Page 55 of The Cupid Chronicles

I pause for a three-count, then nod. It feels like the humane thing to do. But also—the realization that I could get my life back, free of magic, is too tempting to ignore.

Before she can say anything else, though, the door opens and Nicola walks in, followed by Val, who is carrying not one but two plated dinners. Neither of which is in a to-go container.

I frown, but Val is not looking at me.

“I thought you might be hungry too, Chef,” she says. “Figured you guys could have a bite back here.” She sets the plates down next to the two napkins, silverware, and a small tray of desserts Nicola has already placed on the desk. The only thing missing is a taper candle and a violinist. They are the opposite of subtle.

“I don’t eat during service, Val,” I say curtly, hoping that if my glare doesn’t remind her this isn’t a romantic dinner for two, then maybe my tone will. I add through gritted teeth, “You know this.”

She waves me off. “I know, Chef, but there’s a first time for everything.”

“The rush is over, and we only have a few more customers out there,” she goes on. “Figured it’s good for you to see that we can handle things, you know, if you ever need some time off.” She glances at Iris, then finally meets my eyes.

I’ve got my most annoyed expression pinned in place, though, and she quickly looks away.

“I’m Val,” she says to Iris. “Sous chef.”

“And I’m Nicola.” Nicola beams. “Pastry chef.”

They’re like two annoying little sisters with a very obvious ulterior motive.

“First, you two are amazing and beautiful and I want to be best friends with both of you,” Iris jokes.

They all have a laugh, and I want to chew my arm off.

“Second, you guys did not have to bring me this,” Iris says. “I would’ve been happy with a piece of bread.”

Nic laughs. “You’re not a peasant.”

And Val adds, “That’s just not how we do things here.”

Dante strolls in with two glasses of water, sets them down on the desk, and leaves without a word.

“You two have a nice dinner,” Nicola says, moving toward the door. “Let us know if you need anything.”

Val walks over and closes the blinds that cover the windows facing the kitchen.

I stare into the back of her head, willing her to feel my frustration, but she continues to avoid looking at me.

Probably as a means of self-preservation. As if I’m not going to address this little stunt after Iris leaves.

Once they’ve gone, I resist the urge to apologize for them but then give in. “They’re . . . a lot.”

“I like them,” Iris says. “They seem really great.”

“They are,” I say. “Just . . . nosy.”

She smiles and then glances down at the plate. “Is it . . .okay if. . .?”

“Yes, of course.Buon appetito.”

She picks up her fork and cuts into the chicken, dragging it through the sauce before taking a bite. She closes her eyes, inhaling as she chews, like she’s tasting the food with all of her senses.

I watch as her brow furrows and she lets out a sigh of appreciation, like this is the best thing she’s ever tasted. It’s borderline inappropriate, but I don’t look away. Nicola and Val are right. Iris is beautiful. And cute. A rare combination.

Watching her enjoy even the simplest things—like her food—wakes something up inside me.

She opens her eyes and finds me staring. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

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