Page 40 of The Cupid Chronicles

With her, it was easy to try things I was sure I wouldn’t be good at.

With her, everything seemed attainable.

It didn’t matter if I looked foolish or even ridiculous. She had such a big, larger-than-life personality, it pulled me out of my shell.

When she died, I retreated. I have zero interest in those things anymore. I’m much happier to stick to what I know, to what makes sense.

Which is cooking.

“Why do you ask?” Iris looks at Winnie, and I feel the second her eyes are no longer trained on me. Something inside me shifts.

“The community center down the block offers square dance classes. I thought it would be fun.” Winnie doesn’t hide her disappointment. “I used to do it all the time with my husband. He didn’t love it, but he indulged me.” Her smile is wistful. “If I’m going to eat this much pasta, I’m going to have to find a way to keep my girlish figure.” She shimmies, and Iris laughs.

I try to ignore it, but it’s like a song that gets stuck in your head.

“I’d love to help, but I don’t know the first thing about square dancing,” Iris says apologetically. “But thank you both for letting me crash your meal.” Then she looks at me. “I honestly haven’t had food that good since I moved here.” It’s so kind and unexpected, especially given how rude I’ve been to her.

“He’s good. I might keep him around for a bit.” Winnie winks at her, then scoops up the kitten. “And don’t be silly. You didn’t crash anything. We were happy to have you.” She pets the cat between the ears. “I haven’t had this much company in . . .” Her voice trails off as if she’s trying to remember the last time she entertained. “A long time. Let’s just say that.”

Iris looks at me, and I quickly look away. I don’t need to be exchanging meaningful glances.

“I should go.” I take purposeful strides across the apartment, hoping I can reach the door before Iris is ready to leave, but when I turn back to say a final “goodbye,” I find her right behind me.

Same look on her face. I take in her features—the not-quite brown, not-quite auburn hair, the wide eyes, the trail of freckles across her nose. She’s a great blend of adorable and pretty, andthatis not something I should be thinking. I look away.

She clearly has no intention of letting me escape, and I brace myself for whatever interaction I’m about to have.

I know she’s got questions.

I know I probably have the answers.

The last thing I need right now is to have to navigate a nosy neighbor on top of everything else.

So, I do what I always do—slip on my resolve, which feels a lot like armor, and prepare to drive her away.

Chapter Twelve

Iris

Could hebemore obvious?

Yeah, buddy, just try and duck out of dinner.

As if I’m going to let him go without explaining to me what is happening. Because heobviouslyknows, and heobviouslylied to me.

Maybe notspecificallya lie, but definitely an omission. He has answers. And I’m going to figure out how to get them.

Did I love helping Winnie? Actually, yes. It was really nice to meet someone new. And to help her. Plus, Ilikeher.

Did I love getting to stuff my face with thatinsanely delicioushomemade pasta? Also yes.

But I really need to understand how and why this is all happening.

He has the answers. And if the way Matteo cleans a kitchen is any indication, he leans toward practical. And practical is what I need right now.

Not that I needhim. I only need to figure outwhat he knows.

If there’s one thing I need to guard against, it’s myself. I’mself-aware enough to know that even a year ago, in the same situation, I would’ve fallen head over heels by now.

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