Lunar Love (86)

“Hey. Tonight my family and I are making dinner together in honor of Pó Po. I’d like for you to be there, and I think Pó Po would’ve, too. Of course, only if you want to.”

Bennett doesn’t even try to fight the smile that immediately forms on his face. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says.

There’s so much I want to say to Bennett, but for now, our quiet understanding is enough.





Chapter 24





I’m wrist-deep in flour when Bennett arrives at my parents’ house.

“Bennett, it’s nice to see you again,” Mom says in the entryway before leading him into the kitchen. When our eyes meet, his tense shoulders drop three inches.

“You can help Olivia with the dough,” Mom instructs. “Have you ever made dumplings before?”

Bennett drops his bag on a chair and rolls up his sleeves. “Only once, but that was a long time ago,” he says.

“I’ll show you how to do it, per Pó Po’s instructions,” I offer, using my palm to roll a small piece of dough against the floured table. I flatten the dough with a rolling pin, turning it until the wrapper is round and thin.

“I’ll follow your lead,” he says without any resistance. Bennett watches me intently, mimicking my movements with invisible dough.

“No highly rated recipe up your sleeve?” I ask good-naturedly.

He smiles. “I wouldn’t stand a chance against your Pó Po.”

I cut the dough in half and hand him his piece to divide and roll into wrappers. We work diligently as Mom cuts scallions, Nina minces garlic, Asher measures sauces, Dad chops ginger, and Auntie preps ingredients for the side dishes. Dad throws Bennett softball questions as I focus on my rolling and breathing to steady my hands and hammering heart. Bennett moves surprisingly fast, looking as though he’s loving every minute.

Over one hundred rolled wrappers later, Bennett covers our hard work with a damp towel. He beams at what we’ve created together.

“We’ll take it from here,” Mom says. “We’ll eat in an hour. Nice work, both of you. Olivia, you’re getting as fast as Pó Po.” I bask in her words. Bennett does, too.

“You can come with me,” I say to Bennett after we wash flour off our hands. He follows me up to the second floor, out the deck, and up to the roof.

“Should we be up here?” he asks, crouching low as he mimics my movements until we reach a flat section where I’ve set up a blanket for us to sit.

I pat the ground next to me, and Bennett doesn’t object.

“Hi,” I say in an exhale.

“Hi,” he says.

“Thank you for coming to the funeral. And for the comfort food.” I think for a moment. “You danced. In public.”

“It was my honor,” he says. “Thanks for coming to the pitch.”

“I wish I could’ve stayed longer.”

“When you saw me on stage stumbling over my words, all I could think about was you and if you would ever forgive me. You saved me from making a fool of myself. My words only came out clearly because I imagined that I was only talking to you.”

“You spoke from the heart,” I say.

“I’m not so good at that,” he says, gently nudging me with his elbow.

“It’s a start.” I bite my lip. “It sounded like you spoke from the heart on the podcast, too.”

Bennett lifts his shoulders up in a half shrug. “I told them I didn’t want to do it anymore and to replace me with you, but they said that if I wasn’t going to do it, neither of us would. So I figured I’d use the platform to talk about Lunar Love. I hope that was okay.” He sighs. “And for the record, I meant what I said.”

“You were the winner, so it was right for you to be on it,” I say.

“I was the winner?” Bennett asks curiously. “That can’t be easy for you to say.”

I dip my head. “You were a formidable opponent, I’ll admit.”

He holds up his phone. “So this was true then?”

On his phone is my second WhizDash article. When I sent it to Alisha’s friend last week, I promised her three months of free matchmaking services if she could expedite posting it. Luckily for me, she’s still Team Lunar Love and was open to trying something new.

In my last list, I wrote about all the things that ZodiaCupid wasn’t. Turns out, the only one with an identity crisis here…is me. Instead of figuring out who I am or what I want to be, I projected my insecurities onto a digital app. Truth is, through the app I bashed, I met someone great.



He reads a line from it out loud. “This Horse fell in love with an incompatible match by accident, but it turned out to be the best thing for her.” His eyes flash up at me. “Do you mean it?”

My eyes flick from his phone to his eyes. “Every word.”

His face lights up. “Well, this Rat fell in love with a Horse, but I don’t think we’re mismatched.”

Heat rises in my chest. “As much as it shocks me to say, we did match on the app so I guess you really technically did win.”

“That’s technically true,” Bennett says happily.

“Even though we’re the signs that we are,” I say.