Page 61 of The Cupid Chronicles

I pick up the plate of tiramisu. “And I’m not going to share this one.” I smile, because I don’t like the tension in here.

“Figures,” he says, and I sense he’s also missing the lighter mood. “It’s our best-selling dessert.”

“Is it your favorite too?” I ask.

He gives his head one quick shake. “For me, nothing beats cheesecake.” He leans back but doesn’t take another bite.

“How long has this been happening?” I ask, hoping we can move on. “The newspapers?”

“Started almost immediately after I moved in, three years ago.”

“You’ve been doing this for three years?”

“Wish I could say no,” he mutters. “But yeah.”

Huh. So, he doesn’t want to be a member of the secret society. Got it. Maybe that’s why the magic has gotten me involved.

“You should give Nicola a raise,” I say, holding up a forkful of tiramisu.

He chuckles quietly and says, “She’d love that,” and picks up his fork again, almost like his attempt to set it aside keeps failing.

“So, three years of articles,” I say, thinking. “How many couples have you matched?”

“I don’t keep a scrapbook.”

“But you’re a part of people’s stories.” I watch him. “That’s kind of amazing.”

“If you say so,” he says, again with a bite of irritation in his tone. “I think it’s a huge pain.” He pauses. “You’ll see.”

Right.

So, this hasn’t turned Matteo into a hopeless romantic. I wish I could say the same. There’s a part of me that will always believe in fairytales and happy endings, despite my experience.

“So, what do we do next?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I think you should introduce Winnie to?—”

“Jerry,” I say.

“Jerry.”

“And then what?”

Another shrug. “And then you wait and see what happens. Usually, an introduction is all it takes.”

“Right,” I say. “I guess that’s how it works withsoulmates.” I say this ironically, because what do I know?

I do love the idea of Winnie getting a second chance at love. And I like the idea of playing Cupid, even if my own love life needs an editor.

This could be great for Winnie. A friend. A companion. Someone to keep her from being lonely. Isn’t that what we all need?

I think so, but if that’s true and everyone is searching for the people who will just “get them,” why are they so difficult to find?

I scrape the last bite of tiramisu from the plate, thinking that if I could figure out a dignified way to lick up every last smear, I would.

Matteo must sense this because he raises a brow and says, “I think you got it all.”

I set down the fork and push the plate away. “And I’m stuffed.” I turn and grab my purse. “Do you want to bring me the bill or . . .?”

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