I am practically skipping into town, so caught up in the high of finishing all the designs and getting them sent off for approval that I nearly plow right into Aubrey as she comes darting out of Bear and Brew. Aubrey is a vision of effortless charm, her flowing brown hair catches the light as it spills past her shoulders. There’s a warmth to her, from the sun-kissed glow of her skin to the deep laugh lines that frame her ever-present smile. As always, she’s dressed with an elegant ease. She looks stunning in a jacket over a breezy blouse, perfectly paired slacks, and shoes that look both expensive and comfortable. The scent of cinnamon and a hint of florals clings to her like an expensive perfume layered over the remnants of time spent in her garden.

Everything about her is intoxicatingly alive, from the way she moves to the way she commands attention without even trying. Aubrey makes the world seem brighter, like she exists in her own little orbit and the rest of us are just lucky to drift through it.

She is the sun, and she knows it.

“Ah, Sweetheart,” Aubrey says with a dazzling smile as she reaches up to grab my shoulders. Her touch is light but firm, it’s grounding in a way that makes it clear she’s used to pulling people into her gravity. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you in forever, I got so worried I almost called my Morgan to go look for you! Come, let’s grab a drink and catch up, I have so much to tell you.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, not that she ever does. Aubrey is a whirlwind, and trying to resist her pull is like standing in the way of a tidal wave. There’s an ease about her, an almost intoxicating confidence. Her energy crackles in the air, making it impossible not to be swept along.

Before I know it, she’s dragging me into the coffee shop she just exited, her words tumbling out in rapid succession. The door swings shut behind us, and the world outside seems to fade under the sheer force of her presence.

She practically shoves me into the booth closest to the register, and without even asking what I want she marches behind the counter like she owns the place, which I guess in a way she does. “What do you like when it comes to coffee? Do you prefer sweet or savory? Never mind—I’m whipping up a drink I’ve been perfecting. Hot or iced?”

“Iced.” I chuckle. “It doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of a blizzard; I will always pick iced.”

“Excellent choice,” she says with a wink and another beautiful grin. “You strike me as someone who likes a little edge to their drinks—bold but smooth.”