Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Matteo
“I have one rule for this meal,” Iris announces as she pulls two plates out of my cupboard like she lives here.
I glance up from the griddle. “Okay.”
“You can’t analyze every bite you take.”
I look up. “Why?”
“Because.”
I squint at her, and I instantly know it’s useless to argue. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
I go back to cooking. “I mean, yeah, I’ll try. But I’m a chef, it’s kind of what I do. How about if I asked you to not share every thought in your head?”
She starts to say something, then stops herself. Then, she smiles and holds out her hands. See? It’s easy.
I shake my head at her, concealing a smile.
It stirs something inside of me, and I have the fleeting realization that I feel lighter when Iris is around.
I’m not sure what to do with that.
“One of the R Sisters said something about Joy playing the guitar,” Iris says. “I wonder if she knows anything about music.”
“One of the R Sisters?”
“I don’t remember which one is which.” She winces. “They look exactly the same.”
“Don’t tell them that,” I laugh. “Roberta says she’s ‘the pretty one’ and Rhonda is ‘the smart one.’ But Rhonda said the same thing in a less complimentary way.”
Iris giggles, then her face turns serious. “Should I be taking notes? I mean, you’ve had a few years of practice, and I don’t want to miss anything.”
I shake my head. “Nah. It’s not that deep.”
She cocks her head. “So, when I come knocking on your door during my first solo magic mission, you’re not going to tell me I should’ve paid closer attention?”
I scrunch my nose. “Eh. Maybe you should write this down.”
She pulls out her phone.
“First thing? The magic is unpredictable,” I say.
“All right. But it’s mostly matchmaking?” she asks, phone out, poised to take notes.
“Not always,” I say. “Once it had me match a person with a building.”
She looks up from her phone. “Explain.”
“The newspaper gave me some riddle about a single mom with this great business idea,” I say, remembering it so clearly because it was one of my first attempts at doing what the paper wanted me to do. “She was a frequent customer at the restaurant, and I overheard her talking to Nicola about wanting to open a boozy bookstore.”
She laughs. “A boozy bookstore? That’s a thing?”
“I guess?”
She smirks, then a realization hits her. “Wait. There’s a bookstore near your restaurant. Is that?— ”
I nod. “The next day, the newspaper led me to a space that was about to go on the market, and now we have Books and Brews just a couple of blocks away from the restaurant.”
“That’s crazy, ” Iris marvels. “So, it’s like, anything goes.”
“Pretty much.” I take a sip of coffee. “And sometimes—most times—it only gives you half the story.”
“But why? Why not just spell it out?”
“Honestly? Because I think it makes you pay closer attention. It’s almost like you’re coming up with the answers, making you more part of it.” Her phone buzzes in her hand, pulling her attention. She clicks around on it for a few seconds, eyes scanning whatever text or email has just come through.
“No. Way,” she says, incredulous.
“What?”
She flips the phone around so I can see her screen. On it is an email with the subject line: New job posting: Music Teacher — Spring Brook Elementary.
“Two hours ago, I would’ve just deleted this,” she says. “But because of that little comment the R-sister made . . .”
“You want to show it to Joy.”
She nods, excited. “It makes sense, right? Is this how it works? This is it, right?”
I think about it for a second. “Yeah. That’s pretty much it. Sometimes more detailed. Other times, less.”
“So nothing that happens anymore is just coincidence. It’s all part of a plan.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
She pauses. “So . . . why did your newspaper come to my door, then?”
I look at her—her big eyes, her endearing face—and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with a long-buried feeling.
She’s part of the plan for you, Matteo .
Whoa. That thought dropped into my head without permission.
Thankfully she answers her own question. “Oh, duh. It’s so you can show me all the tricks, then pass the mantle on to me.”
I breathe an inward sigh of relief. It’s been my working theory all along, but when she says it, I’m hit with a twinge of disappointment.
“Okay, so what are some things the magic has had you do?” She clicks her phone again, presumably to get back to the note she’s started.
“It had me hire Dante,” I say. “After he tried to steal money from our register.”
Iris’s eyes go wide. “What?”
“We’d only been open about a year, and Bear caught him and called the cops. The next day, I got a newspaper that had some cryptic message about a kid who’d gotten in trouble but who didn’t need tough love. He needed a second chance.” I shrug. “It took me a little while to decipher it because I was planning to press charges. Instead, thanks to the newspaper, I gave him a job as a dishwasher. Now, he’s part of the family.”
She studies me and then starts slowly shaking her head.
“What?”
“You’re just like . . . a really decent human.”
“Okay.” I walk the dishes over to the sink and flip on the water.
She grins, then picks up both of our mugs and walks straight into the space beside me, rinsing them out under the faucet. I tighten at her nearness, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
I open the dishwasher and file the plates in as she turns off the water and hands me the mugs.
It’s mundane, really, but it feels significant .
Having another person in my space, helping with simple things, feeling comfortable around me— not reminding me of the past or trying to plan my future—is nice.
I close the dishwasher and turn around. She’s standing next to the sink, but without something in her hands, she’s fidgeting again.
“Do I make you nervous?” I’m not sure where the question came from, but I am curious why she’s always fidgeting around me.
She follows my gaze to her hands, then shoves them in her pockets and turns away. “No. I mean, maybe.” She leans against the counter. “Okay, yeah. You’re a little intimidating.”
I frown. “I’m intimidating?”
“Well, you were .” She looks at me. “Not as much anymore.”
“Yeah. I was a jerk,” I say. “I never really apologized for that, did I?”
She winces.
“I am sorry,” I say. “That’s really not who I am.”
In one fluid motion, she lifts herself up onto the counter and crosses one leg over the other. “Okay, so who are you?”
I tilt my head at her.
“I know, I know,” she says before I can remind her. “No questions. But I don’t care. If I’m going to have a Magic Mentor, I need to know who I’m working with.”
My stomach tenses at the comment, mostly because I don’t want her to know who she’s working with. I don’t want the light, easy, new rapport we’ve got going on to change, and once she finds out the truth, it will.
Just like always.
People find out about Aria, and I become a charity case. It’s not a good feeling.
That’s why I keep to myself .
I actually kind of get along with Iris. I like being around her. Maybe because in her eyes, there’s no pity, no plan—only the quiet question, Who exactly are you?
And my own quiet answer that it’s better if she doesn’t know.