Jo had been ghosted by demons, flirted with by foam, and rescued from a romantic disaster by a vampire who owned one cape and zero chill, but not even that prepared her for relentless text messages from a beige flag guy.

Thirteen new messages from Frank and all read: “hey :)”

“Absolutely not,” Jo muttered, chucking her phone into the dish bin.

Clorvex looked up from his perch on the counter, where he was assembling a vision board entirely out of coffee stirrers and rejection letters. “Beige flag’s texting again?”

“Nonstop. It’s like he thinks ellipses count as emotional labor.”

“Maybe he’s not so beige flag and more like a red flag stalker,” Clorvex added.

“You do realize you could just block him,” Matteo said, sliding over a flat white shaped like a cactus.

“Too obvious,” Jo sighed. “I need something subtler. Like a cursed bounce-back spell.”

Behind her, the Queen of the Hollow Moon dramatically appeared with her usual espresso steam entrance and absolutely no regard for mortal tension. “Did someone say cursed?” she asked, already sipping her third moonflower macchiato.

“No,” Jo said flatly.

“Excellent,” the Queen replied. “Then I’m just in time to meddle in your mortal lives.”

Mira entered next, holding a stack of enchanted mood-boards made of tea leaves. “I’ve got three predictions and one accidental love poem for Jo.”

Jo didn’t even flinch. “Let me guess: the tea wants me to move on.”

“The tea wants you to ghost,” Mira replied, “and fast.”

Sev strolled in looking disheveled but smug. “Now that Kip left the werewolf drum circle, they finally admitted my rhythm slaps. Figuratively. One of them did bite me, but in a flirty way.”

“Honestly,” Jo said, glancing around the café, “how am I the one with the worst love life?”

At that moment, the door chimed and in walked him. Tall. Disheveled cape. The vampire from Covenant and Chill who still refused to use the entrance like a normal person.

“Morning,” he said, nodding at Jo. “You look… mortal.”

“You look like someone who doesn’t text ‘hey :)’ thirteen times.”

“Guilty,” he said. “I only text existential questions and memes about antique silverware.”

Jo turned to Clorvex. “Could I date someone who uses antique ’as a flirting category?”

Clorvex, already sketching a compatibility chart in latte foam, nodded. “Only if you’re emotionally caffeinated.”

Later, as Jo finally blocked the beige flag and sat across from her emotionally awkward vampire at a booth enchanted for no eavesdropping, except by the Queen, who refused to follow booth rules or any spells for that matter, she took a sip of her latte. “You’re not going to try to glamor or fix me, right?” she asked him.

He shrugged. “Only your pronunciation of macchiato.”

Jo grinned. “I can work with that.”

Outside, a croissant exploded spontaneously because this was still Cedar Grove.

Inside, Jo laughed.

Because for once, it wasn’t a dramatic beginning.

It was just a brew hope.