The Mystic Grill buzzed with its usual late-evening crowd — clinking glasses, low laughter, and the hum of conversation filling the air. You sat in the booth with Elena, Caroline, and Bonnie, half listening to Caroline passionately critique the town’s latest fundraiser idea while Bonnie teased her about color coordination.

The bell above the door jingled.

Brad walked in like he owned the place.

Caroline’s voice faltered just a little as all four of you clocked him scanning the room. His grin widened the second he spotted your table. Elena muttered, “Oh no,” under her breath.

Sure enough, Brad made a beeline straight for you, leaning casually against the booth like he’d been invited.

“Well, if it isn’t Mystic Falls’ finest,” he said smoothly. “Mind if I join?”

Before anyone could answer, another voice cut in — calm, amused, and edged with that unmistakable confidence.

“Funny thing about invitations,” Enzo said, stepping up beside the table, arms loosely crossed. “They’re typically given… not assumed.”

Brad straightened, clearly annoyed. “Didn’t realize this was a private party.”

Enzo’s smirk didn’t waver. “It wasn’t. But you’ve got a remarkable talent for making it feel that way.”

The tension settled thick in the air. Bonnie raised a brow, Elena tried — and failed — to hide her grin, and Caroline looked like she was seconds from grabbing popcorn.

All eyes flicked between Brad and Enzo, waiting to see who’d blink first.