It must be infuriating for Cupid to reach such a humiliating point in his career.

No matter how many arrows dripping with love he shoots, none of his couples stay together.

He’s increased the strength of the dose, countless times. He’s hit his targets with a spray of arrows all at once. But still the lovers split.

Today, he means to find out why.

Cupid tucks his fluffy plumage into the confines of a black business suit, and other than appearing as if he has a set of shoulder blades hewn from the Himalayan mountains, his wings are at least contained.

“Maybe don’t turn your back on whomever we’re interviewing today?” I offer a bit of advice I know will go ignored.

He slides a random pair of thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses onto his nose. And before I can ask if they are really his, he squints through the lenses like he’s chopping onions.

“Well, you look. . .sharp, boss. Who are we investigating first?”

“Floria, of course. She’s either getting rusty at making me love potions from her flowers, or she’s concocting faulty mixtures on purpose so the love fails. Today, we find out!”

“Ah. Is this supposed to be a disguise then? She’ll recognize you straight away, sir.” I warn.

I’m not one of his kind, but it doesn’t take being one to know an acquaintance of some odd thousand years can see right through a modern human disguise.

But his grin flashes quick and bright. “Don’t fret! I’m prepared for that!” He produces a hat from nowhere, flipping it into the air until it lands on his head slightly askew. “Let’s go!”

He looks every bit like a limo chauffeur. I bite back the urge to ask him to drive, instead of me, to Floria’s hidden shop among the crammed alleyways of the human world.

Cupid saunters across the room and into the door with flair and a loud thud. He mutters beneath his breath some ancient curse word before adjusting his borrowed specs and fumbling around for the knob.

“Let’s go,” he says again, stepping to the side. “You lead the way.”

We pull to a stop a half hour later in front of Floria’s place down by the bay, operating as a typical plant nursery tucked between a book store and a tea shop. With some wrong turns due to Cupid’s new vision, it’s another ten minutes before we find her office buried deep in the flowered labyrinth.

“Ahem,” he announces himself at her door and her gaze snaps up sharply from her task of trimming a plant. He continues, “I have a few questions for you, ma’am—“

He doesn’t get to finish.

Floria launches herself toward the pair of us, her face turning an impressive palette of reds and purples. Cupid and I flinch and jump, clashing shoulders and wedging ourselves in the doorway.

“You!” She yells. “You have some nerve, Cupid! Just how many dates have you stood me up for — can’t you take the hint that I don’t want to help you any more?!”

Cupid stands frozen, mouth dropped open in shock. Obviously, no hint was taken.

So, it’s a lover’s spat. The faulty potions make perfect sense now. I sigh at his obtuseness on romance, laughable being the king of love himself, and duck behind him, giving him a light shove between his hidden wings.

He falls forward woodenly, and I step back, closing the office door on them to work this out with some degree of privacy.

I walk around the peaceful shop while waiting, admiring the rows and rows of lush, vibrant plants, and bouquets of ready cut flowers, and find myself at the front registers.

“Excuse me, can I have an application?”

I think it’s time for a new job.