Page 125 of The Cupid Chronicles

Delivered to me and addressed to me. Just like they were before Iris came into my life.

I open the newspaper and lay it out on the counter, giving it a quick once-over, hoping whatever it is the magic wants from me, it’s obvious from the start. I don’t have the bandwidth to go searching right now.

I scan the first page, reading historical articles about the dorm’s first co-ed dance and engagement announcements for two girls who got engaged to twin brothers right here in this building.

I flip over to the second page—a rundown of a football game, an announcement for a new science center being builton campus and—my eyes zero in on a photo of Iris. My heart stops when I read the headline:Iris Ellington Will Meet Soulmate Tomorrow.

I react as if I were punched, stepping back, trying to unsee what I just read.

I lean in again, and there, clear as day, is the same headline.

Iris Ellington Will Meet Soulmate Tomorrow. Underneath is a photo of Iris, zoomed in on her face, looking over her shoulder at the camera.

She looks stunning.

In a sudden reaction, I grab the paper, ball it up, hard, and throw it across the room.

“Will Meet,” it read.

Future tense.

As in, “has not met yet.”

I turn a circle, hands on my head, and storm out of the kitchen and into my living room, pacing back and forth at the realization of this.

The whole idea that Iris was never meant for me is infuriating. All that agonizing, all the wondering, all that trying to do it right and make sure I can be the guy she deserves—all for nothing.

I hear the distant jangle of chimes, like they’re coming from outside.

I walk back into the kitchen and there, on the counter, is a rolled up newspaper.

I storm over to it, snatch it up from the counter, and am about to rip it in half when I feel it vibrate in my hand.

As it does, it flips out of my hand back onto the counter, where it opens and unfolds in apoofof golden shimmer, back to the same article—but this time, it’s a different photo of Iris. In this photo, she’s making a face and pointing down.This time, though, all the other articles disappear—leaving a paragraph underneath the headline that I didn’t read.

A pang of sadness hits me square in the chest. I could say it’s good that it’s her turn, that she deserves happiness, that maybe I’m just not ready to be who she needs, but I’d be lying. I don’t care about any of those things. And the thought of losing her—really losing her—only makes my feelings for her clearer. Like how flipping a coin reveals what you really want.

What I really want is Iris.

An inevitable apprehension seeps in as I read the words under the photo.

It’s been years in the making!

Tomorrow, at the Spring Brook Elementary Art Show, Iris Ellington will at last meet her soulmate! They will connect over a child’s painting of his favorite meal, even though the painting will be quite the mess.

Make sure Iris is near the appetizer table for this serendipitous encounter precisely at 6:05 p.m.

Your presence is required to make this happen.

My presence is required to make this happen.

My mind spins. Iris is going to meet her soulmate tomorrow night at the art show. The one I agreed to cater.

And that soulmate is not me.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Iris

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