“Okay. Good. So then why do you look concerned?”
Bennett puts his hands up on his hips. “Who, me? This is what I look like when I’m right. Because of ZodiaCupid. You’re hitting it off with someone you met on my app. Maybe we know what we’re doing after all, huh?”
I rip off a piece of cold soft pretzel and dip it in the cup of mustard. “I see why you picked him. He’s cute, though you couldn’t have known that, so you got lucky on that one. He’s also excited by the challenge of running his family’s business. I can respect a legacy. From what he shared with me, it sounds like he makes good instinctive decisions. It’s clear he cares about both his work and family.” I pop the mustardy pretzel into my mouth.
“You were easier to crack than I thought.” Bennett looks perplexed as he shifts his footing.
“Don’t get too excited.” I wrinkle my nose. “This is me having an open mind. This is good! You want some?”
“Did you know that, in the seventeenth century, soft pretzels were incorporated into weddings? The bride and groom would make a wish, break the pretzel, then eat it. Kind of like a big, soft, loopy wishbone.” Bennett yanks a chunk of pretzel off, dips it in mustard, and then crams it into his mouth. “Good,” he says between a full bite.
I laugh out loud at his goofiness. “You have mustard on your lip,” I say, tentatively reaching forward. “May I?”
“Oh, this? I want that there,” he says, angling his head back.
With my foam finger–free hand, I tuck my thumb into a napkin and delicately wipe the yellow smudge off his face. The backs of my fingers rest against his cheek as I press against the edge of his lips.
“There,” I say, my fingers grazing his jawline. Heat shoots through the center of my body, and I quickly inhale a breath of air.
“Thanks,” he says quietly. A smile disrupts Bennett’s serious face.
I follow his laugh lines over to his gold-flecked eyes and down to his rosy lips. They’re slightly parted, as though something important to say is on the tip of his tongue. The shouting of “Sweet Caroline” in the stadium grows louder, pulling me out of my daze.
“I know our animal sign traits match well together, but compatibility is, well, it’s complex,” I say, picking up where I think we left off. I crumple the mustard-stained napkin in my hand. “Like I said, we’re only in the third inning. Don’t start thinking of podcast talking points yet.”
Bennett eyes me up. “It’s complex, or you make it complex?”
I look down at the tray of cold food. “Hey, next time I come back here, think you can bring one of those small plastic Dodgers caps with nachos in it?” I ask, ignoring his question completely.
“What? Oh, yeah, sure,” Bennett says, looking distracted. He leans over the railing in the direction of where Owen and I are sitting.
“Also, good news. Harper said she’s open to another date,” I add. “This Friday work for you?”
Bennett refocuses on me. “I promised you I’d be open to it, so I’ll be there.”
“Fantastic. I knew you two would hit it off,” I say. “Okay, I should probably go down to my seat. Don’t forget the nachos hat.”
“Do you want dessert? I can buy you dessert after you eat your nachos,” he asks.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to mix nachos and ice cream.”
“What about a churro?” he offers.
I shake my head. “That might be too much greasy food for one game.”
“That could be true,” he says, seemingly disappointed.
I carry the food down to Owen, who’s in the middle of a phone call talking about grapes and corks.
“Take these,” I whisper. “I’ll be right back. I forgot something.”
I race up the stairs, foam finger slicing through the air as I run.
“Bennett! Bennett!” I yell.
He turns around, looking surprised.
“I almost forgot to tell you,” I pant. “It’s very important.”
“What is it?” he asks.
“Don’t forget the jalapenos!” I say.
A look of amusement flashes across his face.
“Got it. Jalapenos,” he says. “Anything else, my Queen?”
I tap the foam finger against my chin as I think. “Cheese. Don’t forget the cheese.”
“I get it. You want nachos. They’re pretty straightforward. Cheese, tomatoes, beans, some kind of meat. Preferably a pickled jalapeno or a red pepper. Maybe even some sour cream. Understood.”
I wiggle my giant blue finger in front of his face. “No sour cream.” I boop the tip of his nose. “I want ice cream, too.”
Bennett shrugs. “I can make this faster and mix it all together.”
“No, go to the nacho stand first, then have the ice cream guy top it all off.”
Bennett chuckles at this, and I join him. The laughter is contagious, our shoulders rippling in sync.
“Okay. Get going. I don’t want to keep you from your date,” Bennett finally says, his eyes still watery from laughter.
“Don’t worry about him. He’s down there fermenting.” I burst out in another fit of laughter.
Bennett smiles but doesn’t seem to understand the reference. “He’s what?”
I side-eye him. “You don’t get it because you don’t know anything about him! He’s in the wine business,” I explain.
“Ah, so he only gets better with age,” he says with a smirk.
Once again, I’m giddy with laughter. I head back to my seat with a stupid grin on my face.
By the top of the fourth inning, Owen and I have exhausted our small talk and have formed an understanding. We’ll leave at the top of the eighth so we can get out of the parking lot before everyone else. I say I’ll visit his winery’s tasting room, and he vows to look up Lunar Love if ZodiaCupid doesn’t work out.
A text from Alisha buzzes in my lap. Have you seen the social media numbers lately?
I pull up the Twitter app on my phone and tap the notifications bubble. 80 retweets? 200 likes? I respond.
Your moon song pairings with zodiac signs is by far the most popular strategy so far. A few people have reached out to learn about what we do, she messages.
Feeling rude, I glance up at Owen, who’s luckily busy managing his own messages. I can at least appreciate the man’s work ethic.
That’s amazing. Let’s keep going with that. See if we can double that number. If we’re attracting potential clients, it’s worth pursuing. These numbers give us a direction to move toward, I write.
Oh no. I’m starting to sound like Bennett.
I stare out over the field, mindlessly eating my licorice rope and watching the sun disappear behind the stadium lights. The fact that my first date through ZodiaCupid was not a total nightmare is slightly worrying.
But the biggest curveball of today—and perhaps the most distressing realization—is that for the rest of the inning, all I can think about is Bennett O’Brien and when I’ll get to see him next.
Chapter 14