Page 63 of The Cupid Chronicles

“Great,” I say. “I’ll make you whatever you want.”

“And you’ll join us?” Winnie asks. “I hope that’s not too presumptuous of me to ask.”

“I’ll be working, so I won’t be able to,” I say. “But I promise—we’ll take good care of you.”

“Then I’ll make you and Iris a meal to thank you for finding me a dance partner.” She smiles, and at that moment, as if summoned by the universe, Iris walks in from outside. When she sees us standing there, she stops.

“What’s up, guys?” she says, caution in her voice.

My body tenses at the sight of her, and I remind myself ofthe goal here—to share what I know about the magic so it fully transfers over to her and I can go on about my business.

By myself.

The sooner, the better.

“I was just telling Matteo that I’m going to cook a meal for you two,” Winnie says, a smile taking up a good portion of her face. “I’ll be in touch with details, but we’re going to an early class, so we have to go.”

“Sounds great!” Iris frowns at me as they pass by her and walk out the front door and onto the street, leaving us standing in the lobby alone.

“Well, they’re cute,” Iris finally says. She smiles. “We made that happen.”

My disinterested expression holds.

“Oh, come on, Chef Crabby Patty, you can’t tell me you’re not a little bit happy to have found Winnie someone to hang out with and possibly given her a second chance at love,” she says.

I stop and stare. Did she just call me Chef Crabby Patty?

“It’s sweet, right? We made a real difference in her life.”

When I don’t respond, she starts fidgeting. Probably because I’m just standing here, mute.

She shoves her hands in her pockets. “What happens now?”

I shrug. “Now, they do whatever they’re going to do, and I go back to my life.”

“So, that’s it?”

“Yep.”

“You don’t ever, I don’t know . . . keep in touch with the people you’ve matched? I mean, you’re basically Cupid, and it seems like they’d want to keep you around? The sentimental ones, anyway.”

I start toward the door, and this time, I’m not surprised when she follows me. “No, I don’t keep in touch with them,and no, I’m not Cupid. Usually I can arrange the meetings without being seen.”

She suddenly laughs out loud.

I give her a confused look. “What?”

“I just thought it would be a hilarious movie if someone made Cupid totally against type. You think he’s this round little cherub guy, diaper and a bow and arrow, but instead he’s a hot chef who can’t stand people and just wants to be left alone.”

My bland expression holds.

“An anonymous, grumpy,verytalented matchmaking chef. Obviously his last name would be Cupid.” She stops and holds out her hands like she just had a hugeeurekamoment.

She slowly turns to me.

“Chef. CUPID.” She points at me, grinning and enjoying herself way too much.

I shake my head. “You’re not calling me that.”

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