Page 68 of The Cupid Chronicles

“How was Gio’s basketball game last night, Renata?” Val asks a woman working on the opposite side of the kitchen.

“Oh, he fouled out in the third quarter,” the tall, dark-haired woman says, shaking her head. “I keep telling him he needs to get his temper under control, but he’s too much like his father.”

They continue chatting while Dante, Nicola, and the bigger guy next to her talk about a trip to Paris Nicola and someone named Danny are taking in the spring.

“Is it a holiday or a work trip?” the guy asks. “Because you’re going to need an extra week just to try all the restaurants on the list I sent you.”

“Bear’s right,” Val calls out, joining their conversation. “You really need to eat your way through Paris to get the full experience.”

Bear, I think.Fitting name.He looks like a linebacker.

Bear moves over to a sink to rinse out a bowl, and Matteo comes into view. He’s isolated himself from the others, making quick, decisive moves around a workstation that is as neat and tidy as Winnie’s kitchen after he finished cooking for her.

The noise of the kitchen fades away as I watch. I’m a little awestruck by the way Matteo moves. With everyone else on task, it’s like he’s completely blocked out everything happening around him, all the conversations, the noise—he seems oblivious to all of it. Every movement is deliberate andprecise, and there’s only one word I can think of to describe it.

Magic.

It’s odd, though. I keep picturing his grandparents. When I think of them, entertaining and cooking and inviting people to eat with them, it’s a lot louder than this.

This is quiet. Clinical. Precise.

I focus on Matteo and can’t help but think it’s all coming from him.

He needs fun, I randomly think.I’m fun.

I force my gaze to zoom out on the full picture of the kitchen. I can’t fixate on him. And I certainly can’t entertain the idea that this man’s apple cart needs to be upset by someone like me.

I’m a lot.

I also can’t just sit here, and I start to get antsy.

I need something to do. I stand and walk over to Val. She’s way less scary than Matteo. “Can I help with anything?”

A voice from Matteo’s corner. “No.”

I frown. So I guess hewasn’toblivious. Still, he hasn’t stopped working. He hasn’t even glanced in my direction. I face him. “I can at least set the table or something.”

“Dante will set the table,” Matteo says, almost sounding like he’s dealing with a petulant child, still not looking up.

I don’t look at Dante, choosing instead to focus on Matteo and feeling a little slighted, even though this is his kitchen and he can obviously do what he wants. “Can I at leasthelpDante?”

“No,” he says. “My kitchen. My rules.”

I don’t have to look around to know that the staff has heard this phrase before. And at the moment, they’re probably all thankful they’re not the one he’s talking to.

There’s just one difference. I don’t work for Matteo.

Quietly, Dante moves over to a shelf and grabs a stack of plates, walking it out of the kitchen without another word.

I get an idea.

“Hey. Chef.”

He looks at me, and I look back, and without breaking eye contact, I walk over to the shelf, grab napkins and bowls, hold them up and smile, and then walk out of the kitchen, all without a word.

“Wait! You can’t?—”

“Too late,” I call over my shoulder as I walk out.

---