Page 32 of The Cupid Chronicles

Which is a relief, because I really didn’t want to bring that cat home with me.

She continues. “Matteo and I have just been getting to know each other the past couple of days. We met in the lobby, and he asked if I’d be willing to sample some new recipes he’s been trying out.”

The past couple of days?

As in, the days since I gave him that first newspaper?

Winnie glances over at him. “He really lucked out because I have impeccable taste. Isn’t that right, Chef?” She looks at him, so I look at him. Because how can I not?

Also because—is he serious right now?

Why was he so stand-offish and secretive? He let me think that some poor old woman was going to kick the bucket if I didn’t bring her a cat, and he’s in here, looking all . . . whatever . . . casually trying out new recipes?

What else is he keeping to himself?

“You do have good taste,” he says, moving around the kitchen with decisiveness. It’s hard tostoplooking.

Winnie must notice I’m gawking because she leans in closer and says, “Oh, I know, Iris. I’m old, but I’m not dead.”

I spit out a shocked laugh, and she nudges me with her arm.

I look at her, still surprised, and she winks.

The cat hops from the bottom to the top of the tree, and Winnie watches, a sad smile on her face. “I just lost Lenny last month. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of his things. Now I’m glad I kept them.”

I can tell by her expression that bringing the cat here was the right move, and my argument that this is all one big coincidence gets thinner and thinner.

“Maybe I’ll let you two eat in peace?” Matteo says, but Winnie dashes the idea away with a scoff.

“Nonsense,” she says. “You need fuel before you go back to work.”

“I’ll be okay, really,” he says, clearly angling for an escape. “I can grab something at the restaurant.”

“Young man, you sit down right this instant. You’ll break my heart if you don’t stay.” Winnie paints an innocent expression on her face that makes it hard to call her manipulation what it is. “Besides, I want to hear more about this grandpa of yours.”

At that, Matteo’s eyes drift to mine, and I quirk a brow, certain that my presence is what’s making him uncomfortable.

What I don’t know is why.

He holds up his hands in surrender and says, “Okay, okay, but the dish I’m making gets cold quick. You’ll have to eat itbefore it’s too late.”

The words stop my breath for a second. I whip my eyes in his direction and see him subtly shake his head at me, as if to silently tell me something.

Heclearlyread the newspaper—and more than that, he understood well before I did what to do with the information found inside.

My insides are vaulting over one another.

Winnie puts a hand on my arm. “And of course, I want to know everything about you, dear Iris.”

It’s such a simple, warm thing to say, and it instantly calms me, pulling my brain fromWHAT DOES THIS MAN KNOW?!to seeing that Winnie genuinely wants to hear about me.

It’s been a long time since anyone cared to know anything about me. The comment lodges itself squarely in my chest, and I have to look away.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. It’s been a long time since I’ve completely spilled my emotional guts out to someone, thinking it was forever, only to find out it was fleeting.

New town. New me. New boundaries—like not leapingthenlooking.

Winnie ushers me over to the table and motions for me to sit while she fetches another place setting.

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