Page 43 of The Cupid Chronicles

“I do.”

“Can you walk and talk at the same time?”

He pulls open the front door of the building and motions for me to walk through. As soon as I’m out the door, he breezes past me, walking at what feels like an Olympic clip.

I jog to catch up to him. His legs are longer, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he doesn’t really care if I keep up with him. I zip my coat to keep out the winter chill, then reach out for his arm in an attempt to stop him.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other at all, but for some reason, we both seem to be the target of some sort of strange . . .” My voice trails off because I have no idea what this is. A joke? A cosmic event? A dual mental breakdown? “I was just hoping you might be able to help me make some sense of it.”

His eyes ping my hand, still on his arm, and I quickly pull it away, then stuff it inside my coat pocket. I’m just short of begging him for answers, which I’m not above doing.

He looks away, and I can practicallyhearhis wheels turning. The only thing I don’t know is if he’s trying to decide how to explain this, or if he’s trying to decide hownotto.

“I get it,” he says. “It’s . . . odd.”

“Odd.” I huff out a laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

“And I’d really love to help you?—”

I cross my arms and fix him with what I hope is an epic glare.

“Aaaand I will. But . . .” He pauses, then turns and looks behind him.

I lean to the side, peering in the direction he’s looking, but I don’t see anything.

“But what?”

“I have to get ready for the dinner service,” he says, exasperated. “With any luck, the, um . . . newspaper delivery . . .person won’t get our apartments mixed up again.” He starts walking again, like the conversation is over.

“The delivery person?” I stand there for a second before realizing that no, I don’t want the conversation to be over. Because I’ve gotten zero answers to my ten thousand questions. “There isno delivery person. My co-workers think it’s magic. They’re convinced. Like our building has a personality or something.”

“You told your co-workers?” He shoots me a look.

“Is that against the unwritten rules?” My tone drips sarcasm. “Because nobody included an instruction manual.” I hug my coat tighter around me. “Also, why are youwalkingto work in this weather?”

He turns around and keeps walking.

I realize that I’m standing on a corner about a block from The Serendipity. If we make a right turn, we’ll be in a small shopping area that looks like something out of a movie. The brick buildings are old with colorful awnings and faded murals painted on several of their walls. It’s the kind of charm that makes a perfect backdrop for a photo shoot or a proposal.

I pause for a second and take it in. I’ve absently driven past here hundreds of times but never reallylooked. The school is in the opposite direction, and I haven’t taken time to explore my new town yet. It’s like my plan to overhaul my personality feels daunting outside of my apartment. It’s easier to hold back when there’s no one to hold myself back from.

My eyes settle on a hardware store across the street. Not a big chain store, a little mom and pop shop, and I suddenly want to go buy a screwdriver just to do what I can to keep them in business. “This block really is cool,” I say, forgetting for a minute that I’m mad at him.

He’s still walking and is now a good half a block away.

I huff and puff, then decide to run and catch up. “Hey, wait up.”

When I reach him, he barely glances at me and asks, “What are you doing?”

I’m a little out of breath, and the cold has my lungs extra wheezy. “I just realized I’ve never seen this part of town.”

He tosses a glance down the street behind him. “You haven’t?”

I shake my head, stopping short of admitting that I have no social life. It’s not like me, really. I’ve always been a social person. I’ve always liked meeting people and hearing their stories. I’m just trying not to share all of mine. In my experience, oversharing is a turn-off.

I draw in a breath, and that’s when I see a sign coming up on our left.Aria. “Wait. Isthatyour restaurant?”

He keeps walking and nods, like he knows which sign I’ve seen without even looking up. “Yes. And they’re probably wondering where I am, so, can we finish this conversation later?”

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