I reluctantly accept, wiggling his hat over my head, the inside of the cap still warm. “Thanks,” I say softly.
Bennett takes a sip of bubbly water, smiling at me with his eyes. “What is it about the ocean that scares you?”
I pop a chip into my mouth and adjust my grip on the railing. “When you’re in the ocean, you have no idea what’s swimming beneath you.” A certain parasite comes to mind. “Right now there could be a twelve-foot eel beneath us, and we would never know. And I used to think sharks somehow had access to pools—you know, through the drains—so you can imagine how wild my imagination goes when it comes to the ocean. Also, drowning and riptides.”
“All completely valid reasons.” Bennett’s face remains unchanged, unjudgmental. “I used to be scared of the water, too,” he continues when I don’t respond. “I was at a birthday pool party where we had to take a swim test to participate. Guess who didn’t pass?” He points a finger at himself. “I was terrified of not being able to breathe underwater, so I had a tough time learning how to swim. I pretty much flailed around for five minutes in front of all my friends. It was so embarrassing that it took a couple of years before my mom could persuade me to swim again.”
“How did she convince you?” I ask.
“She surprised me with water wing arm floaties that had shark fins attached to the sides,” he says, motioning toward his arms. “She said that when I wore them, it meant she’d be right there beside me. And that when I did the breaststroke, it would look like I was swimming with sharks. She made it sound really badass. Mind you, I was five. It took some time but I eventually learned how to swim on my own.”
“Your mom sounded like a smart woman.”
Bennett’s smile vanishes as he looks out at the ocean. “The smartest,” he says quietly.
I reach for his hand and give it a light squeeze. “Maybe we overcome our fear of our businesses failing by learning how to swim. Metaphorically, of course.”
His smile reappears, dimples and all. “We’ll just have to find adult-sized shark fin floaties. You know, swimming with the sharks isn’t terribly far off from how it feels to run a business. Because of their olfactory organs, sharks have acute senses of smell and can detect low concentrations of odors that help them identify prey or potential mates. They’re incredibly aware of their environment and are impressively in tune with what’s around them and what they need to do to survive.”
“Sharks could also be below us right now. Trust nothing,” I say jokingly. The rush of an old memory swells in me. “I was also broken up with on a dock once.”
“The thought that anyone could leave you blows my mind,” he says quietly. “Was he someone you were serious about?”
I play with a thread on the sleeve of my sweater. “I thought I was. He was actually incompatible with me.”
“Really?” Bennett asks slowly and in a surprised tone.
“He was a Snake.”
Bennett exhales and leans back against the railing. His eyes flicker out toward the horizon and then back to me. “What happened?”
“He was jealous and possessive, never trusting me when I had male clients to match. He belittled my work and always said how he never understood why I do what I do,” I say, trying to piece together fragmented memories. “He’d always remind me that we were incompatible and questioned why I was obsessed with matching compatible people. Of course at the time, I thought I loved him and our relationship. So enamored, in fact, that I dragged my friend into an incompatible relationship, too.”
“Dragged doesn’t seem like the right word,” Bennett says, lightly squeezing the aluminum can of bubbly water.
“No,” I admit, “we were both excited about the match at first. I really thought I was happy, and that she would be, too. I never wanted to hurt her.”
“Of course not,” Bennett says, bending his knee and draping his forearm over it, leaning in closer as though he doesn’t want to miss a single word I say.
“I’m the one who taught my ex about the different traits, which of course he laughed about at first,” I continue. “Then he got a big job opportunity in New York and expected me to go with him. But I stayed here. We tried long distance because he didn’t want to give us up. He said he’d be back.”
“Did he come back?” Bennett asks.
I shake my head. “Turns out his ex from college was living in New York, too.”
“So he broke up with you to be with his ex-girlfriend?”
“Well, not exactly,” I say, trailing off. “Apparently he was dating her long distance while he was living here in California. He moved to New York to be with her, turning me into the long-distance girl. When I found out and we broke up, he had the nerve to say that it was because they were more compatible.” That was the last time I’ll ever be a pawn in someone’s game.
“That’s shitty,” Bennett says. “He sounds like a piece of work who didn’t realize he had something great right in front of him.”
“I knew better.” I adjust the baseball cap. “I’ve worked with a lot of people who have been scorned by love. And it’s not like I’ve never been through a breakup before. But I let him manipulate me. The signs were there. His traits were obvious the entire time. I let myself get so swept away that I only saw his positive traits.”
“And now you only see the incompatible traits in people,” he says, pausing a moment before adding, “Not everyone is him. Have you ever considered that maybe your ex wasn’t possessive because he’s a Snake but because he was just an asshole?”
A laugh sails out of me. “Probably. Definitely.” I think for a moment on this, soaking in the silence. “Losing my friend was worse than losing my ex,” I say. “After all of that happened, I actually took six months off from matchmaking. I questioned everything about myself, the Chinese zodiac, and the concept of relationships. I took some me-time, and when I came back to LA, my friend was gone. Nowhere to be found.”
“She left without saying anything?” he asks.
“Yeah. She never wanted to talk to me again.”
“Oh, so she told you that.”
“Well, no. But her actions told me everything I needed to know.”
“I see,” Bennett says, looking like he’s gathering his thoughts. “When my mother died, I thought my father hated her because he never wanted to talk about her.” He bends the silver tab back and forth on the can until it comes loose. “What I realized is that he never wanted to talk about her because he loved her so much it hurt to bring her up. Our actions don’t always reveal our true intentions.”
“You’re probably right.” I fiddle with the buckle on my life vest.
“You know it’s never too late,” he says kindly.
“We’ll see,” I say with a shrug.
He reaches for his bag and pulls out a plastic container of cut strawberries. “What brought you back to Lunar Love?” he asks, offering me the tub of fruit and a fork.
I pierce my fork into a sliced-up strawberry. “I missed it too much. The zodiac is in my veins. But I vowed to never let something like that happen again. For myself or my clients.” Even as I say the words, I feel my resolve slipping.