They laugh, and for a second, I feel like I’m watching the moment from just outside the glass—close enough to see the warmth, not quite close enough to feel it. Then Aubrey turns, her smile tugging me back in.

Aubrey’s voice is full of pride. “My Morgan here is the youngest lieutenant this town has ever had. We are so proud of her.”

Morgan’s smile is slow and thoughtful. “Aubrey calls me hers because she thinks she raised me.”

Aubrey scoffs. “You’re mine because I love you, but I did raise you. I remember having you at my house almost every day during the summers. Not to mention all the sleepovers.”

Morgan nudges her affectionately. It’s an easy touch that seems like it comes from years of trust. It’s effortless, their rhythm. A closeness that doesn’t need to be explained. It just is.

The low, unmistakable growl of a motorcycle cuts through the moment, drawing all of our attention toward the window. The rider pulls up smoothly, moving with an ease as he swings his leg over the bike and removes his helmet.

Damn.

He’s striking. Not in a polished way—no, there’s an edge to it, a certain roughness that makes it more interesting. Tousled dark brown hair, a strong jawline dusted with stubble, and deep-set eyes that seem to take in everything at once. There’s a rugged charm about him. He’s weathered yet effortlessly cool, like a man who belongs on the cover of an old adventure magazine. His leather jacket is well-worn, molded to his frame like a second skin.

Morgan tilts her head, eyeing him up and down. “Who is that?”

No one answers right away. I glance at Aubrey and find her expression frozen for the briefest second before she smooths it over with practiced ease. But there’s there’s a flicker there—almost a flash of wariness. “I have never seen him before.”

The bell above the door jingles as the stranger steps inside, his gaze sweeping over the space before landing on us. He flashes an easy, charismatic smile as Aubrey gets out of the booth and walks over to the counter.

“Hi.” His voice is smooth as honey. “I was told this was the place for good coffee and better conversation.”

Aubrey smiles back. “You heard right. What can I get started for you?”

He rattles off a simple order before turning his attention back to us. Morgan still hasn’t spoken, though her fingers drum lightly against the tabletop.

“You all locals?” He asks, his gaze flicking between the three of us as he casually leans against the counter, hands resting in his pockets.

“Born and raised,” Aubrey says easily, retrieving a cup and setting to work on his drink.

I shake my head. “Nope, I’m new to town.”

He nods, then his eyes flicker back to Aubrey, the corner of his mouth tilting.