I WAS WALKING down South Congress on my lunch hour, running an “emergency errand” for my mother and trying in vain to keep my skirt from flying up in the chilly mid-winter wind—a neat trick when you’re juggling canvas bags chock full of Mama’s wish list. La Mexicana cherry empanadas, an Uncommon Objects vintage turquoise necklace and a pair of red cowboy boots from Allen’s? Seriously?

“Mama,” I’d told her when she called me this morning. “This kinda list would of taken you all day—why didn’t you get it when you were there?”

“Hmph,” she huffed. “Now, Caroline, honey, all that shopping tired me out. And you know how it is—if you don’t get it quick, it’ gone, and I just can’t live another day without those boots!”

With Mama’s very life in my hands, I took an early lunch to hustle down Congress, cranky and getting crankier by the wind gust.

February in Austin is known for its legendary weather whiplash, and I would’ve chosen a more wind-appropriate skirt, had I known I’d be trotting around downtown with Mama’s To Do List.

And just as a gust of wind whooshed up the back of my skirt, I saw them.

Hovering around the Hey Cupcake food trailer like a swarm of rabid honeybees—a flock of Cupids. They were perfectly smooth, like creepy little baby dolls sprung to life, naked as the day they were born, complete with cotton candy pink hair and tiny flapping wings, and they were dive-bombing cupcake customers.

Beneath the food trailer awning, two women huddled, clutching their cupcake bags to their bosoms, waiting for the Cupid cluster to pass.

Good luck with that, ladies.

Judging from the frosting all over their chubby little faces, I assumed their aim was fairly accurate—but then, I’ve never met a Cupid who could resist pink icing.

“Shit!” I swore, ducking into a doorway.

I’d been seeing them more frequently over the past two weeks—always six or seven of them, always hovering around, sometimes with their little sparkling silver bows poised, ready to strike.

And let me tell you, there are few things in life more frightening than a bunch of naked flying babies armed with sharp objects and looking for love.

As I reached for the door of the shop, one of the little buggers spotted me, and a shpring! sound whizzed right by me, spraying a shower of silver sparkles as the tiny silver arrow stabbed into the wall, wobbling near my right temple.

My breath caught and my eyes widened, realizing another six inches to the left and it would have hit me right above the nose.

Panicking, I shoved the shop door open and nearly fell inside, slamming the door shut as the little Cupid kamikazed right into the paned glass.

I watched in horror as it ricocheted off the glass.

“Are you okay?” I yelped to the Cupid, and I started to re-open the door when the little beast shook its head like a dog shaking off water. Stunned but not hurt, it floated back a few feet, little sparkling hearts ringing around his curly little head.

“Boy, he wants you bad,” a voice behind me said, and I whirled around to find a petite woman with a short cap of bright red hair and green, green eyes. She’d been watching me, an ironic smile tugging the left corner of her crimson lips.

“You see him?” I said, my voice sounding ridiculously high. I’d been seeing Cupids for two weeks, and every time I screamed, Hey! There’s a Cupid! everyone thought I was nuts.

The woman tilted her head slightly and smiled a mysterious smile.

“Of course I see them,” she said, and as she marched toward me, I took a step back and was startled when she snatched the bag of sweet empanadas I’d been clutching, opened the door a crack and tossed them out the door.

I blinked as she slammed the door shut, shoving the deadbolt home.

Outside, the Cupid dived on the empanadas and devoured them, bag and all.

“Cherry,” she said. “Big mistake. Cupids can’t resist cherry.”

I watched her as she kept a wary eye on the Cupid. Her hair was short along the front and back, but long over her ears, with pale skin revealing a simple necklace-type tattoo around her neck.

Some kind of Celtic tattoo seemed to dance around her left biceps.

Tattoos are almost a rite of passage in Austin, along with tie-died hair and unimaginable body piercings, but there was something about her . . . I cut my gaze back do the door. “I . . . thought he was after the cupcake trailer. I guess he smelled the empanada.”

“I suppose,” she said, turning back to a mannequin she’d been dressing in pink and green tulle when I’d barged in. “A whole flock of them hijacked a truck of MoonPies I ordered last week. They floated around the store mocking me, with chocolate and marshmallow all over their faces. Name’s Tink.”

“Caroline McGinnis,” I said and tipped my head and smiled. “Tink?”

I waited for her last name.

She smiled a very white smile with very small teeth, ignoring the implied question and said, “Welcome to Crush.”

I nodded, looking around the funky little clothing-jewelry-vintage boutique, a little relieved but still on edge. For two weeks now, the Cupid had been after me.

“I, uh, thank you,” I stuttered, finally allowing myself to breathe.

The Cupid drifted menacingly in front of the shop door, peering in over the gilded-reverse letters with its robin’s egg-blue, pupil-less eyes.

She laughed. “Yeah, they do have a sweet tooth, and it kicks into high gear about three weeks before Valentine’s Day.”

She smiled, stopped fussing with the mannequin and pointed to an overstuffed love seat and said, “Here, sit for a minute and breathe. I’ve got a few MoonPies left in the office fridge . . . ”

I sat, trying to control my pulse as she turned toward the back office, and I noticed a strange tattoo across both shoulder blades as she disappeared behind a beaded curtain.

I was beginning to settle and listened to my body, which was still on high alert. I hadn’t eaten anything since the Dr. Oz-recommended Greek yogurt I’d had for breakfast, and I fumed at the now-gone Cupid who’d eaten Mama’s empanadas—one of which had had my name on it . . . when Bam, another Cupid—not my Cupid–slammed against the door.

I yelped, jumped out of the chair and rushed to make sure the door was locked when it flew open and a tall, dark haired man flew through the door, slamming into me. He couldn’t catch our fall so he wrapped his arms around me and twisted, mid-air, so that it was his back that hit the old oaken floor, with me on top of him.

“You okay?” he said and I shook my head, staring at him, and I had the feeling that we’d met before.

“Just, uh, got the wind knocked out of me.”

The first Cupid fluttered back to the storefront, and both made a run at the door, just as Tink shot out of the back, leapt over both of us, holding a tray of MoonPie and Coca Colas, and did twisting kick that slammed the door shut on both Cupids.

She didn’t spill a thing.

She turned and smiled as though dive bombing Cupids was an every day occurrence and said, “Y’all okay?”

The Cupids floated, chubby faces pressed to the pane like little kids staring into a candy store as the peered at the MoonPie.

Tink went to the door, flipped the “Open” sign to “Closed” and zipped the blinds shut.

We all waited, listening to the rapid flutter of wings. The three of us remained silent until the fluttering quieted and vanished.

“Are they gone?” I said, and Tink shook her head.

“Nope. They’re waiting.”

We were all quiet and Tink stood, staring down at us as we lay there on the floor—me still on top of the man.

“Hello,” he said and grinned. His dark hair was side-parted, his eyes ocean-blue and his smile was stunning.

Something pinged inside my solar plexus and I just stared at him. I couldn’t move

His smile widened and he said, “Tom Donovan.”

He leaned forward a little, tried to offer me his hand I realized I was still laying on top of him.

Did he just smell my hair?

“Oh, uh, sorry, I’ll just uh . . .” I mumbled my apologies and rolled to my left, my cheeks burning with self-consciousness. I rose to my knees and he rolled, knelt and faced me, not moving.

With a sigh as though her work was never done, Tink put the tray of Cokes and the MoonPies the counter and moved toward us, offering each of us a hand.

Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small, delicate looking woman.

“Um, hi,” I stuttered, clambering to get myself upright and steady myself on my high heels while smoothing my skirt down over my butt.

“They’re after you too, huh?”

“Hm?”

“The Cupids. They’ve been chasing me for two weeks.” He leaned forward, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, sending a little shower of silver fireworks over my entire body.

I blinked. “You’ve seen them? The Cupids?”

He grinned and my knees went weak.

Tink sat, perched on an upholstered stool by the counter, eating cherries from a small, antique silver bowl and watching us like she was watching a movie.

“They’ve been after me for three years now. They always step up the threat level right around Valentine’s Day.”

I stood, staring at him while butterflies ricocheted around my stomach. Damn Cupid. Must have gotten some of those sparkles on me.  I tried to speak and was completely tongue-tied, and only managed, “H-how . . . ?”

He shook his head, took me by my elbow and steered me toward the loveseat. “My dad,” he said. “I’ve been divorced for nearly three years now, and he says time’s a-wasting.”

I stared at him, not understanding.

His smile widened. “You’re new at this,” he chuckled, and hiked a hip onto the display of vintage gloves arranged on a table in the center of the store. “Every Valentine’s Day, a few rogue Cupids go off-grid and take bribes.”

“Money?”

He shook his head. “Candy, milkshakes, ice cream,” he said. “They’ve got no use for money. But their sweet tooth can lead them astray.”

My mouth fell open and I felt the tumblers in the back of my brain clicking into place. “My mother!”

He grinned. “Most likely. How long’s it been?”

I raised a brow.

“Since your divorce,” he said, talking to me like I was very young or very stupid.

“Oh, uh, almost a year,” I stammered.

“That sounds about right,” he said and I frowned.

“I was divorced almost a year before they started harassing me,” he said, and I winced when my stomach growled.

“Haven’t eaten, yet, huh?” he said, and unwrapped a MoonPie and offered it to me.

I smiled all the way up to my eyes as I accepted the chocolate-covered marshmallow treat. “I haven’t had one of thee since I was a little girl.”

“Want one?” he said to Tink, and she shook her head. “Nope—never touch the stuff.”

I shot her a quizzical look and she smiled. “My clients love them,” she said and shrugged mysteriously. “There’s something magical in a MoonPie.”

I looked around the shop then—my first good look, and saw that Tink took her magic seriously.

In addition to the vintage furniture, clothes and jewelry, crystals and unusual stones were strewn about on all surfaces and dried herbs were tucked away in charming little antique apothecary jars.

“Is this a kind of Cupid hangout?” I said and Tink laughed, and her laugh sounded like tinkling bells, which I supposed was how she got her nickname.

“Not really,” she said, her arms spread wide toward a shelf of crystals and stones. “but it is kind of a faery haven.”

I cocked a brow. “But they’re Cupids, not fairies.”

She laughed again. “Oh, Caroline. There are all kinds of faeries, and Cupids are just one kind.”

Tom frowned now and said, “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head. “There are the faeries that you think of when you think of faeries like you see in traditional lore—the wee folk who work earth-majic, and Leprechauns—greedy little buggers who steal things, then there are dark faeries who are beautiful but swarm like mosquitoes. They bite.”

“So,” I said, frowning. “Cupids are fairies?”

“In a way, they hold the most magic,” she said. “They can channel love.”

“I don’t know,” Tom said skeptically, “they’ve been after me for three years now and haven’t hit me yet. Nobody can ‘create’ love.”

Tink just smiled, because as he said this, he was looking at me, like he couldn’t take his eyes off me and I blushed.

There was something oddly appealing about his square jaw, dark hair and light eyes. He was dressed in faded jeans that molded to his muscular body, and a black tee shirt that fit so well it could cause traffic violations.

“Were you out to lunch?” he asked, looking at my bags.

“Yes,” I said, ducking my head. “Well sort of. My mother sent me out on a so-called shoe emergency.”

He grinned. “Let’s see this emergency.”

Smiling, I rummaged through one of the bags and produced the red boots.

“Ah,” he said. “I can see how the absence of red cowboy boots could lead to a life and death situation.”

I looked at the boots and it clicked. “She set me up!”

He smiled. “Well, when we get out of here, we can walk down to my restaurant.”

“You own a restaurant?”

“Even better,” he said. “I’m a chef.”

“Wow,” I said.

Way to go, Caroline–Mistress of Witty Reparte. But I couldn’t stop thinking of him, broad-chested and masculine as hell, stoking the fire under flaming pan of cherries jubilee and a pleasant little chill shivered down my spine.

“I’d love to,” I said. “But what do we do about the Cupids?”

Tink said, “They won’t leave unless one of three conditions are met.”

We both turned to look at her.

“Either you find love, or wait them out. At midnight, they shift form.”

“Shift form?” I said.

She nodded. “They turn back into humans until the next Valentine’s Day.”

Tom frowned. “You mean, they walk around the world, just like the rest of us?”

Tink smiled. “All faeries do. There are more things in Heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosphies.”

“Shakespeare,” Tom said and Tink grinned.

“There is another alternative,” Tink said, and I raised my brows.

“You could offer them a diversion.”

“What, like candy?” I said and Tink shook her head.

“No, they’re too far into their contract. You’d each have to offer them a substitute.”

I blinked, and Tom and I turned to each other at the exact time and I said, “Mama,” just as he said, “Dad.”

We grinned, and pulled out our cell phones.

“Wait,” I said. “If Cupids could force people to fall in love . . .”

Tink smiled. “It doesn’t work like that. If there wasn’t a spark already there, their majic wouldn’t work.”

I nodded and smiled, and called my mother.

Tom said, “Hey, can I buy these MoonPies?”

Tink shook her head. “No, but you can have them.”

And then he reached over and scooped my bags over one arm and grabbed the tray of treats. With the phone tucked between his shoulder and ear, he ushered me to the door, opened it and said, “Dad?”

He held the MoonPies out like bait, and the two Cupids appeared as if from nowhere.

Tink escorted us out to the sidewalk, where she said, “Good luck.”

And she brushed some silver sparkles off my shoulder.