“Yeah, we’re part of the team in charge of creating the paths and one of the parks.”
“That’s very, very cool,” I say with a big smile. “Can’t wait to see the fruits of all your labor.”
We get up to leave, and I can’t help but notice the way Ellis does it—his movements easy and fluid. He stands and waits for me to get my bag before moving an inch.
We walk back toward the office. “So, what does matchmaking work entail?” he asks.
“Oh, it involves a lot.”
“I’m serious,” he says.
“I’m serious, too. We’re not a conventional matchmaker.”
“In what way?”
This is always when I have to make the decision about whether or not to be honest about what I do and how I do it. The past lives—we never reveal that. That’s a secret. It’s the face-reading that I’m considering, weighing all the possible complications and questions. But Ellis’s curiosity feels like a gentle prodding that will not be appeased with a hand-wavy answer.
“Our matchmaking is based on the ‘ancient Korean art’ ”—I am using my old-crone voice—“of face-reading.”
“Face-reading?”
We cross the street. “Yeah. Are you familiar with it?”
He shakes his head.
“Well, it’s kind of like palm-reading? I read fortunes by facial characteristics.”
“No way, really?” He’s looking at me with surprise.
“I know, it sounds wacky.”
“Not really,” he says with an easy shrug. “It must work, though? If you’ve made a family business of it?”
Yes, and it’s worked for hundreds of years—that’s how long my family has been practicing this. We have a record of it going all the way back to the early 1700s. I imagine that the gift may have even predated that, although I wonder how many past lives people could have had at that point. My imagination always takes me to weird Neanderthal places when I do, and I have to stop thinking about it.
The agency is within view, and the sight of it fills me with something close to peace—a steadying hand.
“Yes, the face-reading works,” I say. “And no, I haven’t read yours. I don’t do that without permission.”
Ellis raises his eyebrows. “Serious stuff. Ethics and everything.”
“We have our own rules. It’s very private, what your face has to say.”
We stop outside of the agency. The sun is less bright but still gilds Ellis’s face in a way that makes me feel restless. “Anyway, thank you for the chat even though I was supposed to treat my savior.”
“You’re welcome.” He puts his hands into the back pockets of his dark gray jeans. “What if I gave you permission to read my face?”
This is leading to something. “No, it’s my job. Not something I do as a party trick.”
He looks a little devastated. “Oh—god, sorry! I was trying to be…” He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “I was trying to be, uh, cute. Basically, hoping my face says that I want to see you again.”
A car honks behind us and the moment is made more awkward. I save him. “Ellis. I don’t know.”
He nods. “Okay. I will not push this, because I am an evolved male who respects boundaries.” Then he pretends to throw his head back and wail. When he’s facing me again he grins. “See you around, Cass.”
That nickname coming out ofhismouth does something to me. “Bye, Ellis.” I wave, trying not to smile but finding it impossible as he walks away, his steps unhurried and long.
I have a reading scheduled so I make my way up to the reading room to have a little time to prepare. When I enter, the fresh scent of newly lit incense hits me, and I see that someone has refreshed the shrine. And now it includes a framed photo of my mother. At first, it startles me, until I remember that my birthday week is also the celebration of my mom’s death anniversary. After thirty-two years of my mom being dead, you’d think I’d stop being surprised by this realization.
