Page 33 of Okay, Cupid

“You’re serious?”

“It’d be pretty sad if I felt like that was an interesting lie.”

“That’s the messed-up part, it sounds like you’re telling the truth.”

I shrug. “It’s a bridge.”

“Can’t argue with that. The view isn’t much to brag about when you’re on the bridge. I’m more concerned about the practicality of it.” Huy sighs. “There’s some good hiking on the other side.”

“Yeah, you’ve seen how well I do in weight training. You really want to put me on a hiking trail?”

“I think it’d be funny.”

“So, you want to watch me struggle,” I say, feigning offense.

“I’ve gotten plenty of that this week. Not sure I need more.”

“You’re not funny.”

He grins at me, like he’s so proud of himself.

“So is the shop just this trailer?” I ask, desperate for a change of topic that doesn’t involve discussing how weak I am.

“It’s a few blocks down. On Rivera.”

“I’ll have to come by sometime, get the real deal.”

Huy turns when the oven beeps. “I can assure you that my trailer donuts are just as good, if not better.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” I just have to stand there while he wraps my donut up for me.

I like talking to Huy. Compared with Alice, he’s a walk in the park. It’s easy to slip into this mode where we find a rhythm, which isn’t as common as you might think. Being a Cupid, you have to be adaptive, a skill I’m not sure I ever quite mastered.

“One blueberry donut.” Huy hands me the bag, the warmth radiating through my hands.

Then I notice the shape. “Squares?”

That’s exactly what it is. Fried dough with blueberries mixed in, drizzled in a frosting that’s almost more purple than it is blue. And it’s in the shape of a square.

“What’s wrong with squares?”

“Nothing,” I promise. “Just … unexpected.”

“My mom thinks it sets us apart from everyone else. ‘No one else does square donuts!’ ”

“Are you sure I can’t pay for it?” I reach for my phone. “I can.”

“Nope.” Huy even grabs the little card reader that sits on the counter and turns it off. “Your money isn’t good here.”

“Well … thanks.”

“Consider it a ‘Welcome to Hearst’ present.”

I steal a glance behind me, wondering if I’ve been holding people up while I stand here. But miraculously, there’s not a soul waiting.

“Thanks,” I say to him. “Again.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He waves me off without a second thought. “Speaking of Hearst … how are you liking it?”