heading home.
Aubrey took a wary sniff of her shirt. “Ugh. Ew.”
She couldn’t walk into a public establishment like this. People would probably see noxious, green fumes wafting from her top and reach for their clothespins. Twisting her neck far away from her stinky self, Aubrey hurried to the locker room and disposed of the offending shirt, wrapping it tightly in a plastic bag. Wetting some paper towels, she wiped away the evidence of her stress and tugged her arms through a spare shirt she kept for emergencies. It had a picture of Cookie Monster hugging a jar of cookies with the caption MY PRECIOUS below him.
It wasn’t a fancy work-to-evening transformation, but she was weeknight-presentable. With anticipation in her steps, Aubrey set out on foot to her favorite pub, Weldon Brewery. The three-block walk there should skim off more of her anxiety.
The brewery stood on the edge of downtown, and it was fast becoming Sierra Nevada’s worst-kept secret. They’d swept top-beer awards across the country for five consecutive years, and craft beer aficionados pilgrimaged to the brewery and packed the place to the brim. The head brewer, Tara Park, happened to be Aubrey’s best friend. Lucky me.
The air was nippy for an early-summer evening, so she stuffed her hands inside her jean pockets but didn’t pick up her pace. The setting sun drenched the cozy town in a blanket of deep coral and whispers of violet—a scene from a storybook come to life. A dreamy smile broke through Aubrey’s restlessness. Weldon was home. Even after four years, it was hard to believe Comfort Zone stood nestled among the brightly colored mom-and-pop stores lining the tidy streets.
When she pushed through the sturdy wooden doors of the brewery, the high ceiling, repurposed wood beams, and floor-to-ceiling windows welcomed her with their warm, rustic charm. It was a weeknight, so it wasn’t too crowded, but it was busy enough to hum with conversation and laughter.
“Give me the good stuff, woman.” Aubrey settled onto a barstool and pounded her fist on the bar for effect. “Ow.”
“Wuss. You’re an embarrassment to badass, bar-pounding women everywhere. Here.” Tara plunked down a pint of blond ale and narrowed her eyes as Aubrey gulped down a third of it. “Damn, girl. I’ll take back calling you a wuss; slow down. I don’t want to drag your drunk ass home tonight.”
“Some friend you are.”
“I give you free beer and a shoulder to lean on. You wouldn’t find a better friend even if you scoured the earth for one.”
Tara was right. Life wouldn’t be complete without her. Aubrey lifted her mug in agreement and took a daintier gulp.
“Rough day in sugar land?”
“You could say that. Remember Andy’s special-order cake?” Tara made a gag face. Okay. She remembers. “Lily gave her cake to the wrong customer, so I baked another one and delivered it to Andy’s house. In the middle of afternoon rush. But you know what the scariest part is?”
“Andy made you stay and eat a slice of Frankencake?”
“No, it’s even worse. Lily has no idea who she sold the monstrosity to. It has to be some poor out-of-towner who desperately needed a chocolate Bundt cake. Tragically, they got the Frankencake instead and probably ended up choking on a peanut butter–covered gummy worm.”
“Yeah, that sounds very likely. Murder by Bizarro cake.” Her friend’s tone was dry, but her eyes softened with a smile. “You did everything you could. Now relax and enjoy my scintillating company.”
“Scintillating? Last week, it was electrifying.” Despite her grumbling, Aubrey did as directed, breathing deeply through her nose and drawing her shoulders away from her ears. Her next gulp of beer tasted even better, and all the day’s stress melted away.
“So which one’s your pride and joy?” A deep, delicious voice spoke from behind her.
A thrill rushed through Aubrey, and goose bumps spread down her arms. Maybe I shouldn’t have chugged all that beer on an empty stomach.
“Spank Me,” Tara said, checking out the customer under her lashes.
“I usually reserve that kind of fun for the third date.” The flirtatious response came much too easily, but his voice made it sound sophisticated and enticing.
Tara snorted and mouthed holy crap to Aubrey behind her hand. If her friend’s reaction was any indication, the dude must be up in the clouds on the hotness scale. Curiosity won, and Aubrey swiveled around on the stool to explain that Spank Me was the brewery’s überhoppy, gold-medal IPA.
“She didn’t mean that literally.” Her words and laughter scattered as dark brown eyes