Page 21 of The Cupid Chronicles

There’s that look again. It’s like he’s caught or . . . guilty,somehow, and I know immediately he knows something but isn’t saying it.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” he says flatly, changing his demeanor.

“I don’t believe you.”

He studies me, a little too intently, then shrugs. “Sorry.”

I persist. “You have to know something! Your name is on the paper. Is that even normal? For there to be an address label on a newspaper?”

He shrugs again.

This is infuriating. I canfeelthat he knows something. Why won’t he just tell me?

“And is it normal for me to come home from work and find a wholestackof newspapers on my kitchen counter?”

At that, his eyebrow twitches. “A stack?”

“Astack,” I say again. “Was that you? Are you playing a joke on me? Seems a little strange since we just met and youreallydon’t seem like the joking type, but you know, weirder things have happened. Probably.”

His eyes narrow. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

“I can prove it to you!” I motion for him to follow me back down the hall. He hesitates so long, I’m actually shocked when he starts walking in my direction.

I reach my still-open apartment door and say, “Here, Mr. Know-Nothing, how do you explain . . .this!?” Without looking, I hold up my arms as if it’sThe Price is Rightand I’m displaying a brand-new car.

He peers past me, then looks at me.

“Nice apartment.”

I scoff. “Nice?! What about all of the?—”

I turn around. My apartment is completely empty.

Except for a Dr Pepper on the counter.

“What?!” I exclaim. “No, no, no, this was all covered, there were newspaperseverywhere, and they justappeared, andthey all had your name on them, and . . .” I rush into my apartment, frantically moving things around, pulling up couch cushions.

“Can I go, or . . .?” He’s standing in my doorway, motioning toward the stairwell.

I stand in stunned disbelief. “Great. Okay. Fabulous. Go back to work.” I push my hands through my hair, frustrated when, as expected, my fingers snag on the peanut butter from Eliana Watson’s sandwich. That’s what I get for leaning in to help open fruit snacks at lunch. The kindergartner thought my hair was pretty, and when she reached out to touch it, she transferred a glob of Skippy straight to it.

I unglue my fingers from my hair and glance up to find that Matteo has disappeared from my doorway.

I sprint over and lean out just in time to see the stairwell door slowly closing, his footfalls retreating down the stairs.

I blow out a tense breath, closing my eyes and shaking my head at the ceiling. I know he knows what’s going on. And even though he seems fixed on not telling me, I now have a new obsession . . . er, project.

Matteo Morgan.

I turn back to my apartment, glance at the counter, and let out a rueful laugh.

There, next to my Dr Pepper, is a neat stack of rolled-up newspapers.

Chapter Seven

Iris

Sarcastic magic.Lovely.

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