Chapter 21
Located in the center of the city, LACMA is iconic and the perfect spot for this year’s biggest matchmaking event.
It’s being held in an airy courtyard at the sprawling art museum.
With Chris Burden’s Urban Light sculptures as the backdrop, we’ve set up a bar and there are high-top tables scattered through the rest of the space.
Napkins with our logo are spread on the tables, along with little conversation-starter cards.
The string lights lend a magical glow to the evening.
Everything is ready to go when the guests start trickling in.
They check in at the entrance with the interns, receiving brass-plated pins with their names etched onto them.
Much cuter than name stickers. Have to give Shreya props for that idea.
Everyone also has a QR code etched into their nameplates, with the codes leading to their public profiles on the One & Only database.
That contribution was mine. It earned me “snaps” from the interns when I suggested it.
I meet our VIP guest at a discreet back entrance.
Gemma Flores is low-key but stunning in a simple black slip dress with a blazer thrown over her shoulders. She’s wearing dark sunglasses until she steps inside.
“Nervous?” I ask as I give her a hug.
She tugs on her rings. “Very much so.”
I guide her through the halls that lead to the courtyard. “Everyone who comes to our events signs an NDA,” I say. “And in the past, when we’ve had public figures at our events, we’ve found that most people are too wrapped up in their own connections to be too starry-eyed.”
When we step outside, Gemma tenses slightly. I look at her with reassurance. “That said, if anyone bothers you, my great-aunt will drop-kick them to the curb.”
This gets a laugh out of her and she nods. “I trust you guys.”
“And I’m not kidding, if you have any problems at all, come straight to me, okay?” She nods and I squeeze her arm before handing her a name pin, which feels silly but I do it nonetheless.
I’m overseeing the jazz band setting up in a corner when my phone buzzes with a text:
Would it be too much to wear an actual tuxedo?
It’s Daniel, and he’s sent me a photo of a fucking corgi in a mini tux. And bow tie. Oh my god. It’s so corny but endearing.
Do you turn into a corgi when the sun goes down? If yes then, yes, only a tux will be appropriate.
I’m not even thinking about how quickly I’m responding, at how available I am when I’m in the middle of preparing for a huge work event.
He texts me back:
You’ve caught me.
A pause as he types something else.
See you soon. In normal fancy clothes.
I’m smiling when I rapidly text back:
Looking forward to it.
It’s a little risky when we set these events up—sometimes people hit it off with the wrong person.
But we usually manage to maneuver things, and our success rate is maintained.
Because it’s just a fact: When we get the past loves right, the connection is undeniable.
I think about Daniel’s eyes catching mine over and over again at the bonfire in Joshua Tree.
At how he bumped into me hiking. What it feels like when our hands touch.
There is obviously the small chance that Daniel might be interested in someone else tonight, but it’ll be pretty hard when I’m masterminding this entire thing.
Halmoni, Sunny, and Emoni show up all looking lovely in their dresses and St. John suits.
“Everything looks wonderful,” Halmoni says approvingly, eyeing the tastefully lit courtyard. “Great job, Cassia.”
“Thanks.” I signal to the head caterer that they should start serving the appetizers.
“How’s Gemma?” Sunny asks in a low voice.
“Good, so far.” I see her in a corner, talking to a man who is not Peter Cruz.
But she looks relaxed, smiling, and the man looks happy but not too happy.
I happen to know for a fact that his fated is a dental hygienist who likes playing pickleball on the weekends.
“Peter just got here, so we simply have to make sure they chat.”
We disperse, each of us assigned to specific couples.
I’m talking to two women who used to be lovers in 1879 Kansas, when I feel a ripple go through the night air.
Like the heat and force you feel with the first Santa Ana winds in L.A.
My hair swirls into my face and when I push it aside, I see Daniel walking into the courtyard.
He’s wearing a gray suit that fits him like birds spun it around him while he stood perfectly still and sang. It’s shot with black thread that matches his perfectly crisp black shirt visible under the open jacket. He is a tumbler of whiskey on a cold night—warm and exactly what you need.
When he spots me, a slow smile stretches across his face.
Then he makes his way to me, dodging people in a graceful dance.
I notice more than a few heads turn as he walks by.
Something about Daniel commands your attention, he gives off that strength and confidence that all leaders do. Plus, he’s really good-looking.
My heart is thumping because everything about this feels exactly like how it’s supposed to when you meet your fated.
He finally reaches me. “Hello there.”
“Hello back,” I say with an easy smile. “Thank you for coming.”
“Thank you for having me,” he says. Then he takes me in. “You look stunning.”
I flush. There aren’t many men who could get away with that, but I guess if you’re Daniel, you do. “Thanks, so do you.”
We both seem to understand that we have just told each other that we find the other hot, so we look anywhere else. I spot a server carrying a tray of champagne and wave him over. “Thank you,” I say as a I take two flutes. Daniel takes one and we clink our glasses together.
“So, please, I am dying to know everything about this,” Daniel says after a sip. “I admit I googled the agency after you gave me the invite and I am quite intrigued.”
“I’m sure,” I say with a laugh. “We’re not your average matchmaking agency.”
He sweeps an arm across the courtyard. “No, this is not your typical Tinder date.”
“Tinder,” I say with a growl.
He laughs. “Your competition, yeah?”
I shrug. “Actually, no. If you look around, our demographic’s a little different.
” He does look around then, noticing that most of the people are in their thirties and older.
“Everyone can get a hookup or a shitty first date at a bar in Silver Lake on the apps. We only take serious people who don’t want to fuck around.
Or, as your people would say, faff about. ”
His laughter makes champagne go up his nose and we take a few seconds to handle it with some napkins. “You okay there?” I ask with a grin. He nods and I love catching this slick guy in a silly, vulnerable moment. It reminds me of seeing Stu trip on that infamous first date.
“Anyway, yes, we have events like this and we also meet everyone in person before we decide to take them on as clients.”
“Face-reading, right?” Good-humored skepticism underscores his words.
I remember Ellis’s reaction—his absolute belief that it must be real if it was my line of work. I know this comparison isn’t fair, so I push that memory aside. “Yes. It’s an old Korean tradition that goes back for centuries. It’s run in my family for just as long.”
“Centuries? Wow, that’s amazing. To be able to trace your family history like that,” he says.
I remember he’s adopted and soften. Growing up Korean American, I had my fair share of skepticism about the dozens of little traditions and beliefs that were passed down to me from my grandparents and aunts.
It’s probably that much more dubious to someone who didn’t grow up with it. Or maybe it’s more intriguing?
“Yeah, my mother’s side has a meticulous record of everything,” I say. “Including the secrets of face-reading. We read your ‘fortune,’ and essentially learn how to find you the perfect match.”
He covers his face with the hand not holding champagne. “Do I need to sign another waiver?”
I push his hand aside and laugh. “We don’t read anyone’s face without explicit permission.”
He keeps my hand in his for a second before dropping it. The sizzle of it moves up my arm.
“I realize that I was very presumptuous inviting you here tonight,” I say.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I know you’re single, but are you actually looking to get serious with someone?
” It’s one of those loaded questions that women never ask men because they’re worried it’ll “scare” them off, but I can ask it since we’re not technically on a date.
More than that, with my line of work, being certain and straightforward is the key to everything.
Like I said, we don’t fuck around. The finiteness of our time on Earth is what keeps the agency in business.
That urgency never goes away, no matter where we are in time.
Daniel takes another sip of champagne. “Is that a nice way of asking why I’m still single at my age?” His tone is teasing.
“Absolutely not,” I say with a laugh. “I’m single, too.”
There’s some weighted silence. God, we’re both being incredibly awkward about all this. He finally says, “Sorry. I mean, yes, I am looking for someone serious? I’m forty-two, so I’m not faffing about, either.”
“Mm, yes. Don’t want to faff.”
Our eyes meet and his are twinkling. In a way that makes me feel like we’re the only two people who exist in that moment.
“So, yes. I have been incredibly picky. Which, of course, my friends give me shit for. They think I’m some forever-bachelor type.
But it’s really because my parents didn’t have a great marriage. ”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” And I am, a little pang of heartbreak for little Daniel.
A shrug. “It’s not a unique experience. But it’s made me less focused on the ‘marriage’ bit and more focused on the ‘finding the right person’ bit. I think I’ll know it when I see it.”
“I know exactly what you mean,” I say, my heart starting to thump. It’s really happening, this thing with Daniel. We are on the same wavelength, everything has been leading up to this.
The music switches up to something sultry and I suddenly feel hot in my silk dress. A weighted silence passes while the music basically takes off our clothes for us and I’m about to slide an ice cube down my dress when I see Sunny waving at me.
“Shoot, I’m needed elsewhere.” A genuine pang of regret shoots through me. I feel like we’d just begun. “But, please, enjoy the drinks and food. I’ll see you soon?”
Daniel nods. “Of course. Go do your thing.” It’s confident and assured, the way he says it, but as I walk away, I can feel his eyes on my back, and I resist turning to look at him, too.