I wait at the handoff point near the bottom of the Getty Center Tram for Bennett and Harper to arrive. The Drinking with the Stars event at the Getty Center was so perfect that I full-on squealed when I discovered it was happening. An hour of learning about the history of the Getty’s most famous paintings followed by a wine pairing under the “stars” of Los Angeles. And with the view from the top, they won’t be able to resist each other.
While I wait, I check for any new emails. The name Carol Rogers sits at the top of my inbox.
Hello Olivia,
Lovely meeting you last week! Let me know when you’re available for a coffee chat and we can nail down a time. I’ll be bringing by interested clients next week, if that’s okay? We’ll be quick and quiet. Talk soon!
Stay silver, Carol and Poppy
I sigh and close out of Carol’s email. I’ll respond later.
Bennett arrives early, looking dashing in an olive cashmere sweater and dark jeans. He smells like pine trees and shampoo, as though he just stepped out of an outdoor shower in the forest.
His face lights up as soon as he sees me. I return his smile and reach forward with the tickets.
“You look very nice. Will you be lingering again tonight?” he asks.
“Not this time. I want you two to have a real chance,” I say. “That’s probably hard with me being distracting.”
Bennett exhales a disappointed-sounding oh. “Too bad. I was hoping for a food runner,” he jokes, his mouth turned downward.
“You’re on your own tonight,” I say with a laugh. “We still need to debrief about Owen.”
“So formal. Normally, users figure it out among themselves, but you’re right, this is a different situation. Let’s debrief,” Bennett says. “What’s your verdict?”
I reflect for a minute. “He was nice, but I can see it now. The required hours of working in our family businesses might take time away from each other because we’d both be so committed. We’d enjoy each other’s company, but how long can that really last? As a Tiger, he’s adventurous enough to do what he wants while giving me my freedom, but he mentioned something about expanding into different vineyards in various regions around the world, and while that sounds cool, it might be a little too much unpredictability for me.” I cross my right foot over my left. “I think that’s most of it.”
Bennett stares at me, his eyes widened. “What happened to all the good things you said a couple of days ago?”
I watch a cloud float by overhead. “I didn’t despise his company. And he did laugh at my jokes—”
“Did he make you laugh?” Bennett asks. His question is oddly specific.
“Uh, I can’t recall specific examples,” I say.
“So then, it wasn’t love?”
I laugh. Definitely not. “Maybe,” I say, stringing him along. “Isn’t that what you want?”
Bennett’s jaw flexes. His tenseness makes me want to keep talking about Owen, purely to see what he’ll do. “I just didn’t think it would be that easy,” he mutters.
“Wait, you believe me?” I say, playfully thwacking his arm with my hand. “Of course it wasn’t love! First dates are for sparks, like with you and Harper. And date two, well, date two can lay the groundwork for L-O-V-E. You’ll see tonight.”
“Were there sparks? With you and Owen?”
I let the silence drag on to make him squirm. “No,” I finally admit. “Owen and I didn’t have the initial fireworks that I like to see in long-lasting couples.”
“We’ll have to try again on date number two,” he says. “Unless we decide right now to call the whole thing off?”
I fold my arms. “And why would we do that?”
“I think we’ve established by now that while you see the zodiac one way, I see it in a slightly different way. But we’re essentially talking about the same thing.”
“You really also think the Chinese zodiac is a language for love and guide to better understanding ourselves and relationships?” I ask.
Bennett is quiet for a moment. “It’s a tool in the toolbox. There are more variables at play when it comes to love, but I don’t disagree with your version.”
“Of course there are other variables, but no. No one’s calling anything off,” I say. I will prove that my way is the best way. That Lunar Love is right.
Bennett drops his shoulders forward in an exhale. “Okay then. But since I’m having a second date, you need to have a second date.”
I consider this. Can ZodiaCupid strike twice with a decent match? Highly doubtful. “Fine. One more date. But that’s it. I’m a busy woman with podcasts to record and features to be interviewed for,” I say with a winner’s confidence. “I’m having dinner with Pó Po tomorrow but I can do it on Sunday.”
Bennett smiles, looking relieved. “Sunday it is. I was between a few choices for the first date so I already have someone in mind. I’ll see if he’s available on short notice.”
My phone buzzes with a call. “One second, it’s Harper,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him. “She must be running late.”
I step aside to answer the call as Bennett looks on curiously.
“Harper? Hey! Are you on your way?” I ask.
“Olivia! I’m caught up at a restaurant launch that I completely forgot about. I won’t be able to make it. I’m so sorry. Is Bennett there?”
“Oh no! He is. Do you want to talk to him?” I ask.
“Can you just tell him I feel awful? I look like such a flake. Between you and me, though, I don’t know if he’s quite what I’m looking for. He’s a great guy, but we didn’t really hit it off. Sorry! Do you have any other matches lined up?”
I deflate with disappointment. Tonight’s event was so perfect for Bennett and Harper! “Don’t think another second about it,” I say in a strained upbeat tone. “I’ll get started on your next match. Good luck with your event.”
“She’s not coming, is she?” Bennett asks when I return.
I shake my head. “How many fun facts did you tell her?”
“Actually none!” he says with genuine surprise.
“I’m sorry for the trouble, Bennett.”
“Was this your plan all along?” he asks, reading my face.
“My plan was for you to have a second shot with Harper, but she’s caught up at work,” I say, maintaining my professional tone.
Bennett nods in understanding. “I get it. No problem.” He holds up the two tickets and extends his elbow in my direction. “Shall we?”
“Shall we…what?” I ask, looking at his arm.
“Attend the event,” Bennett clarifies.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Together?”
I imagine slipping my arm around his and being interlocked with Bennett as we peruse beautiful art and drink probably not inexpensive wine. Even that simple gesture would allow me to confirm all the thoughts I shouldn’t be having about his arms. Get it out of the way so I don’t have to ever think about them again. An evening drinking under the stars. With Bennett. It shouldn’t be a thrilling thought, but it is.
Bennett gives the tickets a little wave, shaking off my thoughts with the movement. “It would be a shame to let this night go to waste. I don’t know what drinking with the stars is like, but I want to find out,” he says.
I try to stifle the zing of excitement that zips through me. “This date was supposed to be for you and Harper. I can’t—”
“How about we don’t call it a date then?” he says. “It can be a meeting. We’re two dating service professionals. We can even talk about work all night long.”
“You running out of ideas and need some of mine?” I retort.
Bennett slips the tickets into his back pocket. “If you don’t want to, I’m not going to push you,” he says. “Have a good night.”
“Wait,” I blurt out. “It’s been a while since I’ve been up there. They have one of my favorite paintings. It wouldn’t be right to let those tickets go to waste. They cost real money.”
Real money that Lunar Love doesn’t have a whole lot of. This can be research.
Bennett’s crooked smile spreads across his face. Once again, he holds out his arm to walk me to the tram. The zing morphs into more of a zap, all the initial enthusiasm draining from my body. What am I doing? This is not a good idea. Bennett is my competition. A pseudo-client.
But it’s just one night. And as we’ve established, this is not a date. Rats and Horses do not date. We’re two professionals having a professional meeting. Maybe I could even turn this into a Singles Scouting. I let out a long breath to still my hammering heart, and before I can make up an excuse to leave, I tuck my arm up into his.
At the top of the mountain, the sky looks like a series of pale orange and lavender brushstrokes straight out of a Monet painting. The moon is in its first quarter phase, half of its glowing surface beaming down on us.
“Look at the legs on this one,” Bennett says. He tilts his wineglass and watches as maroon droplets slide down the inside of the stemware. He inhales just above the glass, as instructed by the sommelier. “I’m getting hints of old saddle leather and crushed rocks.”
“Very nice!” I say, mirroring him. “To me, it smells more like freshly printed paper and that feeling when you’re sitting under the moonlight looking up at the stars thinking about how small you are in the world.”
Bennett smirks before sniffing his wine again. “I’m not getting that. Wait. There it is. Ah, nothing like the smell of insignificance and toner.”
We both quietly laugh together, trying not to draw attention to ourselves.
“You really knocked this date out of the museum,” Bennett says, looking pleased. “I learned so much in that class. If date planning was a competition, you’d win. You’re good.”
I knew Bennett the Historical Buff would love what I planned for him. And Harper. Him and Harper.
I lean back against the railing and admire the museum’s imposing architecture, the warmth and permanence of the stone marking its long-lasting presence. Situated at the top of a hill in the Santa Monica Mountains, the Getty is an escape from the city, an isolated retreat from a city of millions. The buildings are so grand and stunning that it’s easy to forget there’s art inside. The various buildings, fountains, and gardens create more of a campus feel than that of a typical museum.
“Where does your interest in history come from?” I ask.
“Well,” he says slowly, “I’ve always been fascinated with the past. It’s oddly comforting to know that there are different interpretations and perspectives of events that took place in time.”
I spin and face the mountains alongside Bennett. “If things can be interpreted so many different ways, how do you know what to believe?”
“That’s the point. All we can do is act on what we know in this moment in time.”
“That makes me anxious to know that anything can be reinvented at any point.” I tilt my glass and stare into the inky wine.
“Nothing’s permanent or guaranteed,” Bennett says softly.
“So you like history because there’s room for interpretation?” I clarify.
His eyes search mine. “Some of the best creations in history were because people were willing to look at the same thing differently. So yes. Though going against what others think often feels like trying to turn a cruise ship in a puddle.”
“You’ve got a point,” I say, “but that sounds a little bleak.”
“Sometimes being bleak is easier.” Bennett pushes his hair back and rests his hand over his mouth. When he looks back at me, his face looks more serious than usual. “Like this pitch, for instance. I’m going to be trying to convince people about my interpretation of the Chinese zodiac. It’s not for another two weeks, but I’ve been preparing every day. I need my delivery to be spot-on.”
“What, are you nervous?” I ask, intrigued by this information.
Bennett hesitates for a moment. “Honestly? Yes. There’s a lot riding on this. It’s not like I’ve never pitched for funding before, but this business is more personal to me. I don’t want to look like an imposter.”
This takes me by surprise. “You don’t come off as worried to me,” I admit.
Bennett goes quiet for a moment. “I’m decent at compartmentalizing. I want to enjoy this time with you.”
He tugs gently at his sweater neckline, drawing attention to the base of his neck. My breathing quickens watching him.
As much as I don’t want him to raise money, I also hate seeing him stressed. “I’ve never pitched to investors before, but I have a thought, if you’d like to hear it?”
Bennett turns to face me with eager eyes. “I’d love to hear what you think.”
I tentatively place a hand on his shoulder as I consider my words carefully. He looks at my hand and smiles. “Focus on the human element, not just the numbers. Really sell them on why you started this business,” I say.
His lips narrow into a thin line. He nods, looking as though he’s trying to make sense of his thoughts. “Thank you. You’re probably right, as hard as that sounds to not focus on the data. I’m just not great at expressing emotion outwardly. I learned to shut it off a long time ago. I find comfort in numbers. They’re concrete. You can manipulate them to make them work for you. Emotion, love, those are completely uncontrollable.”
“But they have the highest payoff,” I say, removing my hand quickly.
Bennett rolls the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows, settling into our conversation. I feel myself start to relax in a way I haven’t in a long time.
Bennett motions toward the view of the ocean. “Isn’t fall in Los Angeles charming?”
“Crisp mornings and sunshine all day? Sunsets like these? Absolutely,” I say. Absentmindedly, I reach up to twist the moon on my necklace.
“That’s beautiful,” he says, noticing the necklace.
“Thanks. It was passed down to me for taking over the family business,” I say. “And the horse is from my sister.”
“Is she into the zodiac, too?”
“Actually no.”
“Darn. I would’ve given her beta access. Oh wait! She’s getting married, so never mind.”
“Yeah, she’s off-limits as a client. For the both of us,” I add, smirking.
“How’s it been taking over the family business?” he asks cautiously. “Is it okay if I ask you that?”
I think through all the various politically correct statements I could answer with. I’m excited for the opportunity. Lots of challenges ahead, but nothing I can’t handle.
Maybe it’s the wine or the fact that Bennett’s so easy to talk to, or maybe it’s the magic of the moon hanging in the distance, but instead of saying something, anything, that makes Lunar Love look like it’s doing well, I just croak, “It’s been kind of rough.”
Hearing those words escape from my mouth feels wildly revealing. I look down at the ground beneath me. It’s still intact. The world didn’t end. Bennett doesn’t even look smug or happy to hear this. Instead, he looks surprised.
“Really? How so?” he asks, taking a step closer.
“There’s a lot of pressure from my family to turn the business around,” I say, continuing to divulge more than I probably should. “I took it over during a challenging time. Sometimes it feels like the business is too set in its ways to ever change. Or maybe people are just too focused on the new.”
“To turn the business around?” Bennett asks with an empathetic tone.
“We’re going through growing pains,” I say, using Pó Po’s choice of words. “I’m sure Pó Po told you everything there is to know, even though she’s in denial about it.”
“She didn’t say anything about needing to save Lunar Love,” he says. “I’m sorry that you have to deal with that.”
“There have been challenges for a while,” I confess, maybe more to myself than to him. There were challenges long before Bennett was in the picture.
Bennett takes a sip of wine. “How’d you even get involved in your family’s business? Was it something that always interested you?”
“I haven’t known anything else, really. I love what I do. I basically grew up in the business, yet I still don’t fully feel like I fit into the culture of what it represents.”
“Lunar Love is more traditional,” Bennett says. “Are you considering making it more modern?”
“Even if I were, you think I’d tell you?” I say suspiciously. “You’re still my competition, right?”
Bennett swirls the base of his wineglass in the center of his palm. “You know I don’t see it like that. I wish you wouldn’t, either.”
I sigh. “I love how traditional the business is and what it represents. Tradition tends to become diluted and reinterpreted over time, which is important so it doesn’t completely disappear, but I don’t want the business to lose its original charm. I know that’s a different way of thinking than the tech world you’re used to.”
“I think of it as iterating upon what’s already been done,” Bennett says.
“Right, traditions were meant to be broken,” I say flatly.
Bennett holds his free hand up in defense. “I said that in one interview, and you’re taking it out of context. I think traditions are meant to be broken when they’re rigid like rules and run the risk of being lost to history. My way of going about it is probably bolder than you’re used to.”
I tap my finger against the stem of my glass. “Maybe.”
“I do think it’s incredible you’re trying to preserve what your Pó Po started. In this day and age, that’s rare.” His eyes dart down at me before he refocuses them on the city view ahead of us. “Who in your family is involved?” he asks.
“My pó po and auntie were involved, as you know,” I say, emphasizing my last words. “My mom followed a different path. So did my sister. But I was hooked from the start. I purposely went to college in Los Angeles so I could keep working in the business part-time. I even tailored my major so I could be better at my job.”
“Business degree? Communications?” Bennett asks.
“Psychology. I wanted to better understand how people act and think and how they fall in love,” I explain. “I care about the work I do but I might’ve lost sight of who I am in order to keep the family legacy alive. And if I don’t succeed, I think I’ll be proving something that, deep down, I feel about myself.”
Just as quickly as the words float out of me, they’re carried away on a breeze across the hillside. How long have I felt this? I’ve been so in the thick of everything that I haven’t had time to fully process my emotions. Sometimes it’s easier to stuff down uncomfortable feelings than to deal with them head-on.
Bennett nods thoughtfully. “You feel like you’re overcompensating so you don’t fail and feel less of…something…than you already do.”
“Maybe? Probably.”
His face relaxes into a soft smile. “Vague, but I can relate.”
I look over at him. “You can?”
“If ZodiaCupid fails, or doesn’t live up to its potential, it’ll be a huge blow. More than any other business I’ve started before. This one’s too personal to me.”
I tilt my head in understanding, remembering what he told me about his mother.
“With this app, I learn something new every day about the Chinese zodiac,” he continues. “About people. About myself. And I love that. Even to this day, though, I feel like that little kid learning about himself at the library. I’ve never had to explain to people that I’m Chinese more than I do now. I love being mixed and celebrating all of my cultures, though, even if I often feel like I don’t fit into any of the communities.”
“I know the feeling,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Realization dawns that maybe how I feel is that if Lunar Love fails, my insecurities about not being Asian enough to run this business are true. Most of the Chinese zodiac resource books at Lunar Love are in Mandarin, a language I can hardly hold a conversation in. In the early days of the business, client sessions used to take place exclusively in Chinese until Pó Po’s English improved. But what’s Asian enough?
“If I fail, it’ll confirm things I think about myself, as you said,” Bennett divulges. “Like an imposter.”
“The syndrome is real,” I say.
“Sorry, I made this about me,” Bennett says. “Please, continue.”
I bite my lip. “No, go on.”
Bennett scrunches his face. “It’ll be as though I’m not Chinese enough or I don’t belong doing this because I didn’t grow up one hundred percent immersed in the Chinese culture. As though the bits and pieces of the culture that my mom did choose to celebrate and teach me won’t be sufficient. It’s silly.”
The emotion hits differently when it’s said out loud. “I don’t think it’s silly. If it’s something that you experience, that makes it real,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
The sun lowers in the sky, the temperature dropping with it. I readjust my grip on the wineglass and hug my arms against my chest, pulling my oversized, colorful, geometric sweater tighter around my body. Bennett notices and moves even closer.
He smiles, and for a moment it’s just us under the pink and purple clouds. From this vantage point, we can see the rhythm strip of the downtown skyline—the heartbeat of Los Angeles—the San Gabriel Mountains, and the Pacific Ocean floating in the distance.
We fall silent, our eyes locked on one another’s. Feeling his eyes on me makes me nervous in an excited sort of way.
“Let’s go see the Irises,” I say abruptly.
I set my wine down on a table and cross the patio to a building across the way as Bennett follows closely behind. Inside is quieter at this hour as museumgoers flock to the patio to catch the sunset. We wander through the halls until we find Vincent van Gogh’s Irises.
The iconic painting hangs in front of me, and I’m swept up in the swirling movement of the leaves, the violet petals twisted together, their figures carefully captured in vivid hues.
Bennett sidles up so close next to me that our arms touch. I tilt my head toward him without removing my eyes from the painting.
“You can almost feel the flowers moving,” I say, dreamily.
“He painted this in, what…” Bennett takes a closer look at the museum label next to the painting. “1889. So this was after he had been hospitalized. If memory serves me right, these flowers are based on the ones that were in the mental institution’s garden. He painted nearly one hundred and thirty pieces during his stay there.” He looks over at me and quickly adds, “It’s also nice to think about how seeing these flowers in the garden must’ve helped him through a tough time.”
“Nice save. That’s the emotion I’m looking for,” I say. “What don’t you know random facts about?” I look from the flowers to his face. They’re both quite the sight.
His voice is soft as he says, “You.”
I feel my face become hot. “You know some things,” I say shyly.
“I know that you enjoy art and wine. I know that you care about your family and their legacy. I also know that when you’re nervous, you twist your necklace, like you’re doing right now.”
I drop my hand from my neck.
Bennett’s voice softens even more. “I know that you’re curious and smart as hell, that your eyes look like milk chocolate in the sunshine, that when you’re not sure what to say, you bite your bottom lip.” He hesitates at first before grabbing my hand. I don’t pull it away. “I also know that my worries don’t feel so heavy when I’m with you, and that your laugh is my new favorite sound.” He looks down at the ground and then back up into my eyes. “I also know that I’d like to kiss you. If that’s all right?”
Thoughts of us being incompatible compete with emotions I haven’t felt in a long time. My head and heart battle one another, elbowing their way to the front of my mind. The room spins around me, becoming a blur of paint. Then I look into Bennett’s eyes, and I feel steady. Stable. And all at once, despite everything I believe in, this is what I know for certain: I want to kiss this man.
“Yes,” I whisper.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders as his arms find their way around my waist. I stand up on my toes to close the distance between us.
Our faces inch closer, mouths parted. I stare at the gold fleck in his eyes until our lips connect and my eyes flutter shut. When our lips are pressed together, I feel as breezy as irises swirling in a Van Gogh masterpiece. I grab a fistful of his sweater and hold him tight. His lips are soft, just like I imagined. We quickly move into a steady rhythm, our kiss deepening.
It’s as though Bennett’s the painter and I’m the canvas; every kiss a stroke of the brush, revealing, little by little, the unexpected masterpiece that is our embrace.