Page 4 of The Cupid Chronicles

After what seems like an hour, I hear her footfalls disappear down the hallway.

I let out my breath and knock my head slightly against the door. My mind races, trying to decipher this latest move.

Three years,I think.Not in three years.

Three years is exactly how long I’ve been receiving the newspapers.

Never once has one been delivered anywhere but my apartment.

Is it some sort of glitch?

A change?

Wait. A change.

Things might actually be changing. Finally.

As usual, the newspaper has arrived at the worst possible time.

“I don’t have time for this!” I call out into the emptiness of my apartment.

My schedule doesn’t matter. Not to The Serendipity.

I hold up the latest delivery, turn it over a few times in my hand, and scoff.

I know there’s going to be a task typed somewhere in this stupid paper, something only I will be able to complete.

Haroldneeds a distraction. The distraction is named Margaret. They need to meet at a certain time on a certain day.Samanthais the ideal mate for Brent, who needs to order coffee from her to get the ball rolling.

And I’m the one who has to make these meetings happen.

Connector of people. Maker of matches. Arranger of happy endings.

Because I’m theperfectone for that job. The irony isn’t lost on me. I don’t even believe in “happily ever after.” I assume that five or ten years down the road, all these “happy couples” are going to come to their senses and realize that real-life romance doesn’t work out like it does in the movies.

I should know.

I start to mentally replay my reaction to the woman who knocked on my door.

I sigh.Sucha jerk.

It’s not her fault the paper landed on her doorstep. She was just trying to be nice. She has no idea what a strain this rolled-up burden brings.

I stare at it again.

Looks like my plans for the day have once again been derailed. I’ll have to find another time to test the new recipes I’ve been trying to perfect so I can add them to the menu next week.

I close my eyes and start to count to ten.

I get to four when I start to scold myself.Did you have to slam the door in her face?

I blow out a breath. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want or need new friends, and I don’t care what she or anyone else thinks of me.

Alone. I’m better off alone.

I walk over to the counter, take a deep breath, and begrudgingly spread the newspaper out. To everyone else, it’s just a vintage newspaper, headlines written in a script-y font over innocuous stories about people they don’t know.

To me? It’s a curse.

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