Page 100 of The Cupid Chronicles

Now a chorus of agreement, some even clink their glasses and laugh.

Iris swallows her bite. “Fine, but then you have to tell me what he’s like when he’s here.”

A chorus ofoohs! around the table.

“Can we talk about something else?” I say dryly.

“I’d love to know more about you, Iris,” Val says. “Where you’re from. What you do. Why you’re hanging around this guy—” She nods at me.

I wish I didn’t know the answer to that last one, but I do.She needs to figure out the magic. Otherwise, I doubt she ever would’ve put up with my bad attitude.

“Oh, well . . .” She dabs her mouth with her napkin, and my gaze trips on her lips. I quickly look away.

“My story is pretty boring, but I’d love to know more about all of you,” Iris says.

Val squeezes her hand, then smiles warmly at her, the way only she can. “Guaranteed there’s nothing boring about you, Iris. We can’t wait to get to know you better.”

This is Val’s superpower. She’s only a couple of years older than me, but she’s the mama bear. She pulls people in and makes them feel safe in a way that only she can.

“We’ll start with an easy one,” Nicola says. “Where did you grow up?”

Between bites, Iris talks about growing up in a suburb of Boston, telling stories from her childhood, answering questions, entertaining them. She glosses over her parents’ divorce and the pain it caused, keeping her tone light and upbeat.

One quick scan around the table and I see it—she’s winning them over. Including everyone, engaging with everyone. And while these meals are usually loud, with everyone talking over each other, Iris has captured everyone’s attention.

Including mine.

When she finishes, she seems to shrink at the realization. She looks at me, then at Val. “But enough about me. I really want to hear more about all of you. Where did you all meet?”

Nicola looks at me, as if she knows that talking about culinary school could lead to talking about Aria, and that’s not a topic we discuss, especially not at family dinner.

“I can tell you how Bear and I met,” Val pipes up, drawing Iris’s attention and steering the conversation out of uncomfortable waters like the pro she is.

Iris is as visibly smitten with them as they were with her,and as the conversation picks up and volleys from one person to the next, that natural overlapping starts happening, along with an increase in volume and laughter, and I zoom out and take it all in. I can practically mark the moment Iris becomes one of them.

One of us.

The mutual connection is rare. The kind of spark you just know is going to grow and turn into something real. The kind I’ve only ever seen when it’s—my face heats as I look at Iris, laughing at something Val said—magic, my brain says, quicker than a rumor.

But that doesn’t make sense. I didn’t get a newspaper telling me anything about Iris. She’s never been the target, and neither have I. Connections like this probably happen outside of the magic all the time.

I just don’t look up often enough to notice.

“Now that I think of it, it was Matteo who introduced us,” Val says, pulling my attention back to the table.

I find Iris watching me, a quizzical expression on her face.

“He set us up,” Val says. “He sort of has a gift for knowing when two people belong together.”

“No, I don’t,” I say. “I was just tired of listening to you both whine about your bad relationships.”

Bear chuckles. “I was insufferable before I met Val.”

She looks at him. “The perfect match.” Then, back to me. “And we would’ve never met if it wasn’t for you.”

“He introduced me and Danny, too,” Nicola says. “Remember?”

Iris looks at me, and I can hear the question she’s not asking—Was it the magic? I give my head the slightest shake.

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