Page 121 of The Cupid Chronicles

An hour later, I’m sitting in my car outside a distantly familiar bungalow on a quiet street in Serendipity Springs.

Aria had an idyllic childhood here, and when we talked about our future together, I knew this was what she imagined. It was easy to go all in on a dream with her—her excitement was infectious. And when she died, those plans and hopes died, too.

But I didn’t.

And I’d forgotten that.

I get out of the car and walk up to the door, but I hesitate before I ring the bell, thinking I should’ve called to make sure it’s okay for me to be here.

I turn a circle and blow out a breath, giving myself a silent pep talk. I seriously contemplate leaving when the door behind me opens and Lynn appears.

There’s a mix of confusion and surprise on her face, but after a beat, both are replaced with warmth and kindness. “Matteo? Hi?” I hear the question in her voice.

“Sorry to just drop by.” I push a hand through my hair.

“Don’t be silly.” Lynn opens the screen door wide. “You’re still family—you don’t need an invitation.” She moves aside and motions for me to move as she says, “Come in, come in!”

I take a deep breath and step inside, where I’m greeted by the smell of cinnamon and vanilla, a combination that will forever remind me of Aria.

“Don’s out playing pickleball, but do you want some coffee?” She turns toward the kitchen, and I follow her.

“Uh, sure,” I say. A framed wedding photo of Aria and me catches my eye. I packed all my photos away a long time ago, and seeing her face, frozen in time and full of so much joy, stings.

But not as deep as usual. Not like it used to.

I feel guilty for that. Shouldn’t I mourn her for the rest of my life? Isn’t that what she deserves?

“Come in and sit.” Lynn motions toward the small table in the eating area off the side of the kitchen, and a vivid memory invades my mind. The night I came over without Aria to tell her parents I wanted to marry their daughter and to ask for their blessing.

That night, with my whole life stretched out in front of me, I thought I knew how everything would play out. I was excited about the life we were starting and about the person I got to start it with. I had goals and dreams and . . . hope.

Lynn sets a hot mug of black coffee on the table in front of me, then sits down, her own mug quite a bit lighter in color than mine.

This makes me think of Iris.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Lynn says. “How’ve you been?”

“Honestly?” I say but can’t say anything after. I just shake my head.

She leans back. “Yeah. Some days are like that.”

I nod.

“I like the beard.”

I absently scrub a hand over my chin. “Thanks. Aria would’ve hated it.” My smile is sad.

Lynn’s isn’t. She laughs. “She absolutely would’ve hated it. She was not a fan of your facial hair.” She takes a drink, and I get the impression she remembers how much I hate small talk, so she doesn’t make any more. I’m not here to discussthe weather or my favorite football team or anything equally as mundane, and I think Lynn knows that.

“I want to apologize for not coming by sooner,” I say, eyes locked onto my mug of coffee.

“No need to apologize for that,” she says. “I know it’s been hard.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “It’s been brutal.”

She reaches over and covers my hand with hers. “How are youreallydoing?”

Slowly, I lift my gaze to meet hers. “Not great. Part of me doesn’t know how to function without her.”

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