Chapter 3 #2
"Play to your strengths instead of competing with a ghost."
I look at him sharply. "That's... a very accurate way to put it."
"I know something about living in someone's shadow." His voice has gone quiet. "My older brother. Golden child. Star athlete, valedictorian, currently a trauma surgeon in Seattle. Every family dinner involves at least one comparison I don't win."
"I didn't know you had a brother."
"There's a lot you don't know about me, Pritchard." But he says it gently, like an invitation rather than a rebuke.
The river flows past. A duck paddles by, utterly unconcerned with human drama.
"Sounds like you found a way to honor his values while playing to your own strengths." His voice is gentle. "That's not compromise. That's wisdom."
He's not saying it to be nice. I can tell. The tight thing in my chest loosens. For someone who supposedly coasts on surface charm, Aiden has an uncomfortable talent for seeing straight through to the heart of things.
We've drifted closer without me noticing. Close enough that I can see the warm brown of his eyes—not cataloging details, just... noticing. Close enough that his cologne—that woodsy, warm scent I definitely haven't been thinking about—wraps around me like an invitation.
"Your father sounds like he was an impressive man," Aiden says quietly. "But from what I've seen of your work, he'd be proud. You're not trying to be him. You're carrying forward the best of what he taught you while making it your own."
My eyes sting. Absolutely not tears. Probably allergies. The river is full of... river allergens.
"We should get back." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Hazel's probably having a coronary about our extended absence from the photo ops."
"Right." He doesn't step back. "Photo ops. Important."
The river flows past, oblivious to the fact that my carefully constructed professional boundaries are eroding faster than a sandcastle at high tide.
"Riley." His voice has gone low, almost intimate. "I know this started as damage control. But I want you to know—"
"Lieutenant Gentry!" A volunteer waves from the pavilion. "We need you for the extinguisher demonstration!"
The moment shatters. Aiden steps back, running a hand through his hair in that way I'm starting to recognize as his stress tell.
"Duty calls," he says, but his eyes stay on mine for a beat too long.
"Go. I'll catch up."
He heads back toward the crowd, and I take a moment to collect myself. The river keeps flowing. The ducks keep paddling. The world keeps spinning like my entire read on Aiden hasn't just flipped completely.
He defended me to Wade. He asked about my father—not the heroic stories, but the values. He saw through my discomfort to the actual source of my conflict.
And for a second there, before the volunteer interrupted, he looked at me like...
Nope. Not going there.
This is fake. A publicity arrangement. A means to an end for both our careers.
But as I walk back toward the pavilion, watching Aiden demonstrate proper extinguisher technique with a six-year-old in an oversized helmet, one fact keeps asserting itself no matter how hard I try to suppress it:
I'm starting to actually like him.
The kid laughs at something Aiden says, and Aiden's entire face transforms—not the practiced smile for cameras, but something genuine and unguarded. The same expression he wore when he asked about my father. When he defended me to Wade. When he looked at my lab equipment like it mattered.
I pull out my phone to check the time and realize I'm still holding the extinguisher I was supposed to be demonstrating with ten minutes ago.
Yeah. Serious trouble.
By the time the event wraps up, my face hurts from fake-smiling and my hand has been held so many times it might as well have a reserved sign on it. Hazel pronounces the day "an absolute triumph" and shows us engagement metrics that mean nothing to me but apparently indicate viral success.
Aiden walks me to my car in the fading afternoon light. The crowd has dispersed, leaving behind trampled grass and the lingering smell of hot dogs from the concession stand.
"You survived," he says.
"Barely." I fish my keys from my pocket. "I think Mrs. Delgado from the garden club is planning our wedding. She mentioned a spring ceremony would be lovely."
"Spring's nice." His mouth quirks. "Good weather for outdoor receptions."
"Don't even joke about that."
"Who's joking? I look great in a tux."
I roll my eyes, but there's no heat in it. Somewhere between the Wade confrontation and the riverside conversation, the sharp edges of our antagonism have worn smooth. Not gone—I don't think we'll ever be people who agree easily—but different. Manageable.
Maybe even enjoyable.
"Same time next week?" Aiden asks. "Hazel mentioned something about a school visit."
"Elementary school. Apparently, we're supposed to read a fire safety book to second graders."
"Sounds terrifying."
"You'll be fine. Kids love you." The words come out before I can stop them.
His smile shifts, going warmer. "Yeah?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late."
He opens my car door with exaggerated chivalry. "Your chariot awaits, m'lady."
"You're ridiculous."
"Part of my charm."
I slide into the driver's seat, hyperaware of how close he's standing. The car door frames him against the sunset, gilding his edges in orange and gold like some kind of romance novel cover. Which is an absolutely absurd thought that I'm immediately suppressing.
"Drive safe, Pritchard."
"Always do."
He steps back, and I pull out of the parking lot thinking about fifty-three years with someone who started as an enemy, and whether that elderly woman knows something I don't.