychic have a storefront or an office?”

He leaned even closer, his eyes wide. “I was wondering the same thing, but go back to the part about Georgie having you committed. Are you kidding me?”

He seemed outraged on her behalf, which felt kind of nice, but she couldn’t let him think that of her sister. “Okay, no,” she said with a sigh. “Not committed. But she and River want to pay for me to see a psychologist.” She started to drum her fingers on the table, trying to expel some of her pent-up nervous energy. “Do you think seeing Lola counts? Psychic. Psychologist. They’re practically spelled the same. There’s just a lot of extra letters after the C-H in psychologist. Plus, you saw her space.”

He reached over and covered her hand with his, applying pressure when she tried to pull away. “Adalia. Take a breath. Just breathe.”

If any other man had tried to tell her that, there was a good chance she would have slapped him, but for some reason she didn’t understand, Finn’s touch grounded her again. It stopped her from spinning out of control.

He looked just as surprised as she was that she hadn’t decked him. She liked that he’d been willing to roll the dice.

The waiter appeared next to the table with a sloshing pitcher and two margarita glasses. “Four minutes and three seconds.”

Finn removed his hand from hers and pulled out his wallet, then handed the waiter a twenty-dollar bill. “A deal’s a deal.”

The waiter picked up the money and headed back to the kitchen, licking spilled margarita off the back of his hand.

“Did he just do what I think he did?” Adalia asked, turning at her waist to watch him walk away.

“Waste not want not,” Finn said, pouring a frozen margarita into one of the glasses and handing it to her before filling his own glass. “So Georgie and River want you to see a therapist.… How do you feel about that?”

“I’m sure it’s a good idea for some people, but I have my own way of dealing with things.”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “I can see that.”

She smacked his hand on the table. “If therapists are so great, then why aren’tyougoing to one?”

“I tried one a month or so ago, and let’s just say it wasn’t a good fit.”

“So you went to a psychic instead?”

“That was Dottie’s doing.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Did Lola really pull the same cards for you?”

“Right down to the skull and crossbones and the card with the guy lying on the ground with a bunch of swords sticking out of him. Who knew tarot cards were so morbid? But at least she told me the death card didn’t mean I was going to bite it. She said it signified the end of something or some major change in my life.” She gave him a tight grin. “At least you already know what yours is—selling your brewery.” Her smile faded and a heaviness filled her chest. “Mine…”

The thought of giving up her art stole her breath. Could she do it?

“No, Adalia,” he said, his eyes burning with an intensity that made them look greener than blue. “Not that.”

She took a generous sip of margarita and he took a drink too, eyeing her as though he was trying to read her.

“Maybe it was about leaving New York. You’ve started a new life too.”

She shrugged.

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