Page 53 of The Cupid Chronicles

A picture of her talking with her mouth full, gushing about how good it tasted, flashes through my mind.

It’s not an intrusive memory, the kind I have to shake myself to dislodge from my mind. It’s the kind with a warm feeling attached to it.

It’s been a while since memories felt like that.

“You mentioned something about a man you met?” I ask, hoping to get her—and me—back on track.

She takes a few steps toward the desk, then pauses, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to sit. Which is funny considering she didn’t employ that same caution when she bargedinto my kitchen in the first place. “I know I keep bugging you about this, but . . .”

And that’s when I see the genuine fear in her eyes.

A familiar worry that her mind is playing tricks on her. That something is genuinely wrong with her.

And something I don’t want to feel creeps in.Empathy.

I motion to the chair. “Sit.”

She does, but she doesn’t speak. Instead, her gaze falls to her hands, folded in her lap. I notice she’s fidgeting, clasping and unclasping her hands, spinning a simple silver ring around her finger.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

At that, she glances up, eyes wide. “Wait. That’s an option?”

I tilt my head slightly.

“It’s a restaurant.”

She stares at me, like she’s not sure if she can trust me, and after a moment, she shakes her head and says, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure how to processkindnesscoming from you.”

I quirk a brow. “I can take it back?”

“No!” she practically shouts. After pretending to gather her composure, she adds. “No. Please don’t take it back. I’m hungry.” She smiles. “And out of frozen pizzas.”

I groan.

“I do have Pop-Tarts, though. I might actually be okay.” She smirks, and while I’m sure she is flush with Pop-Tarts, it’s clear she’s said this to get a reaction from me.

I hide how at ease she makes me feel.

Shaking my head, I stand and walk toward the door and into the kitchen, sensing the questions my staff isn’t asking, and when I reach Val, I hold up a hand.

“She’s a neighbor. She’s got a few questions about our building. And she’s hungry,” I say, hoping to keep the questions at bay.

Nicola sidles up next to Val, and now I’ve got two pairs of wide eyes trained on me. “She’s the same one who walked you to work.”

“She walked you to work?” Val gasps.

“She did not walk to me to work,” I say. “She followed me. She had a bunch of questions then too, and when I didn’t answer, she wouldn’t go away.”

They look at each other. “That tracks,” Val says. “But why is she here now?”

“I told you. More questions.” I glance through the window and see Iris sitting there, looking around, patiently waiting.

“She’s really pretty,” Nicola says.

“But cute at the same time,” Val agrees.

“Right,” Nicola says, like the two of them are spit-balling. “Not intimidating?—”

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