Page 62 of Better Luck Next Time

“If you’re so unhappy with the new management, why have you been waiting so long to get a seat?”

The man just stood there for a moment, mouth open, as if considering whether to make an ugly reply. Finn sincerely hoped he didn’t. He didn’t want to make a scene, but he wasn’t about to let someone insult Adalia.

Finally, the guy shrugged. “They still have the same chef. He makes the best hot wings in town.”

“Fair enough.” Adalia shot Finn a wicked grin. “Why don’t you get your hot wings to go and head down to Buchanan Brewery. There’s no wait, and our beer’s even better.”

“You’re one of Beau Buchanan’s granddaughters?” the man asked with interest.

“Sure am,” she said, “and our brewery’s the best in the city!”

A couple who’d been making beleaguered sighs while they waited for their table exchanged a glance and headed out the door, bound for Buchanan, if Finn had to guess.

Claire shot Adalia a dirty look, like maybe she suspected her of having written the STD graffiti, but she led them to their table—a nice,covertbooth in the back— without further comment.

The expression on Adalia’s face suggested she was enjoying herself immensely.

“Nicely done,” he said. “Although I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have brought a competitor through their doors.”

“A competitor? You say that like you still have a stake in the brewery.” She must have seen something on his face, because some of the joy slid out of her expression. “Do you?”

“No…” Except that wasn’t quite true. He didn’t want to lie to her, though he wished he’d talked to River first about the work he was doing for Bev Corp. “Well, not really.”

She tilted her head. “What doesthatmean?”

“I’ve been doing a little consulting work for them. Helping them find more of a niche in the community.”

She gestured at the crowded room. “Doesn’t seem like they’re hurting.”

“No,” he said honestly, “that’s never been a problem here. There’s a tasting room on the floor below us, and that’s usually full too.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is one of reputation,” he said. “Most of the customers are tourists. They’d like to do better with locals, and they don’t want to be the bad guys in town.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Kind of like someone I know.”

Finn just shrugged, knowing it was true.

A server Finn didn’t recognize came by with food and beer menus.

“Have you been here before, folks?” he asked, his tone bubbly.

Adalia shot Finn a challenging look. “No”—she looked at the server’s name tag—“Bryan, we haven’t. What’s the origin story?”

The guy gave her the long-suffering smile of someone who’d been asked that question often. “Well, the place was started by Finn Hamilton, a local entrepreneur, with River Reeves as the brewmaster. They say it was named after Finn’s stories. He always embellishes them like a fisherman exaggerates the size of his catch.”

Adalia burst into laughter. “So, this Finn guy likes to embellish the size of his…catch?”

“Very funny,” Finn said, winking at her, “but there’s no need for embellishment.” Turning to Bryan, he added, “Still, you might want to rethink the way you phrase your story.”

Poor Bryan fidgeted in place. He seemed to have caught on to the situation, but it was clear he couldn’t decide whether to acknowledge it.

“Um. Do you need a minute with the menus?”

“Nah, that’s okay,” Adalia said, handing them back. “My colleague here isveryfamiliar with them.”

The mounting evidence that Finn was, in fact, the Finn Hamilton seemed to fluster Bryan even more, so Finn put him out of his misery.

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