Page 31 of The Cupid Chronicles

Winnie moves out of the way, and as I step inside her apartment, I’m struck by the overwhelming and delicious smell of garlic and tomato, and the overwhelming, equally delicious sight of Matteo Morgan.

Here. In Winnie’s kitchen.

If my mouth is agape, I’m not fixing it becausewhat is he doing here?

When he sees me, he stops moving, a sort-of-but-not-quite “caught” look on his face.

I narrow my eyes.

He makes a weird face, then goes back to what he was doing.

So, I was wrong about him not helping . . . but right about him knowing more than he let on.Would it have killed you to clue me in!?I think at him, loudly.

“I’m Winnie,” she says. “And this is Matteo.” She giggles to herself. “I don’t even know your name. I just saw the cat and thought youmustbe a good person.” Her brow knits. “Oh, wait. You are a good person, aren’t you?”

“I’m an elementary school art teacher,” I say, as if that’s proof of my goodness.

She laughs and says, “Ah, well, to deal with children, you must have a good bit of patience and kindness in there somewhere.”

I like her immediately.

The guy in the kitchen? Jury’s still out.

“I have a good feeling about you.” She leans in closer. “But Iwouldlike to know your name.”

The newspaper gave the impression that Winnie St. George was depressed and lonely, but this woman doesn’t seem to be either. She seems full of life, like someone it would be impossible to be sad around.

“I’m Iris. I live, uh—” I stop short of sayingdown the hall from the hot chefas my eyes snag on Matteo’s dark gaze. He watches me with a quiet curiosity that simultaneously makes me want to shut down and spill all my secrets.

“Iris,” Winnie says. “Goodness, what a beautiful name.” She regards me for a moment. “It suits you. Have you met Matteo?”

He looks away.

“I have,” I say with a pointed look in his direction.

And I thought he was the worst.

“We live on the same floor,” I say.

“Oh!” Winnie lights up. “So, you’re neighbors!”

“Yes,” I say with a put-on smile.

“Matteo’s a chef,” Winnie says, almost mom-proud. “He’s testing out new recipes, and—oh! This is perfect! You’ll stay and eat with us.” She looks at Matteo. “Table forthree, Mr. Morgan.”

He holds up a finger as if to answer her, but she doesn’t wait for a reply. “Odd time to eat, I know, but Matteo runs that adorable little Italian bistro down the block, and he only has a couple of hours off between lunch and dinner.”

I stop listening because my brain snagged on the fact that he has only a couple of hours off between what I assume are two busy and stressful times of day . . . and he’s spending them here?

Cooking for Winnie?

The icy feelings inside me start to thaw. But only a little.

“So, how long have you two known each other?” I say, trying to figure out if maybe Matteo was rude because he felt protective of Winnie.

“Not long. We’re new friends.” Winnie smiles as she takes the cat over and sets it on a tall, carpeted structure, something I assume belonged to the aforementioned Lenny. After a brief exploration, orienting himself to the cat tree, the kitten leaps around it like it was born there.

“Look! Squiggy already loves it!”

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