Page 99 of The Cupid Chronicles

I motion toward the chair. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, quietly.

“Val cooked tonight,” I say, as everyone else in the room hoots and hollers to Val bowing her hand like the queen. “You’re going to love it.”

She smiles, then slides into the seat beside me. Val reachesover and wraps an arm around Iris’s shoulder. “We’re so glad you’re here!”

Iris’s cheeks flush, and I know that it’ll only take one meal for these people—my people—to knit themselves into her heart. Normally there would be warning bells and red flags, but for some reason, there aren’t.

Part of me—the curious part—is louder than the part of me that’s cautious.

It’s clear that Iris has never been to an Italian dinner. Her eyes are huge, taking in the impressive spread.

Theantipastiis just meats and cheeses, but two platters full. We’ve already started in on those. Theprimo piattois homemade ravioli, stuffed with a delectably rich Bolognese sauce, still steaming in the pans. Thesecondoispollo al mattone, or Italian herb-roasted chicken with grilled vegetables (baby potatoes, zucchini, bell pepper) and the finale, thedolce, which in this case is homemade pistachiogelato alla crema.

Once everyone has resumed their conversations and dug into the food, Iris gingerly picks up her fork and leans toward me. “This is ahugeamount of food.”

“Yeah, I think Italians have dinner figured out.” I tell my face to relax, but I’m not sure it listens.

“This is getting a little out of hand.”

“What is?”

“My freeloading,” she says. “I really should at least be allowed to do the dishes.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Val says, eavesdropping. “There’s plenty.”

“It all looks amazing,” Iris says. “Where do I start?”

Val beams, takes Iris’s plate, and starts loading it up with a sample of everything.

I see Iris’s eyes get even bigger, and I wonder if the others will get as big a kick out of how she eats as I do. I’m guessing her enthusiasm will be very welcome here.

Val hands Iris her plate back, now about twenty pounds heavier. Before she digs in, she meets my eye. “Joy got the job.” She’s practically radiating. “At the school.”

Another ping of happiness. “Seriously?”

She nods, excited. “Yes. I’ll tell you about it later, but that’s why I came by—to give you the update. It wasperfecttiming. She came in as my boss was walking down the hall, I mentioned music, and the rest is history. It was practically . . . magic.” She grins and takes a bite.

And that’s when I lose her.

“Oh. My. Gosh,” she says with her mouth full.

Val glances at her.

“Nobody talk to me for the rest of the meal,” Iris announces. “I don’t want to get distracted from this food!”

“Wait till you taste dessert,” Bear says with a nod toward Nicola. “Homemade gelato.”

Iris lets out an eager groan. “Shut up.This food isn’t even fair! Val, are you trying to kill me here?”

Everyone laughs. Even me, though it’s fleeting.

“Can I at least pay for it?”

The whole room voices their disagreement—loud and in unison.

“I know how you can repay us,” Nicola says, quieting the rest. “Tell us what Chef is like when he’s not working.”

---