Lunar Love (39)

“Remember what I said about pretending I’m not here?”

“Harper found a few of her chef friends. I think she’s bored with me,” Bennett says.

“What? No! She’s just being friendly,” I say, standing on my toes to look over the crowd. She’s surrounded by a small group of people in chef jackets. “Go back over there and charm her. Meet her friends.”

“Before I do that, I wanted to clear up something between us. What I said at the panel, about your Pó Po,” Bennett starts.

“You were just trying to rile me up. You were mad about the article,” I say, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction. It doesn’t matter whether I meant to send the article or not. The fact is, it’s out there. And for that, I do owe him an apology. “I’m sorry about that. And for using the digital identity crisis line. And then throwing it back in your face at the panel. And for sneakily matching with you and lying about who I am.”

Bennett smirks. “Is that all?”

“Yes. That’s all I’m sorry for. Nothing else,” I say, watching him carefully.

Bennett reacts to my expression with one that looks like surprise. “I appreciate that. Though the word mad sounds extreme. Hurt, yes. But I can handle a little bad press. I wish it didn’t come from you, is all. The manipulating-a-match thing I honestly can’t be mad about. You beat the algorithm. That’s impressive.”

I lift my chin up. “That’s right. Remember that’s who you’re dealing with. Someone who beats algorithms.”

Bennett inhales sharply before finally saying, “I’m sorry, too, for not telling you I knew who you were.”

My shoulders relax in relief. It feels good to come to some kind of understanding. “Now I guess we’re back to being even.”

“How about we make a pact not to lie to each other anymore?” Bennett says.

I tilt my head forward. “Why?”

“We’ve lied to each other enough, don’t you think?”

“You’re probably right. I guess I can agree to that,” I say. “So you’ll tell me what the product launch is then?”

Bennett’s face glimmers with amusement. “That’s a surprise, not a lie.”

“Fine, then be honest with me about Pó Po.”

Bennett takes a step closer, and I can feel the heat of his body take the chilly edge off. “That would be a weird and specific thing to lie about. She really did match my parents.”

I think for a few seconds. “I’ll have to ask her to confirm.”

“Want to stroll?” Bennett asks, glancing over my head at Harper.

I look over in the same direction. She’s engrossed in conversation with her group of friends. “Quickly. Tell me more about Pó Po. Then get back there and be social.”

We weave around families and children munching on dumplings, making our way to nowhere in particular. I unzip my jacket to release some of the heat forming in my chest. Too much boba beer probably.

“You didn’t expose Pó Po on stage. Why?” I ask as we walk side by side under colorful archways.

Bennett lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “What was there to out?”

“That she made an incompatible match,” I say grimly.

He tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. The curves of his upper arm muscles are accentuated as the fabric of his sweater pulls tighter against his body. My heart rate quickens when I notice the way he’s looking over at me. “Your Pó Po made a successful match.”

“Not technically. You could’ve delegitimized our entire business in ten seconds.”

“The legacy and credibility of Lunar Love isn’t hanging by the thread of one incompatible match,” he says. “You’re known for your quality matches, period. I think it’s you getting hung up on needing every match to be perfectly compatible.”

“It’s how relationships should be,” I say firmly.

“Olivia, you’ll miss out on good people if you believe compatibility is the one and only way to love,” Bennett says. “Trust me on this.”

“No, I’ll only avoid the wrong people if I do,” I retort. “Pairing incompatible animal signs together only leads to trouble.”

In the courtyard, the live band finishes their set and switches out with a guitarist who starts playing an acoustic version of “What a Wonderful World.” A few of the older couples slow dance in the courtyard, their heads resting against one another. Unexpected longing for something indescribable strikes me suddenly. I swat the emotions away.

“Look, it’s your nightmare,” I joke, swaying to the music.

Bennett ignores the dancers. He doesn’t even tap his foot to the beat. Instead, he just examines my face. “Life is restrictive as it is. Why set more boundaries for yourself?”

“You never answered my original question backstage about how you know me through Pó Po,” I push back, changing topics.

“She talked about you,” he says casually.

“What, did you meet every week for brunch or something?” I ask sarcastically, lifting and dropping my shoulders to imitate his nonchalance. “Elaborate. I need more details. Where and when did you meet? What did she say exactly? You have to tell me. We just made a pact!”