“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.
22
“This is Peter Cruz.”
I watch Gemma’s eyes turn luminous as the handsome man from her past life approaches her. Earlier, I’d introduced her to two other men, and while the interactions between them were warm—this immediately feels different.
Peter has the same look in his eye, taken aback and curious, as if he’s meeting someone he’s met before. And not just because she’s famous. It runs deeper than that.
I love this part so much.
The moment when two souls who have spent centuries in different love stories recognize each other in this lifetime. I feel it deep in my chest, the rightness of it. I turn and find myself looking for Daniel.
But I don’t see him and duty calls. So, I mingle with a few more clients and make sure everything’s going well. So far, I’ve counted three matches of just my own clients: Taylor the improv comic and Jason the baker. Lauren the jewelry designer and Nicholas the hotelier (so obvious and easy I almost feel like I can’t take any credit for it). Meghan the writer and Jon the finance bro.
Check, check, check.
Daniel’s talking to a petite woman with a chic blond pixie cut when I finally find him. “Sorry to interrupt”—I glance at her pin—“Daniel and Brooke. But just wanted to let you both know that some of the galleries will be opening up shortly if you’d be interested in exploring.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that was happening tonight,” Daniel says, genuinely excited. “I’d love to go view.”
Brooke glances across the way, and I see her eyeing a man with sandy hair and wire-rimmed glasses. These two were lovers during the Spanish-American War. “I think I’ll grab another drink before heading over there. So great to meet you, Daniel.”
Daniel gives her his full attention with a warm smile. “Very much the same, Brooke.”
When she leaves, I look at him with a clear question on my face. He grins. “She was nice.”
“I know what that means,” I say, hiding my relief. “Are you having a good time, then?”
“Yes, of course,” he says. “This is such a thoughtful, beautiful event.”
It’s gratifying—even if it’s because this guy is maybe trying to get into my pants. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“So, do you want to show me these galleries?” he asks, holding out his arm like a Regency-era gentleman or an undercover spy.
I take it. “Sure.” We head to BCAM, the Broad Contemporary Art Museum, within the museum—a large modern structure made up of limestone and red steel beams. The tall palms lining the path to the entrance make the walk feel dramatic.
“Ooh, they opened up BCAM for us?” Daniel asks, his pace getting quicker as he realizes where we’re headed.
“I thought this might be up your alley.” I push the doors openand we’re greeted by a security guard. We’re the first ones here, and our footsteps make satisfying echoingclacks as we walk through in our fancy footwear. We take the elevators, which are filled with large Barbara Kruger murals—giant advertising text in stark black, white, and red.
“These always feel like an attack,” I say with a laugh.
“An interesting choice for an entrance into the place, right?” Daniel says. “She’s yelling at us about consumerism and consumption, but in this rarified space.”
