Page 118 of The Cupid Chronicles

Iris

Okay,I’m starting to worry.

When I told Matteo I’d be here when he was ready, I meant it.

I just thought it would be something like—he’ll go to the restaurant, spend a little time alone, then find me for dinner.

But he doesn’t.

I don’t hear from him for the rest of the night—and my texts the next day go unanswered.

I know what Matteo needs most right now is distance, but “giving others space” isn’t my specialty. Still, I’m determined not to mess this up.

Which is why, after weeks of the same routine, I don’t go to the restaurant for family dinner on Monday. Or Tuesday. Both Nicola and Val text to find out where I am, and I lie and say I’m “under the weather.”

Still no word from Matteo.

Wednesday night, I pace my apartment around the time he usually gets home. When I hear the stairway door open, I hold my breath as I look out my peephole, praying he stops atmy door. I hear his footfalls moving closer, and though they slow as he passes by, he barely pauses before moving on.

Tears spring to my eyes as I imagine the worst—that this man, this wonderful, beautiful man, has decided not to let me love him. That this is it for us. That I let myself fall for him, and it’s all blowing up in my face.

Just like always.

Because people leave. Peoplealwaysleave.

Logic says that it can’t be that. Any bystander looking at this situation would say it’s not as big as I’m making it out to be. He just needs a little time. He’s got a lot of very real feelings to sort through.

But my brain isn’t always logical.

I know this isn’t anyone’s fault, but I also know it’s not easily fixed. He was honest about his fears—about the fact that he never wanted to feel the kind of loss he felt when Aria died. And I imagine seeing her mom only stirred up all those emotions again.

Seeing her when he was with me probably stirred up other things too. Things that cannot be solved with a simple conversation.

I slump to the floor, back against my door, head in my hands.

And history repeats itself.

I don’t like to wallow, but the moment seems to call for it. I want to grab the pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream I always keep in my freezer for emergencies or PMS and go wallow on the couch for days.

I also want to shirk my big feelings because right now, they’re painful.

I’m mid-sob when something hits my feet. I pull back, startled, and see a rolled-up newspaper on the floor in front of me.

I dry my cheeks with the sleeves of my sweatshirt. “Not now.”

It rolls away slightly, then back toward me, straight into my feet, landing with the label facing me, his name on full display, like a taunt.

“I said, not n?—”

It rolls away and hits my feet again, only this time with a mini explosion of golden shimmer.

Then, in a flash, I’m transported, as my mind is whisked away, memories of all the things we’ve done playing out before me.

I can see all the people we’ve met, all the connections we’ve made, all the happiness I’ve been a part of, all the lives we’ve changed—it’s almost as if I’m watching a montage in reverse. A movie of my life rewinding in slow motion.

It spins me slowly back through the young couple at the dog park, the long lost friends, the flower shop, the bags of dirt, Joy, Alice, Jerry, Winnie, the newspapers filling up my apartment, all fly through my mind, until I remember the very first time I saw Matteo open his door to me, dripping coffee down my arm, holding the very first newspaper up to him to take it.

I blink. And I’m looking at my floor again.

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