Quinn sat tapping her hands against the steering wheel.

“What if we find out something we don’t like in the bourbon?” Quinn said. “Something we don’t want to know?”

“You still think Kaden might be responsible somehow?” It was one thing when Quinn had suggested it at dinner, but now that Addison had started to get to know Kaden, the idea of it seemed even more improbable.

Quinn shook her head. “If Kaden and your mom were together that summer, it makes sense he’d be in my dream. Maybe I misunderstood what I saw.”

“I hope so,” Addison said.

Quinn adjusted the rearview mirror as they edged closer to the distillery. “Do you really think Sylvia can get us the answers we’re looking for?”

“I don’t know, but she clearly wants to be in my life. I’ve always defined myself by our family. My magic was wild, different, but I was still a Haywood—it was still Haywood magic. I thought that taking over the garden would help me find my place, but I was wrong, because I didn’t know my whole story. My magic is different, and that’s okay. I need to let it guide me, not try to dampen it.”

Quinn glanced at her. “So, what, now you’re going to hard pivot and call yourself a Bonner?”

“No,” Addison said. “But at least Sylvia doesn’t blame me for everything.”

“Maybe Grams was right. She always thought there was something magical about the Bonners,” Quinn said. “Maybe you’re a hybrid!”

“That’s even worse. Can you imagine me telling Grams I have Bonner magic? She’ll never let me touch the garden again. I hoped fixing what I broke with River would help me understand the garden, or at least heal something in me,” Addison said. “But the garden and I are worse off than before.”

“Seems to me like the closer you get to figuring out who you are, the more things will become clear.”

“Easy for you to say,” Addison grumbled.

“What? Because I wasn’t born with the ability to heal?” Quinn shook her head and held one arm out the window as they inched along. “Don’t think I didn’t wish I had Haywood magic in me—some sort of clear path to follow. Instead, I grew up watching my mom try to pick up the pieces of her grief without any memories to understand what had happened and why, while I woke up screaming every night with nightmares of blood.”

“Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?” Addison asked.

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” Quinn said. “I felt like an outsider. Like there was something wrong with me. Then when your magic didn’t work right… I don’t know. I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

“Maybe we would’ve both felt less alone,” Addison said. “Thank you for letting me in.”