Page 50 of The Cupid Chronicles

She doesn’t.

“Akitten, Brooke.”

She cocks her head, studying me. “Did you . . . rescue it?”

“Yes,” I say. “Of course I did. I took it to my neighbor, which is obviously what I was supposed to do.”

Her eyebrows furrow, and she almost looks worried. “Okay . . .”

The door opens, and I freeze, feeling fidgety and rigid at the same time. When Liz walks in, I relax a little, pacing away from the two of them, wishing I hadn’t had that third cup of coffee this morning.

I turn back in time to see them share a knowing, concerned, glance.

“What’s wrong with you?” Liz asks.

“There was acatin my parking spot, you guys.” I look at them again, waiting for the lightbulb. Waiting for them to remember thattheywere the ones who told me to adopt a cat for Winnieearlier this week. Do they really not see the connection here?

They both just stare.

“Did you find its owner?” Liz asks. “Or are you a crazy cat lady now?”

What is happening right now? Do they not remember our conversation?

“I’m not crazy,” I say, a little louder than I mean to becauseI’m not.

At my reaction, they both shift.

“Sorry, it’s just . . .” I pause. My hands move with my words. “Akitten, you guys. It was the perfect color and everything. Black with white booties.”

Brooke looks at Liz, then at me. “Is there some significance to the kitten?”

“Is there some . . .” I start repeating her question and then stop, now getting frustrated from the confusion. It’s like I’m inThe Truman Showand everyone is in on the social experiment but me.

I try again. Slower. “Remember, I told you about my neighbor . . . the one in the building . . . the one I read about in the newspaper . . .” Do they really not remember this? I look at Brooke. “You told me to get a cat for the lonely old lady in my building.”

Brooke’s eyebrows pull downward in a frown. “Uh . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mymagic building,” I hiss. “I got my hot neighbor’s newspaper, and I kept trying to get rid of it and . . .”

But her face is blank. Like she doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

“Ooh! I want to hear the story,” Liz gushes, moving closer. “Just tell us what’s happening. Is it the hot chef? Did you run into him again?” She looks at me, deadpan. “Isthatthe kind of magic we’re talking about here?”

I freeze. A weird feeling of déjà vu passes over me.

That’s exactly what Liz said when I told her and Brooke about the magic in the first place.

Word for word.

I stare at them both. They honestly don’t remember.

Maybe this is how The Serendipity keeps its secrets.

I switch gears and fake-laugh. “Oh, gosh, I thought . . . I thought I told you.” My laugh turns into a cackle becausethey don’t remember, and I’m spinning out over here. “I met one ofmy neighbors, and it was like this really great coincidence because she’d just lost her cat, and I don’t want a cat, so, you know . . . magic.” I do soft jazz hands on that last word, like it’s a perfect explanation for my strange behavior, something I think might be best to keep to myself after all.

I think about Matteo’s question and wonder if I’m reallynotsupposed to discuss the magic. Is that why he won’t talk to me about it? Are there consequences if you do?

“So, this is about a cat. Not about the hot guy?” Liz looks disappointed. “Because if you were mysteriously brought together with someone, you should pay attention. That place is magic. Everyone says so.”

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