Psyche raised an eyebrow. “Feeling bored?”
Cupid spread his hands. “I’ve been reading. There is strong evidence for certain opposites to create unbreakable soul bonds.”
“But Tiffany and Jeff?” Psyche wiped her rag inside a glass.
“Come on. Let me experiment a little.”
She shrugged and poured a shot of Tiffany into the glass, followed by a hesitant shot of Jeff. “All right—it’s your palette.”
A half-sip later, Cupid involuntarily spat out the mixture.
“Unpleasant?” Psyche asked.
“Like fish and chocolate.”
She grinned. “Not exactly the merlot of romance.”
He scowled, undeterred. “Pour me a Mark and Aimee.”
The taste of green olives and black licorice never made it past the tip of his tongue. Dozens more combinations resulted in flavors like pickled mint, candied dog kibble, and even buttered dirt.
“Ready to give up, little bookworm?” Psyche asked.
Cupid paused. Vinification was about more than creating a mere flavor. Every trait of the vessel and its contents must be considered.
“Give me a Tony and Angela.”
Psyche snorted a laugh. “Stealing Algea’s job as the god of pain and torment?”
“Like you said, it’s my palette.”
She pursed her lips as she poured the two souls together.
Cupid took a sip. The combination swirled in his mouth, wavering between savory and sweet, with a lingering warmth.
* * *
Angela looked up from her coffee as a man approached her table.
“Hi, my name’s Tony.”
She smiled. Why did this feel like meeting an old friend?
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