Lunar Love (52)

“Cool,” I say, realizing I haven’t actually had a chance to look at his profile myself. “What is it you do, Owen?”

“I work in my family’s business, too,” he says. “We run a winery in Malibu.”

My ears perk up at this information. “Tell me more!”

“I’m the fourth generation of California farmers,” Owen explains. “I manage the operations of the vineyard, and my sister runs the tasting room. There’s a lot more people involved, but we’re starting to take over more of the responsibility.”

Owen shares more about his family’s winery and his desire to execute new ideas while maintaining the history and reasons why customers have remained loyal. It’s nice to be able to chat about similar business struggles and hear about someone else’s worries for a change.

“Think that food is ready?” Owen says after describing how the wine-bottling process works.

“Oops! Let me go find out,” I say. I check the time on my phone and see a few texts from Bennett. It’s been thirty minutes.

I climb the stairs two at a time and find Bennett waiting at the top.

“Food’s cold, beer’s warm. Here’s a foam finger,” Bennett says. I hold my arm out, and he slides the foam finger over my hand, balancing the tray of food on top. “Did you get lost or something?”

“Owen and I were talking,” I say. “I can see why you picked him.”

Bennett’s posture stiffens. “Oh, great. So it’s going well?”

“Surprisingly,” I say, tossing a curly fry into my mouth.

“You think you’ll see him again?” Bennett asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

“We’re only in the”—I say, looking back toward the field—“third inning. We’re just talking. If we take off to elope, I’ll send you a courtesy text.”

Bennett scrunches his mouth into a smile. “Well, uh, good. I’m glad it’s going well.”

“Okay. Good. So then why do you look concerned?”

Bennett puts his hands up on his hips. “Who, me? This is what I look like when I’m right. Because of ZodiaCupid. You’re hitting it off with someone you met on my app. Maybe we know what we’re doing after all, huh?”

I rip off a piece of cold soft pretzel and dip it in the cup of mustard. “I see why you picked him. He’s cute, though you couldn’t have known that, so you got lucky on that one. He’s also excited by the challenge of running his family’s business. I can respect a legacy. From what he shared with me, it sounds like he makes good instinctive decisions. It’s clear he cares about both his work and family.” I pop the mustardy pretzel into my mouth.

“You were easier to crack than I thought.” Bennett looks perplexed as he shifts his footing.

“Don’t get too excited.” I wrinkle my nose. “This is me having an open mind. This is good! You want some?”

“Did you know that, in the seventeenth century, soft pretzels were incorporated into weddings? The bride and groom would make a wish, break the pretzel, then eat it. Kind of like a big, soft, loopy wishbone.” Bennett yanks a chunk of pretzel off, dips it in mustard, and then crams it into his mouth. “Good,” he says between a full bite.

I laugh out loud at his goofiness. “You have mustard on your lip,” I say, tentatively reaching forward. “May I?”

“Oh, this? I want that there,” he says, angling his head back.

With my foam finger–free hand, I tuck my thumb into a napkin and delicately wipe the yellow smudge off his face. The backs of my fingers rest against his cheek as I press against the edge of his lips.

“There,” I say, my fingers grazing his jawline. Heat shoots through the center of my body, and I quickly inhale a breath of air.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. A smile disrupts Bennett’s serious face.

I follow his laugh lines over to his gold-flecked eyes and down to his rosy lips. They’re slightly parted, as though something important to say is on the tip of his tongue. The shouting of “Sweet Caroline” in the stadium grows louder, pulling me out of my daze.

“I know our animal sign traits match well together, but compatibility is, well, it’s complex,” I say, picking up where I think we left off. I crumple the mustard-stained napkin in my hand. “Like I said, we’re only in the third inning. Don’t start thinking of podcast talking points yet.”

Bennett eyes me up. “It’s complex, or you make it complex?”

I look down at the tray of cold food. “Hey, next time I come back here, think you can bring one of those small plastic Dodgers caps with nachos in it?” I ask, ignoring his question completely.

“What? Oh, yeah, sure,” Bennett says, looking distracted. He leans over the railing in the direction of where Owen and I are sitting.

“Also, good news. Harper said she’s open to another date,” I add. “This Friday work for you?”

Bennett refocuses on me. “I promised you I’d be open to it, so I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic. I knew you two would hit it off,” I say. “Okay, I should probably go down to my seat. Don’t forget the nachos hat.”

“Do you want dessert? I can buy you dessert after you eat your nachos,” he asks.