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’msure,” 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 KoreanAmerican, 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.”
