Chapter 5
I’m the first to arrive at the cooking school for my “date” with B.O.B. I claim a seat at the community table tucked against the wall of the classroom, situating myself in the middle so there are plenty of open chairs on both sides of me for my target—I mean, date.
After some back and forth, my idea of attending a baking class won out. Over the years, I’ve learned that clients feel more comfortable in first-date settings when they’re elbow deep in cake batter. There’s flexibility to be flirty, but if the chemistry’s not there, clients can focus more on their crème brûlées than each other. Plus, if the date is a bust, they still get dessert, the sweetest of consolation prizes.
Luckily, there aren’t any clients booked for dates here tonight, so I won’t be exposed. When there’s the opportunity to have the home field advantage, always take it. In my case, I won’t have to pay much attention to the baking part and can get straight to the grilling.
The classroom looks like a commercial kitchen with stainless steel appliances and workbenches, but the space has clearly been designed for private events and photoshoots. White subway tiles cover two walls in the room and a large chalkboard hangs on the other.
I examine the board so that I know what to expect for the next two and a half hours. In cursive pink chalk, I read: Mochi (Japanese rice balls with red bean filling), Bái Táng Gāo (Chinese white sugar sponge cake), Dàntǎ (egg tarts), Bánh Chuối Nướng (Vietnamese banana cake), and Yuèbǐng (mooncakes). I’ve made two of the five desserts before, which gives me a small boost of confidence.
B.O.B. said he’d wear a salmon-colored shirt. Within minutes, two men and one woman arrive, all three of them taking seats at opposite ends of the table. No sign of him yet.
A few more students quietly walk in and fill the seats. Nerves start to get the best of me. Maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea. I’m acting like a lowlife parasitic organism that takes and takes without giving anything in return. That’s what I’m trying to be?
Focus, Olivia! You’re here to find out information about your competition.
I’m rubbing my moon pendant for good luck when a man in a coral cashmere sweater who looks to be in his mid-thirties takes a seat next to me. He turns, and I find myself staring into the eyes of my enemy. Turns out B.O.B. was Bennett, after all. The stars and the moon have aligned. I can almost hear the sound of singing baby cupids. My plan to match with Bennett worked.
“You?!” we both say at the same time. I overplay my surprise, though his looks genuine.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“Are you B dot O dot B dot?” I ask.
He laughs. “I am. Bennett O’Brien. Are you O-L-I-V-I-A?”
I smirk. “Liv is short for Olivia.”
“First the bakery, now this. Either you’re following me or fate keeps bringing us together,” Bennett says.
He only remembers me from the bakery, which means he didn’t see me in the audience at the conference. I breathe out in relief.
“Why in the world would you call yourself B.O.B.?” I ask.
“Probably the same reason you go by Liv, Olivia,” he says, emphasizing my name. “So I guess we’re here for the same date then.”
“By the look of the flowers you’re holding, it looks like you’re going to a funeral, not a date,” I say, nodding to the white chrysanthemums in his hands.
“I’m still mourning the loss of my cocktail bun,” he says solemnly. “Since you’re my date, these are for you. Sorry for your loss?” He holds the flowers out toward me slowly. “Is there a better flower I could’ve gone with?”
“I personally prefer peonies, but it’s, what do they say? It’s the thought that counts. Thanks.” I tentatively reach for the bouquet and tuck the flowers into my bag. “Why are you not wearing salmon? That’s coral if I’ve ever seen it.”
Bennett looks at his shirt. “This is most definitely salmon,” he says. After a moment, he adds, “I know this is weird, but I think we should stay. Let’s start with a clean slate. I’m Bennett. You’re Olivia slash Liv slash Bakery Girl.”
So he nicknamed me, too.
“You can call me Olivia. We can stay, but I’ll start with the questions. What do you do for work?” I ask, not wanting to waste any time. I need to squeeze everything I can out of this man.
Bennett looks slightly startled. “Uh, I’m actually the founder of ZodiaCupid. That’s why I think we should stay,” he admits. “My algorithm is good.”
“Wow, your algorithm has taken the place of fate, huh?” I say. He’s probably also someone who looks in the mirror and tells himself he’s handsome. “I had no idea you were the founder of the app we matched on.” Little does he know, I’ve read every single press release ever published about him and his company. And he doesn’t need to find out. Playing ignorant might get me more information.
“I guess you couldn’t look me up because of my name. Or lack thereof.” Bennett rests his foot on the base of the stool. “My algorithm works, and I trust it. There’s a reason we keep meeting. And you’re interesting in a weird sort of way.”
I put a hand over my heart and give him a mock-serious look. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Bennett laughs. “That came out wrong. It could’ve just been me, but I felt like we hit it off at Lucky Monkey. I realized after I should’ve asked for your number. And now you’re here.”
Before Bennett can say anything else, the instructor claps her hands to capture the class’s attention. She welcomes everyone and explains that we’ll break into teams and make one of the recipes on the board. Bennett and I are assigned mooncakes. When we push off our stools to find a spot near the stove, I’m reminded of how tall he is standing next to my five-foot-four height. He’s in dark blue jeans that slightly hug his thighs, the cuffs folded above his light brown leather boots. Put together, yet casual. At least the man’s consistent.
We claim the space next to the team assigned with egg tarts. Bennett and I awkwardly make eye contact as we move around each other. I remind myself that I’m doing this for love and for the greater good of single people everywhere.
Bennett reads through the recipe, whispering the list of ingredients out loud as he compares it to what’s provided in the ingredient bucket on the table. I stare at him in suspicion and pleasure that he’s the one here in front of me.
He pulls up an image on his phone and tilts the screen so I can see. “I think we should follow this recipe instead. I can attest that they’re the best mooncakes. Similar ingredients, slightly different process.”
I bristle at his confidence. “Why do you have that on your phone? You couldn’t have known we were making mooncakes tonight.”
“I looked up the class beforehand and pulled recipes for all of the potential desserts. I’ve made mooncakes before and happen to have my own recipe. I have a one hundred percent success rate with this.”
I put my hand on my hip in defiance. “Well, I’ve made mooncakes, too, and I think we should follow the class recipe.” His line from the press release about how traditions were meant to be broken echoes through my mind. “It looks like some of the steps have already been started because of time constraints.”
“You don’t want to try it my way?” Bennett asks with a look of surprise. “I know my recipe works. This other recipe doesn’t even have the salted duck egg yolks in it.”
I don’t want to try anything his way, dating app or otherwise. “It’s out of our control. We paid money to be here, to make the mooncakes the cooking school’s way,” I say, pushing back. “If they’re not as good as yours, then you can gloat all you want.”
Bennett’s jaw clenches, but after a moment, he slides his phone into his pocket. “Sure. We’ll do it your way,” he says, a hint of annoyance detectable in his voice. At least he’s finally agreed. “How about we get started and see where it goes?”
“Let’s try to get through the steps without it being too weird,” I say, secretly pleased. I should not feel this satisfied at unnerving him. “This recipe says we should start with the syrup, but that’s already been done. So we should do the dough.”
“I think we should start with the filling,” Bennett counters. “It looks like the teacher already started boiling the presoaked lotus seeds so we can finish that up.”
Oh for Cupid’s sake! We’re not even five minutes in, and we’re already going head-to-head. I wrap an apron around my waist. “Like I said, we should follow the steps. They’re written in this order for a reason.”
“Recipe instructions are meant to be reinterpreted,” he says, hooking his apron around his neck.
I sense a theme. “How about this? You do that while I get the dough going.”
“You don’t want to follow the recipe together?” he asks. “Isn’t that the point of a date? Doing things together?”
I reach for a towel, cringing slightly at his use of the word date. “Right, but it’s not as efficient. We can get a couple steps done at once if we divide and cook.”
“Here.” Bennett brings the food processor over from a shelf and plugs it in. He checks the simmering lotus seeds and drains the liquid, adding them to the food processor. As they whirl together, a smooth, thick mixture forms. Bennett looks as though he’s memorizing every texture and scent. He scoops the mixture into a pan and sets the heat to medium low. “See? Now that’s done! We can follow the rest of the steps together.”
“Great,” I murmur.
“Did you know that, years ago, people were worried there’d be a ‘mooncake bubble’ in China?” Bennett says as he mixes the puree with a spatula, filling the tense silence between us. “Luxury mooncakes took over the market and were selling for upwards of ten times as much as a traditional mooncake.”
I grab a silver bowl from one of the nearest stands. “Why do people feel the need to change a good thing? There’s nothing wrong with tradition.”
“It’s not about wrong or right. Sometimes people like trying new things,” Bennett offers.
I try not to let irritation show on my face. There are more important topics at hand, like extracting important intel.
“Is the Chinese zodiac your life’s passion or are you just in it for a quick buck?” I blurt out.
Bennett scrunches his nose. “Is that a joke?”
“Let me rephrase: Where did you take, I mean, get your idea from? And don’t give me the canned response that I’m sure you’re giving reporters.” This response I already know from the press release. I started ZodiaCupid to help give people a shot at love based on who they really are. On our app, there’s no need to pretend or perform. All you have to do is be you.
“What I say isn’t canned,” he says with his eyebrows scrunched. “I wanted to make something special and specific in the dating app market. I like our concept. It’s fun.”
“Fun,” I echo. I think back to the days when the Chinese zodiac was so new to me that it did feel fun. Mysterious. Rooted in practicality. The magic’s still there, but it’s mostly become business. I add syrup, lye water, and oil to the flour and fold the ingredients together with a spatula. “Have you always been into the zodiac or is it a recently acquired interest?”
Surprisingly, Bennett looks unfazed by my line of questioning. He focuses in on my eyes and deadpans, “I’ve just been learning about it through Wikipedia. Really good stuff on there.”
Against my better judgment, a laugh slips out. I can’t be laughing at my enemy’s jokes. It’s a sign of weakness.
He laughs and shakes his head, a strand of hair falling across his forehead. “If you’re wondering if I grew up learning about the zodiac, no. I learned it on my own. My mom was into the zodiac, but—no, I didn’t,” he says, cutting himself off. He doesn’t elaborate. “I’ve studied the Chinese zodiac deeply, even though my app takes a looser approach.”
He’s bluffing.
“Go ahead, you can ask me anything,” he says as if reading my mind.
When I shake my head and stay silent, he asks, “Did you grow up learning about the zodiac?”
“Not really,” I lie. I’m glad Pó Po and Auntie aren’t here to witness my betrayal. I push harder into the dough to release some of my anxiety. Once the texture is smooth, I wrap the dough in plastic and place it in the fridge to cool.
“If you’re reimagining how the Chinese zodiac works and charging people for it, don’t you think you’re misleading people?” I add, rejoining Bennett at the stove.
“You think what I’m doing is cultural appropriation?” he asks, quickly glancing up at me.
I think for a moment. “Well, I don’t know. Not necessarily.”
“I have both Chinese and Irish heritage and have been interested in and studied the zodiac for a long time. It’s my culture, my family’s culture,” Bennett says, a hint of defensiveness poking through. “I don’t have to justify myself to anyone who thinks I’m not Chinese enough because they’re uncomfortable with me being mixed race.”
“No, I totally understand that,” I confess.
The thing is, I really do completely get it. I fully relate. With Chinese, Scottish, and Norwegian heritage, it wouldn’t be fair for me to think that. If I did, wouldn’t that mean I was doing the same? I’m working on modernizing Lunar Love, sure, but I’m trying to do it in a way that honors what Pó Po started.
“Our names don’t always represent all of who we are,” Bennett says, speaking toward the range. “I have an Irish last name, and I understand that might be confusing with what I do. But it doesn’t negate the fact that I’m Chinese, too. I know that my existence, what I look like, and my name sometimes mystify people.”
“Names can be complicated,” I say, nodding along. “Assumptions are too easily made.”
Bennett stops mixing the filling for a second to face me, his eyes holding intense contact with mine. “I’ve always thought the Chinese zodiac was a fascinating approach to understanding humans. And a big part of the zodiac is about who pairs well with who. With the rise of dating apps, I saw a business opportunity that I had a personal interest in,” he adds, rotating back toward the task at hand and giving the pan a small shake. “I’m trying to be a smart businessman. I have a decent amount of experience in the tech industry. A big part of running a start-up is learning on the job and knowing when to pivot.”
Way to state the obvious.
“I just don’t buy that ZodiaCupid’s concept hasn’t been done before,” I press.
Bennett looks over at me. “What I’m doing isn’t new. There are dating apps with filters that include astrological signs, and even the Chinese zodiac, as one element of the matching. For us, though, that’s our main element.”
“Really? Just some dating apps, huh?”
A glimmer spreads across Bennett’s hazel eyes, and I’m momentarily sidetracked. “There’s also this place called Lunar Love,” Bennett says. “Have you heard of it?”
My core is shaken hearing him say those words. I didn’t expect him to actually know about us. I open my mouth but nothing comes out. I shake my head no. I can’t verbalize another lie.
“Huh,” he grunts. “From my impression of you so far, it seems like Lunar Love would be something you’d be into instead of ZodiaCupid, but if you haven’t even heard of it, then I guess I don’t need to be worried.”
There he goes saying those two words again. His mention of Lunar Love and his total disregard for us is maddening.
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, running my fingers along the design of the mooncake mold.
“Do you typically grill all your dates?” Bennett asks, turning to face me. His shoulders are more relaxed, his tone more casual than before. I look at him straight on, and from this angle, I see that his smile is slightly crooked, the left side of his bottom lip tilting higher over his teeth. It’s infuriatingly adorable.
“Just the ones I’m particularly skeptical, er, intrigued about,” I say, catching myself. “So it seems like you just let all the animals loose, free to mingle and date who they want. No foundation of compatibility to help guide people.”
Bennett laughs and pauses before he speaks again. “ZodiaCupid takes the animal sign traits into consideration, but it mostly matches users by what they write in their profiles. It opens users up to more potential matches,” he explains. “I know it’s different than the traditional and limited way of matching compatible signs exclusively. Some people won’t like that but I hope they’ll still give us a try.”
I breathe out heavily. Keyword: try. But when people are ready for something serious, they’ll settle down with us.
Bennett gives me a funny smile. “Sorry to break it to you,” he adds, “but Horses and Rats aren’t typically compatible. But we’re getting along!”
I grumble noncommittally. “So your app isn’t actually making compatible matches.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Sounds to me like false advertising.”
“Depends on your definition of compatible.” Bennett lifts a filling-coated spatula out in front of me as he speaks with his hands. “If you have a problem with our animal signs matching, then why did you ask me out on a date?” he asks curiously.
I reach out to lower the spatula just as lotus puree splats onto the ground. My hand unintentionally touches his, and I quickly pull back as though he were a hot stove. He glances down to where our skin touched and then back up at me.
“As a user of your app, I guess I trusted that you know best,” I respond, almost choking on the words.
Bennett smirks and places his palm on the table, bending closer toward me. “You have pretty eyes,” he says. “There’s a fire behind them.”
I look up at his face, my eyes roaming over his smooth, light skin. I place my hand on the table, mirroring his stance. “If you think you’re successfully distracting me with compliments, think again.”
The corners of Bennett’s mouth tilt up as he refocuses on the lotus seed filling. “If you’re not happy with this date, you get your money back, no questions asked,” he jokes. A bigger grin appears, and I feel my guard start to slowly dissipate. That’s not supposed to happen.
The door to the classroom opens, and two latecomers walk in.
“Sorry we’re late. We got caught in rush hour traffic,” the woman says to the instructor, her voice sounding eerily familiar. “Can we still participate?”
I sneak a look at the two people joining the class, recognizing one of them. My body tenses up. Colette? When did she get back in town? My old best friend and her date are guided by the instructor across the room to a clean workbench.
“What is that? What are you doing with your head?” Bennett asks, twisting his body to get a better look at me.
“Shhh!” I tilt my head lower, trying not to attract any attention to myself. “Don’t make any more noises or sudden movements,” I whisper.
“Uh, okay.” Bennett holds his breath and freezes for a few seconds before bursting into laughter. “Seriously, what are you doing?”
Think, Olivia!
“My ex-boyfriend just walked in,” I blurt out. It’s the only thing that would make sense. Nothing can save me now. “It ended badly. I do not want to see him right now.”
Because then I’ll be exposed without getting the information I came here for. And I’d have to confront my past. I am not prepared for either of those things.
Bennett subtly looks up at the couple. “That’s awkward. And it looks like he’s here with his new girlfriend.”
Unexpectedly, a voice calls out across the room. “Olivia?”
I don’t need to see who said my name to know whose voice it is. I hunch down under Bennett’s bowl and slither toward the back sinks pretending to look for something on the racks.
I peek through the back shelves into the room, trying to figure out my next move. Suddenly, there’s a loud clatter of trays. I see Bennett on the ground, surrounded by lotus seed filling and towels. There are gasps all around as the students surround Bennett to help him up.
Perfect. Now Colette will definitely see me.
Or not.
I almost don’t notice Bennett looking up at me and nodding toward the exit. I clumsily remove my apron and tiptoe to the door.
Outside, I debate leaving but decide to stay. A few minutes later, Bennett walks out of the building with light orange filling crusted on the parts of his sweater that the apron didn’t cover.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here. You forgot your bag,” he says, offering me my tote and flowers.
“Thank you. For this and that,” I reply. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be sore for a couple of days but I’m fine. I moonlight as a stunt double for Keanu Reeves so my body’s used to it,” he deadpans. “Are you okay?”
“Please. Everyone knows Keanu does a lot of his own stunts,” I say, trying to stifle a laugh. That entire encounter upstairs was just…bizarre. “I think I’m okay, too.”
I was so close to being outed. Bennett helped me cover up my own lies.
Bennett stretches out his back. “You better not be laughing at me!” he says with a grin.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t mean to laugh. I really am appreciative of your distraction, and I know how excited you were to make mooncakes. Let me buy you ice cream as a thank-you.”
“I’d be a fool to turn down ice cream,” Bennett says. “But I’d be an even bigger fool to let you pay. You covered the class. Ice cream is on me.”
“I can’t argue with that, but you did throw yourself on the ground for me.”
“It’s my honor falling for you,” he says sweetly.
I feel a blush creep across my cheeks.
Pull yourself together!
We head to the nearest ice cream shop, where I order a scoop of chocolate and one of vanilla while Bennett enjoys two scoops of peanut butter ice cream. We eat and walk side by side to the nearest park as the sky settles into a pink and purple tie-dye dusk.
“This feels strangely familiar,” Bennett says.
I give him a look. “Yeah. I can’t get over how weird this is.”
“Meeting me again or playing hooky?”
“Both! I’ve never ditched anything in my life!” I say, still stunned by the sudden escape. Adrenaline pumps through my veins. This was not how I saw the evening going.
“Even though one of your traits as a Horse is spontaneity?”
“Well, spontaneity is actually one of the traits I don’t really resonate with.” I lick my ice cream.
“Interesting,” he says, wrinkling his eyebrows. He takes a bite out of his cone. “I’m curious to know more about you. What do you do for work, Olivia?” Bennett asks. He says my name familiarly, as though it’s always been part of his vocabulary.
“I’m…in recruiting,” I say, which doesn’t feel like a lie. I recruit single people all the time for Lunar Love. “I’m taking over the family business.” There. One truth. Now I can rest easy tonight.
“Is that so?” he asks.
I look at him with my nose crinkled. “It is so.”
“What’s that like?”
“Honestly, I love it,” I say. “There have been some challenges lately, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“Hard to find good talent?” he asks, taking a step closer to me to move out of the way of a skateboarder and her dog.
“Something like that,” I admit.
“That’s impressive. Congrats. Depending on how quickly we grow, I may need to enlist your services. We’ll see how things go with the business.”
I want to ask how fast they’re growing and what plans they have for ZodiaCupid, but I can’t bring myself to interrogate him any further. I don’t know why I thought Bennett was going to divulge his company’s secrets to someone he just met. Well, met again.
When our elbows distractingly brush against each other for the fifth time, I know it’s time to call it a night. “I should get home. I have a busy day tomorrow. Thanks for the ice cream.”
“Absolutely.” Bennett checks his watch for the time. “I didn’t realize how late it was. This was fun, Olivia.”
“It was something, B.O.B.”
Bennett laughs. “Yeah, sorry about that. My engineer convinced me to make a profile. He said it would be good for me to know what’s happening on the ground level. My team has been encouraging me to go on dates to try the app out. Work has been pretty busy, so this is my first.”
A sliver of me is thrilled that he wasn’t trying to go on dates with someone who wasn’t me. I finish my cone and throw this thought away along with my napkin.
“I can imagine. So you’re here to do research for work,” I clarify, leaving out the “too.” The irony is slightly amusing.
Bennett stuffs a hand into his pocket. “You could say that, but I’m really glad I came. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again. Maybe I can get your number this time? Then we’ll need a little less fate to see each other.”
“You mean a little less algorithm?” I tease, taking his phone from him.
His cheeks turn rosy pink. I reluctantly type my number into his phone so we can take our conversation off ZodiaCupid. The only conversation I ever plan on having with him is about what plans he has up his coral-colored sleeves.
Bennett awkwardly holds his arms out and pauses, signaling that he’d like to give me a hug. I hesitantly reach up and hug back. My arms rest against his firm shoulders, and in this close proximity, I learn that he smells like musk. And mooncake filling.
It takes a second before we realize we’ve lingered. We pull apart, and I adjust the strap of my bag, the chrysanthemums swinging to the side.
“It was nice officially meeting you,” Bennett says.
We smile at each other. I’m in denial that I actually enjoyed myself.
“It was nice meeting you, too, asshole.”