Page 28 of The Cupid Chronicles

“For whatever reason, the building is opening a door between you and your neighbor. You should probably pay attention.” Liz looks so certain, as if any of this is normal. “Maybe you are exactly whatheneeds.”

I can’t imagine that man needing anything, least of all, me.

“Okay, stop. This isn’t about the chef, or even about me. This is about my lonely old neighbor who needs a sort of . . . intervention.” I frown. “And yeah, maybe a cat. I researched shelters all day and found zero black cats with white feet.” I glance over. “Should I just get any old cat?”

Liz shrugs. “I have a turtle. I don’t know anything about cats.”

Both Brooke and I turn to Liz. “You have a turtle?” I ask.

“Yeah. Donatello.”

I love Liz a little bit more now that I know that, and I make a mental note to crochet her a turtle.

“Can’t it be aboutbothyour lonely neighbor and the hot chef?” Brooke asks, ignoring me.

“No.” I start walking, and they both follow. “If this does have something to do with magic”—I glance over at her—“and I’m not saying it does—I think the newspaper found me because it knew this guy . . . Matteo Morgan”—I say his name like it leaves a bad taste in my mouth—“couldn’t be bothered to help anyone other than himself.”

“Mm-hm,” Brooke says, making it clear she doesn’t believe me.

“Matteo Morgan,” Liz whispers, as if saying something sacred.

I leave them swooning in their adolescence and head back to my classroom and find a note on my desk. It’s from Mr. Kincaid.

Please send Joyce your proposed date for the art show and let us know how to best support you and your students! —CK

The art show.Right. This is just part of my job. And Idecide in this moment that the best way to handle it is to go all in. We’ll make the event feel special. We’re not just hanging pictures in the hallways. We’re going to turn the gymnasium into a gallery. How? I have no idea, but I’m determined to create new, wonderful art show memories—for my studentsandfor me.

I open my laptop, scroll over to the calendar, and choose a Thursday evening in April with nothing scheduled. I email the date to Joyce, copy Mr. Kincaid, and put it in my own personal calendar.

I try to brainstorm more ideas to make the art show special for the kids . . .

. . . but I can’t stop thinking about the newspaper article stuck to my fridge.

Chapter Nine

Iris

When I get home,no more newspapers. No more antics. My apartment is nice and quiet.

My brain, however, is not.

The absence of magic only raises more questions, and while it was nice to tell Liz and Brooke what happened, romanticized speculation doesn’t really help.

The only person who might be able to help . . . won’t. That thought sparks annoyance all over again.

Twice, I’ve marched down the hall and stood outside Matteo’s apartment,almostknocking,almostready to demand answers. Twice, I’ve decided against it, turned abruptly, and marched right back to my apartment without going through with it.

Mad at him and mad at myself.

Once, I trekked up to the fourth floor after locating Winnie’s apartment number via the mailboxes near the stairway on the first floor.

I didn’t knock on her door either.

I don’t know her. What would I say? “Hey, Winnie, amagical newspaper told me you might be feeling lonely. Here’s a cat I rescued for you.”

I need a plan.

Once again, I don’t fall asleep until pretty late, and in the morning I’m met with a?—

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