Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
Iris
I’m so excited, I could square dance.
The kids have been working on their projects for this art show for months. Some have chosen charcoal, some colored pencils, and still others clay relief and forced perspective. These kids have created some absolute stunners , insanely realistic for their ages, and I couldn’t be prouder.
And even though my personal life is a hot mess, I owe it to my students to give them my very best—the most professional, memorable experience possible. A night to celebrate their creativity and let them shine. That’s what I promised them, so as I get ready, I’m determined to put everything else aside and be here in this moment.
Yesterday, Val called to finalize the catering details Matteo and I had already worked out. When I asked her why he didn’t call—hopefully not being too obvious or pushy—she told me he was out for the day.
I assumed she was covering for him, but I didn’t say so. Val is now my friend, but she was Matteo’s friend first.
A part of me wonders if he’s passed the whole event off on his staff to handle. He might not even show up, which might be what he needs.
Even though what I need is a full rundown of where his head is right now.
His last text to me gave me a shred of hope, but the more time that passes, the harder it is to hold onto it.
I check my bag for about the hundredth time to see if the rolled up newspaper is still there. This morning, for the first time, I found one in front of my door that was addressed to me.
My heart immediately sank when I saw a sticker on the plastic sleeve with my name on it. I tried not to let my mind spiral, but I failed.
If it’s addressed to me, does that mean the magic is done with Matteo? That what he suspected is true, and it’s fully passed to me?
One thing I didn’t consider before is that Matteo might forget all about the magic the same way Brooke and Liz forgot.
My stomach feels hollow at the thought. If he forgets the magic, will he forget everything we’ve done over the last few weeks?
I reach in my bag and touch the newspaper. I was too scared to open it and rushing out the door anyway, so I just stuffed it in my bag and drove to the school. When I got here, there were parent volunteers waiting for me, and I was thankful for the distraction—but it was like having the telltale heart beating rhythmically in my tote bag.
Every time I glanced over at it, I thought I heard chimes.
Now, about an hour before the art show is set to begin, I’ve changed into my dress, a floral sage green maxi dress with sheer long sleeves and a cinched waist. It’s flowy and makes me feel pretty.
Sometimes a pretty dress can change your whole mood .
Not tonight, though. Because when Dante and Bear came to set up the food table—without Matteo—it was just another reminder that my time with him might really be over.
I think about the sweet, tender moments we’ve shared. All the ways he showed me he was good and kind. And how much it will hurt if I have to walk away.
I’m standing in my classroom, trying not to cry, when I pull the paper from my bag. I make sure my own name and address are still on the sleeve before pulling the paper out and unrolling it on my desk.
Instantly, my eyes land on a photo on the front page. It’s me, with a goofy look on my face, pointing down at a short caption below it. Above the picture is a headline:
Iris Ellington Will Meet Her Soulmate .
Wait. Wait.
Will meet?
As in I haven’t already?
My heart drops.
Under the photo is a short caption.
It’s been years in the making!
Tonight, at the Spring Brook Elementary Art Show, Iris Ellington will meet her soulmate!
She needs to be on the lookout for a man wearing red. He might appear a little messy at first, but rest assured—he holds the key to her heart.
I lean back. Matteo doesn’t own one red thing.
And messy?
If it’s possible, my heart sinks even lower.
“He’s the least messy person I know,” I say to the newspaper.
I quickly snatch up the newspaper and re-read the caption.
“I don’t want a soulmate if it’s not him,” I say in my most forceful, I mean business, teacher-tone. “Do you hear me? I don’t want it.”
I slam the newspaper back down on my desk, angry tears spilling down my cheeks.
I’m done with you, magic.
Done.
“Hey, there you are!”
I wipe my cheeks and look up to find Brooke standing in the doorway.
“We’re about to open the doors.” She takes a few steps closer, then gives me a quizzical look. “Oh. Hey. Is everything okay? Did something happen?”
I shake my head, then fold up the newspaper.
“You look upset,” she says.
“No,” I sniff. “I’m good. Promise.” I tuck the newspaper back in my bag.
“You also look hot,” she says.
A laugh escapes as I come out from behind my desk and meet her by the door. “Thank you for helping today.”
“Of course,” she says. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
The words hang in the air, and I grab onto them with both hands.
Friends .
I have friends now. Good friends. Today, Brooke and Liz spent the entire afternoon helping me set up, hanging artwork on the walls of the gymnasium, hanging pipe and drape around the space so we could hide the fact that it was a gymnasium, rearranging furniture to give kids and parents places to sit and talk about the art pieces. We also set up blank canvases with paint supplies for anyone who wants to try their hand at creating a masterpiece—an idea I came up with that I hope will be really fun.
I couldn’t have done any of this without them.
We walk through the hallways, and when we reach the back doors of the gym, Brooke pulls the door open and leads me inside. White twinkle lights illuminate the space, and jazzy instrumental music plays quietly through the speakers.
Liz is standing over by the food table with Nicola and Val. We start walking toward them, and Val lets out a low whistle. “What a knockout!”
I shimmy and do a little turn, ending with an awkward curtsy that I instantly regret.
“You look gorgeous,” Nicola says. “It’s so great that you’re going all out for these kids! They are never going to forget this.”
“They were so excited to dress up, I couldn’t let them have all the fun.” I glance at a few of the third-grade boys, who are in mini suits, vests, and ties. One of them has a fedora. It’s absolutely adorable.
“There’s a whole crowd of people waiting in the lobby,” Liz says. “Iris, this event is going to become an annual tradition.”
“You’ve done an amazing job,” Brooke adds. “I can’t even believe it. We should all look for ways to celebrate our students more. I’m inspired.” She gives a little shimmy. “Plus, who doesn’t love a chance to dress fancy?”
My friends are all looking gorgeous in their semi-formal attire. Val is wearing dress pants and a sparkly sweater, and Nicola is in a cute blue cocktail dress with her hair swept up and away from her face. They’re both stunning, and it’s fun to see them out of their usual uniforms.
“Thank you for coming. And for going along with the fun of it,” I say.
“Are you kidding?” Val says. “We wouldn’t have missed it.”
Wouldn’t have missed it.
Those words are pinned straight to my heart.
She said it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world to show up for people who matter to you. And yet, in my experience, the people who show up are so hard to find.
I would’ve been happy with one or two people who make me a priority, and seeing them all makes me feel spoiled. It’s more than I could’ve asked for, this hodgepodge of people who seem to be mine.
It takes some of the sting out of the realization that one very important person is missing.
“Miss Ellington!” I turn to see Charles walking toward us. I’m growing more comfortable with his first name, which feels like progress. “The crowd is restless! Can we open the doors?”
I glance over to where the appetizers have been set up and see Dante and two other servers. Dante gives me a nod and a thumbs-up. I turn toward Charles and nod. “Looks like we’re good to go!”
We move off to the side, and I watch as parents and grandparents filter into the space, being dragged by their excited kids, who can’t wait to show off their work.
More than a few of the parents congratulate me, but I assure them that this night is not mine—it belongs to their children. I have no interest in taking any credit here. All I’ve done is create a space for them to shine.
Brooke and Liz move out into the crowd, seeking out their students as I spot Joy at the back with Alice. She waves, and I wave, and then Alice gives her hand a tug and leads her mom over to the corner where her painting hangs. I watch as Joy kneels down and gives Alice a hug, and I don’t look away until I see a smile light the little girl’s face, something that’s become more common lately.
Excited voices carry throughout the space, and I stand back and survey it all.
Looking for a man wearing red.
After my brief scan, I spot a white-haired man in a red sweater, a heavily tattooed twenty-something guy who has to be someone’s uncle or irresponsible older brother and . . . Charles Kincaid.
My boss.
My stomach wrenches. Charles is ten years older than me, but he is divorced. And he’s not bad looking. I’m sure he’d be a perfect match . . . for someone else.
Has the magic ever been wrong?
“You did this, Iris.”
I turn toward the voice and find Winnie standing beside me.
“Winnie! I didn’t know you were here!” I give her what I intend to be a quick hug, but she holds on tighter—and longer—than I expect.
“Of course I’m here,” she says. “Do you think I would miss your big night?” She releases me from her embrace.
I smile. “It’s really more about the kids.”
“Sure, and they all have people to celebrate them and tell them they’re wonderful and take them out for ice cream.” She flicks her hand in the air. “You deserve to have that, too.”
I ignore the instinct to brush it off and let the words fill me up. “Thank you, Winnie.”
She turns toward me. “You have a way of making people feel special. It’s a gift, really.” She takes my hands in hers. “Some would call it magic.” She smiles.
Did she . . .
“Winnie, do you—?” but before I can finish the question, she gasps.
“Oh, my, look who it is.”
I turn and follow her gaze to see Matteo walking in, carrying a large silver chafing dish.
He’s wearing his chef’s coat. His white chef’s coat.
My shoulders drop. “I didn’t think he was coming. ”
I watch him as he makes his way through the crowd, wishing he was here for me and not for work.
And then, our eyes meet.
The world turns to slow motion—not because of the obvious electrical charge connecting us like lightning in the air, but because out of the corner of my eye, I see a tiny, fast-moving black and white blob stumble over one of the sofas.
I slowly realize that the blob is actually Austin Markham, fifth grade whirlwind and class clown, and he has tripped and is tumbling straight toward Matteo.
I call out his name and start waving my arms, but my hysteria only seems to confuse Matteo, not alert him to the fact that he’s about to be broadsided by a tiny human, and there’s nothing I can do but stand back and watch it happen.
As Austin barrels into his legs, the chafing dish is knocked loose, goes flying backward in the air, spilling pasta and sauce and cheese all over the floor, all over Austin, and all over Matteo.
The noise comes to a screeching halt as people realize what’s just happened. I rush over, wide-eyed and a little panicked, not sure what Matteo is going to do, when Austin pulls himself up.
This kid never misses an opportunity when he’s got an audience of any size, and this one is much larger than usual.
He swipes his hand through the sauce, stands and smacks it onto one of the blank canvases set up nearby. “Look, Miss Ellington! Food art!”
He swirls the sauce around on the canvas in big, wide circles, and the crowd starts laughing and applauding.
If I don’t see this kid hosting the Oscars in fifteen years, it will be a monumental disappointment.
“Good use of found objects, Austin,” I say, looking around for Austin’s parents when Liz emerges from the crowd. “Come on, Austin, let’s find your parents and get you cleaned up.” She motions for him to come with her, and I mouth a silent Thank you , then turn my attention to the gorgeous man still sitting on the ground in a pile of pasta.
I take a step closer, and he holds up a hand to stop me. “Don’t. I’m a mess.”
“Yeah, you are.” I watch as he struggles to his feet, and only then do I realize that his crisp, white chef’s coat is now a very deep but unmistakable red.
Matteo is wearing red.
“You’re in red,” I say.
He frowns, and he softly flicks a chunk of tomato sauce from his hand onto the ground.
“Yeah, I am.”
“You’re messy— and you’re wearing red .” Tears spring to my eyes.
Austin’s dad walks up and pulls my attention. “Such a bummer. Baked ziti is my favorite meal.” He looks at the canvas of Austin’s “sauce art” and shrugs. “Kid’s got a great artistic eye, though, right?” He walks off, leaving me standing there, staring at Matteo as he gets up off the floor.
Messy. Red. Soulmate .
He cocks his head and looks at me like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect.
“What time is it?”
“You want to know the time?”
“Yes. Please!” He sounds weirdly desperate.
I frown and glance down at my watch. “Uh, 6:05. Why?”
He looks over at the canvas just as a chunk of pasta falls off and onto the floor.
He looks back at me, eyes afire.
“Do you think that counts as a child’s painting of a favorite meal?”
“I’m not sure . . .?”
He takes a step closer, and I’m vaguely aware that the music is back on and people are chatting again. Dante has found a custodian and they’re starting to clean up the mess. But mostly, I’m just looking at Matteo.
Messy. Red. Soulmate.
“I came home last night, and there was a newspaper at my door,” he says.
“There was?”
He nods. His face looks bright. “It was addressed to me, and it was about you.”
“What did it say?”
He wipes his hands on his black pants, then reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small newspaper clipping. He hands it to me, and I see the same photo that was in my newspaper, but the words are different.
I read the paragraph under the image.
It’s been years in the making!
Tomorrow, at the Spring Brook Elementary Art Show, Iris Ellington will at last meet her soulmate! They will connect over a child’s painting of his favorite meal, even though the painting will be quite the mess.
Make sure Iris is near the appetizer table for this serendipitous encounter precisely at 6:05 p.m.
Your presence is required to make this happen.
I look up and find him watching me.
“It’s 6:05.” There’s excitement in his voice. He nods toward the appetizer table. “We’re near the appetizer table. So I need to know if this counts as a child’s painting of a favorite meal.”
He takes me by the arms, and I don’t even care if my dress gets ruined. “Because there is no way I’m letting some other guy walk in here and claim to be your soulmate.”
My eyes fill with tears. “I thought you didn’t believe in that stuff.”
“I didn’t,” he says. “But then I met you. ”
I press my lips together and meet his eyes. “I got a newspaper, too.”
His brow furrows, and he inches back, still holding on to my arms. “You did?”
I nod. “It said I was going to meet my soulmate tonight.”
“And?”
“And that he’d be wearing red and he’d look a little messy”—I close my eyes to try to keep from crying—“but that he’d hold the key to my heart.” I open my eyes and stare at him, so thankful he’s looking at me like he feels about me the same way I feel about him.
“I told the newspaper I didn’t want a soulmate if it wasn’t you.” I inch closer. “I was hoping it was you.”
Matteo takes my face in his hands and kisses me, so fully I nearly faint, forgetting where we are and who is watching until I hear the shouts and screams of small children all around me. I hear whistles and jeers and the unmistakable, high-pitched sing-song of, “Miss Ellington has a boyfriend! Miss Ellington has a boyfriend!”
The volume of the chatter grows as more kids join in, like they practiced this, and I laugh and take a step out of Matteo’s embrace. My cheeks are on fire, and when I turn and see that Nicola, Val, Brooke, and Liz have all joined in the chant, I’m filled with something beyond happiness. Is it joy? Elation? Euphoria?
Whatever it is, I love it. I relish it. I savor it.
It’s a feeling I never want to forget.
My life has had plenty of sad moments, but that sadness has only made this moment that much sweeter.
Matteo grins, kisses the top of my head, and says, “I’m going to go clean myself up.”
I nod and watch as he goes, waving at the kids to let them know the show is over. Somehow, Matteo managed to keep me marinara-free, which is something of a little miracle all on its own.
Winnie walks up beside me, one eyebrow raised and a wicked grin on her face. “That man looks good in anything .”
I can’t keep from smiling. “He sure does.”
“You know, Iris.” She puts a hand on my arm. “I’ve lived a long, full life. Some moments have been beautiful and wonderful and unforgettable. And other moments have been dark and sad and heavy. But through all of those moments, I’ve found friends who are as close as family.”
I look at Winnie, then scan the crowd. I spot Brooke, bending over to fix a little girl’s bow on the top of her head. She glances up and makes a face at me.
There’s Liz, chatting up some parents. She smiles when our eyes meet and gives me a wave.
On the other side of the gym, I see Val and Nicola, Bear and Dante, cleaning and serving and being loud and obnoxious. Nic catches my eye and gives me a wink.
Friends who are as close as family.
Winnie pats my hand. “I know a little something about life and love and loss, and there’s one thing I know for sure.”
“I’m listening,” I say, eager for her to finish because I will soak up every word.
“I don’t believe that soulmates are found. They’re made .” She squeezes my arm and leans in a little closer. “The real magic is when two people make the choice to love each other. To put each other first—no matter what. And making that choice every single day, over and over”—she pats my hand—“that is a truly rare and beautiful thing. That’s what a soulmate is.”
Soulmates aren’t found, they’re made.
The words are so simple, they’re profound.
And I realize that maybe it was the newspaper that brought Matteo and me together, but only he and I can turn what we have into magic.
I look at Winnie, who I’m now convinced knows more about the magic in The Serendipity than she’s telling me, but she only smiles. “I have to go save Jerry from carbohydrate overload. If he eats any more of those tiny pastries, he’s not going to fit into his competition pants.”
I laugh as Winnie pulls me into one of her hugs. This time, I don’t try to shorten it or pull away. I hug her back, thankful she’s now a part of my life. Then, I walk out into the hallway to find Matteo so I can kiss him properly without an audience that’s all under four-foot-three.