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When I tell people that I own and operate a cat café, the very first thing they usually say to me is, “Wow, that sounds amazing! I can’t believe you can make a living doing that.”

And the truth is...you can’t.

Or maybe some people can. Maybe there are cat café owners out there wearing socks without holes in the heels and driving cars where you don’t need to blast the heat in the summer because your coolant is leaking and if you don’t pull the heat from the engine, the whole thing will overheat.

That is not me. It turns out I am as good at running a business as I am at magic, or making sound decisions, or all of the other things I am not good at.

This was particularly frustrating because I have such a range of experience working for successful businesses.

Back home, I was a receptionist at a popular dentist. I made pizzas at a pizza place that was always packed.

I even worked at a witchy little antique shop that should never have worked but somehow just did.

The big problem was that I was peddling baked goods, which, it turns out, are practically time bombs.

Baked goods start going stale the moment they come out of the oven.

I know, I know—I’m being dramatic. Obviously, my cupcakes are moist and delicious well after they’re baked.

But the timer has started. No one wants old cupcakes.

I was able to extend the moistness and deliciousness through a little magic here and there, but it backfired almost as much as it worked.

Also, while my reviews were mostly great, I’d gotten my first negative review recently, and since I didn’t have a ton of reviews, it brought down the average quite a bit. Of course, this particular negative review didn’t help.

One star: A cat farted in my face.

Yes, that happened. I wished the reviewer had mentioned that the café section is separated from the cat section. It wasn’t like Jojo, the café’s gassiest resident, had released a malodorous cloud onto a cupcake or anything like that.

But I wasn’t thinking about bad reviews or errant spells that left pastel streaks in my hair. I was thinking about a necklace. A small silver necklace shaped like half a heart.

I stood in the bathroom of my apartment, fumbling with the clasp.

I finally got it on, then stared at myself in the mirror.

I was supposed to wear the necklace, right?

Horst had given it to me, and I wanted to wear it.

But maybe he’d meant it as a joke? It was exactly the kind of joke he’d make—“Hey, Glory O’Bryan. I got you this BFF necklace. LOL.”

What if he saw me wearing it and realized I was more into him than he was into me? Or what if it wasn’t just a joke and I didn’t wear it and he assumed I wasn’t into him and—

My phone rang out in my living room. Maybe it would be Horst and he would be like, “Hey, just a heads up. I’m going to be wearing my BFF necklace today, and I really hope you’re wearing yours,” and then I would know what I was supposed to do.

But when I hurried out to the living room, I saw it wasn’t Horst. It was a Facetime call from Roger, my therapist back in West Virginia.

Slipping the little heart necklace under my shirt, I hit the answer button. “Hey, Roger.”

“Good morning, Glory. Today’s the big day, isn’t it?”

“I mean, it’s a somewhat significant day.” That was a lie. It was a huge day. Like maybe the most important day in the history of my business since I opened it.

“That’s a healthy way to look at it.” Roger squinted at the screen. “Your hair looks...colorful.”

I really, really hated it that Roger could tell how I was handling things just by looking at how much of my hair I’d accidentally turned unicorn-colored. I tried to smile like it was no big deal, but it felt stiff and unnatural. “A couple minor mishaps.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.” I tucked my hair behind my ear, hoping that reduced how obvious my magical misfires were. “Roger, when will I be done with therapy?”

He sat back in his chair. “When I say you are.”

“Considering I pay you, that feels like a conflict of interest.”

“Keeping my patients captive is my strategy for business success,” he said, nose twitching ever so slightly. “Just like yours is going to be birthday parties.”

I blew out a breath. That was my big idea—hosting birthday parties.

Gallows Bay already had the Enchanted Forest, the quirky fairy tale-themed park on the outskirts of town, and the Wild Rose , the floating museum dedicated to the famed pirate hunter Ichabod Frowd, the man who defeated the Butcher of the Carolinas.

So I had some competition for coolest birthday party spot. But while I might not have castles or cannons, I did have kittens and cupcakes.

And if I could just land one birthday party booking, everyone in town would see how much fun a party at Purrates Café could be.

Which was why I really, really needed my meeting with the prospective party client to go well. And it would! I had baked samples of some of my most popular cake flavors, and I had all kinds of ideas for themes, and just as long as nothing went wrong, I was going to book my first birthday party.

Not that anything would go wrong.

Although...something could go wrong. Maybe I should have asked my prospect what flavors she liked best. Or maybe I should have had her come in when the café was open so she could see people enjoying it. Although what if no one came in and then she saw how sad and pathetic my business really was—

“Glory,” Roger said gently. “You look like you’re spiraling.”

“I’m not spiraling.”

I definitely was.

“This is why I haven’t told you you’re ready to stop therapy yet. Just because you have a boyfriend now—”

“Roger!” I hissed, looking around frantically to make sure Horst hadn’t managed to break into my apartment without me realizing it.

Sorry—he preferred “let himself in” to “break in.”

“Break in” sounded like he was a criminal. Which he actually kind of was.

Emphasis on the “kind of.”

“What’d I say?” Roger asked.

“He’s not my”—I lowered my voice—“boyfriend.” My hand crept to the almost imperceptible bump under my shirt that was the heart-shaped necklace. “We’re BFFs.”

“BFFs?” Roger’s brow crinkled. “Buddies who French and Fuc—”

“ Roger ! BFF has never stood for that. You know that.”

A teeny smile played around the corners of his mouth. “Oh? Then what does it stand for?”

“Best Friends Forever.”

“Interesting.” Roger rubbed his pale hands together, clearly deep in thought. “Is that really what it means?”

“Of course. Everyone knows that.”

He arched one sandy eyebrow. “Do they?”

Oh. He was doing a therapist thing. And he had a point. Horst might have called us BFFs, but what did that actually mean to him? After the time we’d spent together—mainly in my bedroom, but also on the couch, and a little bit in the kitchen—I would say “best” definitely applied, at least to Horst.

Like...super best.

And we were friends. Weren’t we?

Which left the last F.

Forever .

Yeah, I had some trouble seeing that. Given Horst’s propensity to pop in without warning, he certainly didn’t seem like someone who would want to spend forever with anyone.

He was more of a free spirit. A man on a mission, and honestly a pretty noble one at that—finding a way to turn a bunch of fairy lizard things back into the medieval German children they once were.

I felt my cheeks grow warm. Was I the biggest idiot in the world, falling for that story? Was he meeting up with guy friends in a bar somewhere, saying, “Wait until you hear what I got this chick I’m seeing to believe”?

I blinked, focusing on Roger’s face on the screen. “Hey, my meeting is in about ten minutes and I still need to get set up.”

Roger gave me a somewhat awkward thumbs up. “You got this, Glory.”

“I know.”

As soon as I hung up, I reached up and, with shaking fingers, undid the clasp of the necklace. I held it in my hand for a moment, then left it behind on the coffee table as I went down to the café to get ready.