Page 44 of The Cupid Chronicles

“What about Winnie?”

“What about her?”

“Are we going to keep up with her? I mean, one meal and a cat aren’t going to solve her loneliness. What do we do next?”

“We?” he asks plainly.

I’ve had about enough of this. And him. “Look, you can be all ‘I don’t know what’s going on, I’m going to be closed off and brooding’ or whatever, but this is serious. You might know what’s going on—heck, you might even have been reading this newspaper for who knows how long, but I haven’t. This is new and exciting and scary, all at once.”

He makes a face.

“Please. Whatever wall is stopping you from helping me, just . . . peek around it for a second.”

He softens. He takes a long, deep breath, then lets it out.

“I told her I’d be back,” he says, simply.

“And you meant that?”

He frowns, as if he doesn’t understand the question. “Well, yeah. Why would you think?—”

“Because people don’t always do what they say they’re going to do.”

“Well, I’m not one of those people. I’m a man of my word.”

He meets my eyes, and all my internal organs rearrange themselves. Because I believe him. Or I want to.

It’s just . . . in my experience, there’s no such thing.

People always leave.

“I just don’t want to let her down,” I say. I might be working on putting some distance between my big feelings and everyone else, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to become the kind of person I’m actively trying to avoid.

A person who can’t be trusted.

“I’m not planning on letting her down,” he says.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He looks like he wants to go inside with every atom of his being.

I nod. “Okay.”

He spins and grabs the door as I blurt out, “But . . .” and stop him one more time.

He heaves another big sigh and slowly turns around. Again.

Might’ve done that one on purpose. Just to get a rise. Which is why there’s a three-count pause before I come up with a new question. “Do you want to let me know when you have time to finish our conversation?”

“Sure,” he says, lifting a hand in a wave.

“Should I give you my number, or . . .?”

“I know where you live,” he calls over his shoulder, turning away and entering the restaurant.

The door closes on me.

“Right.”

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