Ten
Ian stood before his bathroom mirror, humming along to a song on the radio as he shaved his jawline.
Two weeks had passed since his session with Chloe in Central Park, and he was readying himself for their third session that night, which he was psyched about since they would be partaking of one of his guilty pleasures – something none of his hockey-loving guy friends knew about, except Fitz.
Originally, they had planned to go to a WNBA preseason game. On Chloe’s client questionnaire, in reply to a question about his sports-related hobbies, Ian had falsely divulged that he loved to go to live WNBA games… because there was slim chance he would run into anyone he actually knew who could unwittingly blow his cover.
Earlier that week, however, Ian had gotten an email alert reminding him that he had two VIP tickets to see Celeste that Saturday. Celeste was a theatrical troupe from South Africa that was akin to Cirque du Soleil, except their show was conducted entirely in the air. They upped the ante and artistry every year and he never missed an opportunity to see them when they were in town. Which was why he always purchased VIP tickets a year in advance.
As luck would have it, his tickets were reserved for the same night as the basketball game. Even though he could have switched his session to a different night, he had a hunch Chloe would love the show as much as he did.
Now, here he was, on the cusp of going out on a Saturday night with a woman who was neither a girlfriend nor a girlfriend-to-be, with VIP tickets he had purchased a year ago with zero doubt in his mind that Meaghan would be accompanying him as his plus-one and wife-to-be.
My what a difference a few months, a Dear John email and a gossip column make, he thought.
Then for a brief, ever so brief moment, Ian allowed his mind to wander and ponder what his life would be like if Meaghan had run off with that director guy months earlier – i.e., before Harrington’s wedding last summer.
What if he had been single to mingle when his gaze first fell upon the woman in the canary yellow sundress?
Undoubtedly, before nightfall, he would have introduced himself as Ian King, a journalist… not an architect. He would have regaled her with fun tales of undercover investigations past. Then they would have segued into talking, perhaps, about their mutual love of running and wanderlust for sights and cultures beyond the great blue sea.
Ian was unsure how he would have reacted when she shared how she did what she did for a living.
Granted, based on what he knew about Chloe thus far, namely how elusive she was outside her circle of clients and close friends, he doubted she would have shared that with him right off the bat.
Weeks later, when he had shored up her trust to the point where she felt comfortable bringing him fully into her inner circle, he would have been too far gone and head over sneaker heels to bother with journalistic and scientific skepticism.
And instead of spending the holiday season wallowing in a post-breakup funk of booze, darts and snarky sarcasm, he could have been spending it with her… cuddled up on his rooftop, watching New Year’s Eve fireworks dancing upon the midnight sky.
Ian sighed himself out of his fanciful reverie and back into the real world where he was a reporter undercover, currently deceiving a woman who was turning out to be not at all what he and Gunderson had expected.
He still was not one-hundred percent sold on this magical, matchmaking gift of hers, but he was definitely leaning towards the conclusion that Chloe did not have a malicious or avaricious bone in her body.
He pondered that maybe he should portray her not as the villain of his story, but as the exception. A respectable matchmaker whose methods were unorthodox and required a serious suspension of disbelief, but who seemed to have quite the batting average of matches resulting in love and marriage and babies, galore.
Meanwhile, across town, Chloe stood before a floor-length mirror in her bedroom putting on her favorite charm bracelet.
Ian had called her earlier that week to see if, for their third session, she would be okay switching out tonight’s WNBA game with something “a thousand times awesom-er!”
She had agreed, her curiosity piqued, especially when he provided no details beyond a recommendation to dress warm and comfortably.
Not sure how warm he was talking, she had settled upon an ankle-length maxi dress paired with a cute denim jacket and a pair of white sneakers. She also planned to bring along a Parisian scarf for added warmth if need be.
As Chloe gave herself a once-over in the mirror, the sound of door chimes filled the air.
“Can you get that?” Jenna hollered from the inner sanctum of her bedroom. “I’m on the toilet.”
“T-M-I,” Chloe volleyed back as she made her way to the front door.
She was fairly certain it was Jenna’s boyfriend, Marco, but she checked the keyhole just in case.
Sure enough, it was Marco wearing a designer jacket Jenna had gifted on his birthday. Though her roommate was fighting a losing battle in her campaign to purge Marco’s work overalls, she was steadily making upgrades to other parts of his wardrobe in the process.
Chloe opened the door and, just as she was about to give him a warm hug, the scent of Korean BBQ hot wings danced upon her nose in full come hither mode.
“Oh my god,” she gasped, looking down at the large carry-out bags in his hand. “You brought K-Pow!”
Marco chuckled. “Yeah, and I brought enough to feed a family of six… seeing how you and Jenna run through these like industrial vacuum cleaners.
He made his way to the kitchen and Chloe followed; for he was the Pied Piper and the K-Pow his hypnotic flute.
“So, what are we watching tonight?” he asked, setting the bags on the kitchen counter.
Saturday movie night had been a monthly tradition since Chloe and Jenna moved to the City. Boyfriends were welcome to join as long as they brought yummy food and respected the fact that they had zero say in the movie lineup.
“I don’t know,” Chloe replied. “I have to bow out tonight.”
“Hot date?”
“Session with a client.”
“But she looks like she’s going on a hot date, doesn’t she?” Jenna said, padding into the room.
“What? No. This is a normal dress. I’ve worn it numerous times.”
“Not like that you haven’t. But hey, I get it. You’re meeting up with Mr. Sexy Architect so…”
Jenna beelined past Marco, straight to the carryout bags.
“Um, boyfriend here, who you haven’t seen in like a month,” he said, melodramatically.
Jenna looked his way, her eyes softened. She doubled back, stood on her toes and gave him the sweetest of kisses.
“Your guilt trip won’t work on me, seeing how I met you at the airport yesterday,” she said, returning her full attention to the K-Pow bags.
“Oh, but it did work. I just got a kiss out of it, didn’t I?” he replied with a wink.
Jenna opened one of the cartons stuffed with BBQ wings and Chloe’s eyes and mind glazed over.
Jenna laughed. “Girl you might as well put on that apron over there because we both know you’re not leaving here without a few of these in your belly.”
Lacking any willpower whatsoever, Chloe wrapped an apron around the front of her dress. Then she dipped her hand into the carton, pulled out a delectable wing and thought, Come to Mama!
“How was your trip,” she asked Marco a moment later, licking her lips and reaching for a second wing.
“Ah-mazing,” he replied.
“Southeast Asia, right?”
He nodded. “Vietnam, Laos and Sri Lanka.”
Chloe grinned. She loved hearing all about Marco’s globe-trotting adventures as a professional photographer who shot limited-edition landscapes when he was not busy doing commissions for clients ranging from high-end fashion magazines to luxury travel properties.
“I can’t wait to see your photos,” she replied.
“You’re coming to the opening next month, right.”
“Of course!” she said, reaching for another wing. “I have it etched in stone on my calendar. By the way, I know I said this last time…”
“And the time before that,” Marco chimed in with a smile.
“But this time I’m resolute. The next time you go overseas, we’re coming with. You just have to give us enough heads up on when and where and we’ll be there.”
Jenna wrinkled her nose. “As long as it’s First World.”
“You’re such a snob,” Marco replied.
“I’m not a snob,” Jenna retorted between chews. “I’m a New Yorker.”
The night was cool and the moon shimmered at half-mast as Ian and Chloe stood side-by-side in the shorter of two lines that meandered towards an historic church, built in the late 1800s, that had been meticulously restored and transformed into a mixed-use performance space.
The entryway was decorated with illuminated panels of stained glass that made one feel as though one was about to step into a sanctum.
About them stood New Yorkers of all shapes, stripes and styles, all eager to partake of Celeste’s newest creation.
Ian glanced down at Chloe who seemed to be buzzing with anticipation by osmosis.
He was loving the low key sneakers she sported on her feet; and the easy, breezy way she had heeded his advice to dress comfortably. Some women he knew would have interpreted that as wear three-inch heels instead of four-inch ones.
His eye was then drawn to a delicate gold bracelet about her wrist that draped with charms of suns, moons and stars.
He reached out and touched one of the charms.
“Did you wear this because you had a premonition you were coming to a show called, Celeste?” he asked.
Chloe looked at the bracelet, loving the serendipity of it all.
“Celeste, huh,” she said. “So the show has something to do with space or the heavens?”
“You’ll see,” he said with an air of mystery as he took her hand in his, admiring the bracelet. “It’s very pretty, where’d you get it?”
“My dad gave it to me for my birthday.”
“Really? He has a good eye.”
Chloe smiled. “I’m pretty sure my stepmom picked it out on his behalf.”
“Behind every great man…” Ian said with a twinkle in his eye.
Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and retreated his own to a pants pocket.
“So do your parents know what you do for a living? Are they supportive?”
She nodded without hesitation. “They do. And yes, they are.”
“Is your mom a matchmaker, too? Like, does this sort of thing run in the family?”
She shook her head. “Not with any of the generations I know about.”
“Hmm,” Ian said before he dived in deeper. “You’re an only child right?”
She nodded.
“Are your parents at all worried that your work life may be interfering with your dating life?”
Chloe furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
He had not planned to go down a rabbit hole of personal questions about her dating life, but damned if he did not want to know the answer to every last one of them. He told himself it had to do with his story; his readers would want to know Chloe the Matchmaker’s dating status and relationship history.
“Well, you are here with me, a client, on a Saturday night, which is prime time in the dating world. I’d imagine that if you had a boyfriend, he wouldn’t be too keen on you spending nights out with handsome, single men every weekend.”
“Well, if I had a boyfriend, he would be someone who trusted that when I’m out with a client, male or female, handsome or otherwise, I’m one-hundred percent focused on helping them find their soulmate.”
So, no boyfriend at the moment, Ian thought, filing that away… for his story.
“What about you? Have you met your soulmate yet?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she said softly.
“Do you think you’ll know it when you do?”
“Of course,” she said with an upbeat smile.
But Ian was quick to notice her smile did not reach her eyes.
Could it be his magical matchmaker had an Achilles heel of her own? That her gift extended to all but herself; and she was just as mortal as the rest of us when it came to the affairs of her own heart?
“How can you be so certain?” he asked.
“My, aren’t you rapid-fire with the questions tonight,” she said with an exasperated grin.
“It’s the reporter in me.”
Chloe gave him a look. “What?”
Shit!
He suddenly realized the extent to which he had let down his guard around her.
“My friends say I fire off questions like a reporter,” he replied, praying his attempted recovery was a graceful and believable one.
“Yeah, you kind of do,” she replied.
“Okay, no more questions,” he said as he pantomimed locking his lips and throwing away the key.
Chloe’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “That’s going to be hard for you, isn’t it?”
He unlocked his lips. “You have no idea.”
She giggled and he relished the melody of it as they drew nigh to the church’s arch-shaped and intricately-carved wooden doors. He handed his VIP tickets to a young man wearing a blue vest.
“Enjoy the show,” the man said.
Inside, the theatre’s lobby was pulsing with the laughter and good cheer of couples and friends enjoying a pre-show cocktail.
“Do you want anything to eat? Drink?” Ian asked.
She shook her head. “I’m good.”
“You sure?”
“I ate before I came. But please, don’t let me stop you.”
“What’d you eat?” he asked, guiding her to a set of doors leading into the main auditorium.
“Have you heard of K-Pow?”
Ian’s mouth dropped.
“You had K-Pow and you didn’t bring me any!” he said, melodramatically.
Chloe bit her lip. “Mea culpa.”
“Weeks ago, I bestowed upon you the divine gift of hourmet and all I get in return is nada.”
She grinned. “I promise, next time I have K-Pow before one of our sessions, I will bring you one.”
“Just one?”
She breathed a guilty sigh. “You have no idea how quickly those things disappear in our house.”
Ian laughed as they stepped into a dimly-lit auditorium that was spacious yet intimate. Spread out before them were rows of plush, microsuede loungers that reclined back 180-degrees if one so chose.
Ian glanced at Chloe who was staring at the loungers, not sure what to think.
“Um…” came the sound of her voice.
“I guess now’s a good time to tell you the entire show takes place up there…” he said, pointing at the domed ceiling above.
“Ah,” she breathed. “Hence the name, Celeste.”
They weaved their way to a pair of VIP seats in the center of the room.
Moments later, once everyone had settled in their seats, the lights faded to black. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, makeshift stars began to twinkle in the dome above.
Suddenly, an angelic nymph fluttered across the ‘night sky,’ gracefully, playfully.
Then another nymph appeared, and another and another till there were five. Orchestral music crescendoed about them as they danced and twirled and soared. Their every movement effortless. Mesmerizing. Beautiful.
Ian nestled his head back into the soft cushion of his seat, wondering if Chloe was as enthralled by the pomp and artistry of the opening sequence as he.
And, as the nymphs nosedived towards the audience then back up again, he knew this was shaping up to be Celeste’s best show yet.
An hour later, when the lights shifted from dark to dim for intermission, Ian rolled his head to the right to look at Chloe.
She lay there, still staring up at the ‘sky.’ Her face was shadowed and he could not make out her expression.
“What’d you think?” he asked.
“That was amazing,” she whispered.
She turned her head to meet his gaze. Her eyes glistened and Ian was struck by the wonderment in her eyes.
“Just… marvelous and amazing.”
Ian smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Why have I never heard of this?”
“They’re a traveling troupe that stops in the city once or twice a year. They don’t advertise, it’s all word of mouth. Friends bringing friends. Girlfriends bringing boyfriends. They always sell out months in advance.
She grinned ever so sweetly. “Then I am doubly glad you brought me, because that was incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Me neither,” he replied, thinking only of her.
A spell seemed to fall upon them as they gazed into each other’s eyes, suddenly deaf to the words and blind to the movements of all those around them.
Ian noticed the remnants of a tear in the corner of her eye and reached over to wipe it away.
When his skin brushed against hers, her eyes fluttered, but she did not look away. Emboldened, Ian’s touch gave way to a caress, as his thumb traced the contour of her cheek.
Like a moth to a flame, his gaze lowered to her lips and in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to savor the taste and feel of them.
He began to lean in for a kiss. His thumb caressing her cheek, his mind white hot with curiosity and desire.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the sound of a woman’s voice on the PA system, “the performance will recommence in ten minutes.”
Ian watched, powerless and with bated breath, as Chloe blinked and looked away, her mind switching back into work mode.
Reluctantly, his hand fell away from her face.
And just like that, the spell between them was broken.