Page 128 of The Cupid Chronicles

“Thank you for coming. And for going along with the fun of it,” I say.

“Are you kidding?” Val says. “We wouldn’t have missed it.”

Wouldn’t have missed it.

Those words are pinned straight to my heart.

She said it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world toshow up for people who matter to you. And yet, in my experience, the people who show up are so hard to find.

I would’ve been happy with one or two people who make me a priority, and seeing them all makes me feel spoiled. It’s more than I could’ve asked for, this hodgepodge of people who seem to be mine.

It takes some of the sting out of the realization that one very important person is missing.

“Miss Ellington!” I turn to see Charles walking toward us. I’m growing more comfortable with his first name, which feels like progress. “The crowd is restless! Can we open the doors?”

I glance over to where the appetizers have been set up and see Dante and two other servers. Dante gives me a nod and a thumbs-up. I turn toward Charles and nod. “Looks like we’re good to go!”

We move off to the side, and I watch as parents and grandparents filter into the space, being dragged by their excited kids, who can’t wait to show off their work.

More than a few of the parents congratulate me, but I assure them that this night is not mine—it belongs to their children. I have no interest in taking any credit here. All I’ve done is create a space for them to shine.

Brooke and Liz move out into the crowd, seeking out their students as I spot Joy at the back with Alice. She waves, and I wave, and then Alice gives her hand a tug and leads her mom over to the corner where her painting hangs. I watch as Joy kneels down and gives Alice a hug, and I don’t look away until I see a smile light the little girl’s face, something that’s become more common lately.

Excited voices carry throughout the space, and I stand back and survey it all.

Looking for a man wearing red.

After my brief scan, I spot a white-haired man in a redsweater, a heavily tattooed twenty-something guy who has to be someone’s uncle or irresponsible older brother and . . . Charles Kincaid.

My boss.

My stomach wrenches. Charles is ten years older than me, but he is divorced. And he’s notbadlooking. I’m sure he’d be a perfect match . . . for someone else.

Has the magic ever been wrong?

“You did this, Iris.”

I turn toward the voice and find Winnie standing beside me.

“Winnie! I didn’t know you were here!” I give her what I intend to be a quick hug, but she holds on tighter—and longer—than I expect.

“Of course I’m here,” she says. “Do you think I would miss your big night?” She releases me from her embrace.

I smile. “It’s really more about the kids.”

“Sure, and they all have people to celebrate them and tell them they’re wonderful and take them out for ice cream.” She flicks her hand in the air. “You deserve to have that, too.”

I ignore the instinct to brush it off and let the words fill me up. “Thank you, Winnie.”

She turns toward me. “You have a way of making people feel special. It’s a gift, really.” She takes my hands in hers. “Some would call it magic.” She smiles.

Did she . . .

“Winnie, do you—?” but before I can finish the question, she gasps.

“Oh, my, look who it is.”

I turn and follow her gaze to see Matteo walking in, carrying a large silver chafing dish.

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