Page 49 of The Cupid Chronicles

Hey there kids, now take it slow

Right and left on the heel ’n toe

Hands in the middle, now don’t you wait

It’s time for y’all t’ star promenade!

The kids are loving it. This old man has taken a dance from I don’t even know when—the 1800’s? Earlier?—and successfully made third graders—third graders—fall in love with it.

When the class period ends and the kids line up by the door, they’re still buzzing about it, mimicking his cadence on the mic and making up their own lyrics. And the big question they all seem to be asking is, “When can we do it again?!”

As they take their bottomless energy out of the gym and down the hall, I strike up a conversation with Christina and her dad, who insists that I call him Jerry.

I tell them about Winnie, and Christina gasps, because it turns out her dad has been looking for a dance partner ever since he found out about a local square dance competition.

“Wait,” I say. “A . . . square dancing competition? That’s actually a thing?”

They both look at one another and laugh. “Oh, it’s athing,” Christina says. “Dad discovered a group of people his age who absolutely love it.”

“We need eight, so four couples,” he says, “and I’m the only one without a partner.”

I can’t believe how this is all lining up, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s not a coincidence at all. I absently wonder if this kind of magic has been here the whole time and people just don’t take the time to notice?

“With the right partner, we can win it,” Jerry says, eyes gleaming. “How does she move?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure, but she’s really fun. I think you’re going to love her.”

I might be overstepping, but when Jerry hands over his phone number, I feel like Emma Woodhouse. I think this is going to be the perfect match.

Chapter Fifteen

Iris

Swing yer partner,do-si-do . . .

I’m still humming as I walk into the teacher’s lounge. It’s lunchtime, and I find Brooke making copies of a coloring page with a big letter M on it. I’ve managed to focus on the kids for the last three hours, but now, all I can think of is Winnie.

Which makes me think of Italian food.

Which makes me think of Matteo.

Which makes me think of magic.

I walk over to a table and sit down, silently opening my lunch box and pulling out my sandwich. It’s not homemade pasta, but at least it’ll calm the grumble in my stomach.

Brooke turns and looks at me. “You good?”

She and Liz are the only people besides Matteo who know about the newspapers. And since Matteo hasn’t helped me yet, maybe Brooke can. I’m not feeling very patient.

Maybe I just want to talk about it again. To give her the update, which I only now realize I expected her to ask for.

She frowns. “What’s wrong?”

I pause for a long moment, then stand and move closerbecause Joyce and Mr. Truitt are eating lunch over a very quiet game of checkers, their daily ritual.

Brooke turns a coloring sheet over on the copier and starts it going again. “Are you okay?”

I press my lips together, then take a deep breath. “So . . . I went home last night, and there was acatin my parking spot. Just sitting there. Staring at me.” I watch her, waiting for her to make the connection.

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