“Apple and pumpkin picking in sunshine, vibrant sunsets, cooler evenings, sweaters!” I rattle off.
She watches me closely. “What were you saying about last night?”
“Did I say something? I don’t think I said anything,” I tell her.
“You’re red! Are you blushing, or lying, or both? You’re face turns red when you lie.”
I fan myself with my hand. “This kitchen is hot!”
“Let me ask you a serious question, Olivia. Do you take me for a fool?”
I laugh. “You? A fool? That’s the last thing you are.”
“Good. And accurate. So tell me what it is,” she presses. Pó Po stops mixing the dumpling filling and leans against the counter.
“Are you feeling okay, Pó Po?” I ask. “Do you need to take a seat? I can take over.”
“Don’t fuss! I just need a quick break. When you get to be as old as I am, you’re always tired. Enjoy your body while you’re young and healthy,” she says, waving me off. “Besides, you still haven’t perfected the dumpling fold. Pay close attention.”
I watch as she pleats the dough swiftly. Following her lead, I spoon filling into the center of the wrapper and mimic her movements, folding the dough into a half-moon shape. “Whoops, too much filling,” I say, glancing up at Pó Po watching from the stool.
“That one’s yours,” she says, placing a plump dumpling on the plate in front of her. “Let’s not play this game. Tell me. Are you in love?”
“Love?” I laugh. “Come on, Pó Po. You can’t be throwing the L-word around like that. I can’t be happy? My marketing ideas for Lunar Love are starting to show traction. That makes me…joyful.”
Pó Po laughs and wipes flour off her hands with a dish towel. “Very good, but that’s not it. Liv, I’ve spent my life around those in love. I know it like astronomers know the craters of the moon.”
I half smile. “My mind’s just a little…preoccupied.”
“Go on.” Pó Po looks over at me with an upturned eyebrow. She reaches for an apple pear in the fruit bowl and a paring knife from the knife block. “Could you please get me two bowls?”
“I think I’m just a little in over my head,” I say, my walls slowly coming down. I grab two bowls from the cabinet and slide them toward her. One month in and I’ve done the opposite of proving myself worthy of taking over Pó Po’s business.
She frowns. “How so?” With a few swift turns of her wrist, the skin of the apple pear curls off against the knife’s blade into spiral shavings.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say. She can probably sense how hard I’m trying.
“You know you can tell me. You’re letting the business get between us. I know how you want to be perceived, especially by me, but I don’t care about business owner Olivia. Right now I care about my granddaughter Olivia.”
Pó Po cuts the skinned apple pear into smaller slices, arranging them into a bowl. She pushes it toward me. Pó Po’s cut fruit is always a treat, calming me in stressful times. I love watching her efficiently and swiftly skin apples and pears, score and cube juicy mangoes, and cut through melons with ease. Fruits always taste sweeter when they come from her.
Frozen in place, I stare at the shiny fruit. Once Pó Po knows the truth, I fear that she’ll regret ever having made me owner. That she’ll be so frustrated that she’ll revoke my status and send me on my way. I’ll have humiliated myself and, worst of all, be a disappointment and bring shame upon the family name. I bite into a slice, crunching the fruit between my teeth slowly. “Thank you,” I say, trailing off.
Pó Po must sense my hesitation because she holds her pinky out toward me. Slowly, I bring my pinky up to hers, and we press our thumbs together.
“I…made a bet,” I say, staring down at the plate of dumplings. “I bet that I could make Bennett, you know the one, fall in love. If I can, which I will, I’ll get great press for Lunar Love. And ten new clients paid in full, which would be huge for us.”
Pó Po slowly sips her wine. “You think you can make Bennett fall in love?” she says, amused.
“I know I can,” I say. We resume our dumpling pleating. “Do you not think I can?”
“He’s a very determined man. And he’s focused on his business,” she says.
My hands stop. “Pó Po, what do you know?”
Pó Po only moves faster, her fingers filling, folding, filling, folding. “I know nothing.”
I give her a look.
She sighs. “During the times I met with him, I noticed he doesn’t like to get too attached. He can be pretty unemotional.”
“Well, yeah, this I know,” I say, conflicted. That kiss last night wasn’t unemotional.
“From everything he’s told me about his mother,” Pó Po says, “well, I suspect he doesn’t want to fall in love with someone only to lose her. I don’t think he can bear to lose someone else important to him. I could be wrong. This is just one old, wise woman’s take on it.”
“You’re probably right then,” I say, distracted. Her words add weight to our wager. I think through Bennett and Harper’s compatible traits. They were a good match, but I guess it didn’t click for either of them. And the last thing I want is for him to be heartbroken again, especially because of the Head Matchmaker at Lunar Love. Heartbreak is the worst-case scenario for any of my matches. “I matched him with someone who was great. I’m sure I can find someone else.”
The thought of another person being with Bennett is discomforting. But kiss or no kiss, and despite blurred lines, the bet is still technically on, and I have to see that through. For Lunar Love’s sake.
I can feel Pó Po analyzing my expression. “I see,” she finally says.
I pour oil into a pan and turn the heat on the stove on high. “What do you see?”
“You like him.”
“Who? Bennett?” I laugh awkwardly.
“No, the mailman,” she deadpans. “Yes, Bennett.”
“No. I can’t like him. He’s maybe not as horrible as I made him out to be when I first learned about him, but he’s still my rival.”
Now Pó Po laughs. “Rival? What is this, high school football?”
“It’s not funny! His app launches in less than four months. You won’t be laughing when Lunar Love’s boarding up its doors.”
Pó Po laughs harder as she rises from her stool. “Lunar Love has been in business for over half a century,” she says, waving her hands in the air. “You don’t think we faced any competition in our days? Our roots are strong. We’ve survived many competitors. You’ll do the same. I know you can handle the pressure.” She takes the plate of dumplings and arranges a handful of them onto the hot oiled pan.
“Exactly. This is me handling it.”
“After Bennett came to me to learn about his parents, he wanted to pair up and work together,” Pó Po says casually.
I smush hardened dough between my fingers. “No…”
“You know my stance on trends and technology. Auntie and I turned him down, so he branched out on his own.”