Can't Fix Cupid

I’m suddenly feeling way more excited about the personal vow I made. It’s gonna be a tough job getting Warren Knight to fall in love, but I’m just the right cupid-human to do it. I’ll be back in the Veil in no time.

Chapter 8

“That smells really good.”

I’m standing outside next to a food truck called Fettuccine Afraid-O, and my mouth is watering at the deliciousness that keeps wafting out of it.

In the last fifteen minutes of standing here, I’ve memorized the “scary” pasta menu and looked at each dish coming out with longing.

Their food is not only decked out with ghost-shaped meatballs and “bloody” vampire sauce, but it also seems to be a block favorite. It looks like every working person within a five mile radius has left their offices to come eat here, and I don’t blame them. The zombie brainbread looks to die for.

The people in line keep moving up, one after the other, leaving the front of the cart laden with limp noodles and giant balls of meat. I’ve never been so jealous.

“You want to order something, babe?”

I look over at the voice to see a dude dressed in gym clothes with a water bottle hanging from a lanyard around his neck. Behind him is a guy in Armani, and behind him is a guy so hipster, he’s wearing two holey beanies, despite it being a warm summer day in SoCal. Gotta love the clothing diversity in this city.

“Aww, that’s sweet of you to ask. I’d love to order something, seeing as how I seem to have left my wallet in my pants,” I joke.

Gym Rat looks at me blankly, and I realize he has headphones in, and he wasn’t actually talking to me. “Yeah, I’ll get that. See you in fifteen.” He hangs up, and I start looking around, as if the traffic is suddenly fascinating. Man, I’m dumb.

“It’s a cool look. I dig it,” Beanie Hipster says to me, eyeing my outfit.

“Thank you,” I reply, tugging the bottom of the suit jacket down in the back to make sure it’s still covering my ass. It is, but there’s quite the breeze.

“Fucking millennials,” Armani Suit mutters with a shake of his head.

“Next!”

The men move forward in line, and I give another longing look as a pumpkin bowl full of alfredo gets whisked away.

“I really need to get some money,” I mutter to myself. Then my eyes widen, because I just realized…I’m basically full-human now, which means I really do have to get a job. Because as of right now, all I own is a stolen jacket, and I’m fairly certain that doesn’t count.

“Oh, fricken ass polyps,” I hiss as I internally kick myself. “I don’t have anywhere to live!”

My dawning realization comes out way too loudly, and everyone in line glances over at me like I’m crazy, before they go right back to staring at their phones. I want one of those things, too. I’ll put it on my humanized to-do list:

Eat from Fettuccine Afraid-O

Get a job

Get clothes

Find a place to live

Get a phone

Probably not in that order, but I’m hungry, so pasta is taking precedence. Also, I don’t think I could really get a job while being half-naked.

“Oh, wait, I could be a stripper!” I say, thinking out loud.

The woman in line with a baby on her hip shoots me a dirty look.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I just got excited about the stripper idea.”

She doesn’t share my enthusiasm.

I wrack my brain, trying to remember some of the nicer strip clubs in town, when a gray-haired woman suddenly walks up to me. She has tanned skin that’s lined with smile wrinkles but is otherwise completely smooth and clear. Her hair is crazy curly, sticking up all over the place, and she’s wearing a long hippie-style skirt that goes all the way to her ankles with ruffles at the bottom and pot leaves as the print. And you know when you hear that expression twinkling eyes? She has them. I’ve never seen someone whose eyes actually did that, but hers legitimately shine as she smiles up at me.