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AIDEN

“ T his isn’t working.”

I sit back on my haunches and wipe at my forehead with the sleeve of my shirt.

It’s Friday, six days after I buried the hatchet with my wife, and it’s a blisteringly hot June day.

I glare at the Crownhaven still, a massive and ancient pot still.

It mocks me right back. There’s a leak and we can’t get it to seal, and alcohol vapor and heat are a terrible combination.

“It’ll work,” Tristan says, panting slightly from where he’s moving palettes from one side of the stillhouse. “Just need to coax her a little bit.”

“I don’t excel at that,” I growl under my breath.

“I know,” he says, grinning. “I do love to watch you struggle.”

I toss an apple core from our lunch at his head, but he dodges and laughs, then flops onto the floor.

“We’ll get her fixed,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

I sigh and join him, looping my arms over my knees.

“Everything okay after the match the other day?” he asks. At my questioning glance, he tips his head toward the house. “She didn’t come back.”

“Ah, yeah.” I run a hand through my hair. It’s damp from sweat, and I’m running out of time to shower before our event tonight.

“Forthcoming of you,” he teases. “So Amy’s off the scent, then?”

I’ve barely spared a thought for Amy, though I’ve spared plenty for the feel of Emory under my mouth and in my hands, making those high and needy sounds that I’d give anything to hear again.

“All the words in the world don’t matter if people see us fighting.”

“True.” Tristan says slowly. “So what’s the plan?”

“Fuck, Tris. I don’t know. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other. There’s an event tonight. That art auction at the museum.”

“I love that event. They always have those little burrata—ah, sorry.” He grins ruefully at me. “You were saying?”

“Look at this.” I pull out the card she left outside my door last night and toss it on the floor.

His brows go up as he reads. I have the contents of the card memorized. Not because I obsessed over it, but because she gave me nothing.

“What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Favorite pizza topping, dress size. Oh, at least you know her favorite movie is Ever After . That’ll be useful.”

I flick him in the shoulder. “Help me.”

“You need a professional.” He tosses the card back to me.

“How are we supposed to do this if she won’t act in good faith?”

Tristan’s brows go up. “That’s what you think this is?”

“What else could it be? I bared pieces of my soul for her and she gave me her favorite pizza topping.”

My face warms at the thought of the facts I gave her. My favorite movie was on there, sure, but I also told her why. I put down that I’d never had a pet as a kid, and that when I was little, I wanted to be a writer.

What was I expecting from her? That she might want to share with me? Because I didn’t hate sharing with her, though Tristan doesn’t need to know that. I wrote down the pieces of myself I thought she’d enjoy, and I imagined her smiling and giving me back something of herself.

Evil queens don’t do kindness, or smiling, or sharing, as far as I can tell. And I feel like a fool for thinking she’d be different with me.

“I don’t know.” Tristan’s gaze is far away. “You ever see that video of her with the fire?”

“I don’t do social media.”

“Watch it,” Tristan says. “And don’t read the comments. They’ll just piss you off.”

“So you’ve seen it?”

“Yeah.” He blows out a breath. “And I think the woman in that video would have a really hard time letting people in.”