Page 35 of The Cupid Chronicles

Why?

I should probably be more sympathetic—after all, Iremember how confusing and terrifying it was when it started happening to me. But Iris’s questions only raise questions for me. There’s been very little change in the way this magic works . . . until now.

I’ve been turning over this whole conversation in my mind while I'm cooking in the kitchen.

Since Iris showed up with the cat.

A cat.Why didn’t I think of that?

“Okay, Chef,” Winnie says, a gleam of mischief in her eye. “I don’t think we can eat without a proper presentation.”

The day after Iris showed up with the newspaper, I spotted Winnie in the lobby. I’d already done a Google search so I knew what she looked like, and the newspaper had given me enough information for an introduction.

My plan on that first day was to prepare a meal and drop it off around dinner time, but Winnie mentioned she was tired of eating alone. She told me she would only give me her opinion on the food if I stayed and ate with her.

I knew better than to make up some reason why this wouldn’t work.

If you try to outrun, outsmart, or outwit the magic, it will find a way to bulldoze, bury, or bully you.

So, I stayed. And Winnie bombarded me with questions about my restaurant, my favorite foods, how I started cooking, how long I’ve lived in the building . . . basically, my entire life story.

Not my favorite subject to discuss—but not wholly unpleasant, either.

Kind of nice, actually. No pressure. No expectations.

She’s not trying to fix me or set me up with her granddaughter, which are major plusses in my book.

“You’ll come back again, and we’ll get into thegoodstuff,” she said that first night when I was heading out the door. At my frown, she smiled. “Don’t look so worried—I’m nottalking about your love life. I have a feeling you won’t indulge me.” She laughs to herself. “I just know there’s more to your story than you’re sharing, Chef.”

I felt a strange, unspoken kinship with her, knowing that, like me, she’d also lost the person she thought she’d grow old with. Life had stolen that from both of us, and now, here we were.

But she was right. I have no intention of telling her anything other than what you could find with a simple Google search, no matter how much she digs. And if there’s one thing I’m certain of, Winnie is a digger.

For that reason, it’s good to have Iris here, even if it is unsettling not to know the reason for the sudden shift in the way the magic is working. Maybe the old woman will be so interested in her she’ll forget all about me.

I unfold my napkin and clear my throat.

“Chef,” Winnie says, her tone chiding.

I look at her, and she motions with her hand for me to stand.

“Properly, please.”

My eyes jump to Iris’s, and she presses her lips together, like she’s trying not to smile.

I nod to Winnie. “As you wish.”

Winnie smacks Iris’s arm. “Just like that guy from that movie!”

Iris giggles and then looks right at me, standing, staring back, waiting. She dips her head in mock surrender. “Farm boy. Fetch me that pitcher?”

Winnie lets out one single hoot of laughter. “Very nice accent.”

“Thank you,” Iris says.

Winnie must sense that I’m not amused because as she glances my way, she wipes the smile from her face and gestures for me tocarry on, please.

I take a deep breath. Great. They’re two peas in a pod already.

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