Page 102 of The Cupid Chronicles

“It’s not like that.”

“I know,” she says. “But if that changes?—”

“It won’t.” It can’t. I’m already too aware of Iris. Too invested. I look at Val with a raised brow, then say, more firmly, “It can’t.”

Tears burn just behind my eyes, but there is no way I’m going to let them fall.

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then says, “Yes, Chef,” and walks away.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Iris

I’m stoppedin front of my door, looking down.

There’s a rolled-up newspaper on my welcome mat.

I’m just home from the restaurant, just home from the most delicious meal of my life, just home from feeling like I was becoming part of something amazing. Something thatalmostfelt like family.

They welcomed me in. They wanted me there. It was so opposite of how I’ve felt for so much of my life. That girl who clambered to fit in, to belong—she was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was just me and loads of open arms.

And I ruined it.Maybe you just haven’t met the right girl. Seriously?!

Clearly there’s a story there. A story I don’t know. My joke about him having his heart broken didnotgo over well.

Howcould I go there again?

I wanted to talk to him—to apologize—but he was busy, and when I left, he barely looked up from what he was doing. Which is why, on the way home, I decided I need to keep my distance. Until I have a legit reason to bother him again, I will stay away.

Focus on work.

On the art show. On helping Joy get acclimated to her new job.

But there’s a newspaper on my welcome mat.

I take it inside and set it on the counter. Maybe it’s time for me to do one on my own. I practically handled Joy all by myself. I turn it over and find his name on the label, just like all the others.

I turn it back over, hiding his name. “I can’t bother him! I overstepped. And I don’t trust myself around him!”

The newspaper vibrates in place, enough to roll over and reveal the label again.

Matteo Morgan.

I laugh out an “Oh, oh, okay. Fine.Great.” and turn to walk into my bedroom when I hear the distinct sound of shimmering chimes.

I stop and slowly turn back.

There, on my counter, are now thirty newspapers, spelling out M-A-T-T-E-O.

“Very subtle,” I groan.

The newspapers then roll together into one pile, and with asploofof golden misty shimmer, disappear, leaving one lone newspaper in its place.

“Fine.Fine. But I’m going to try to figure it out on my ownfirst, if you don’t mind.”

The newspaper pops open and lays flat.

“So helpful,” I say sarcastically.

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