Chapter 7: THE BROOKLYN EXPEDITION
Park Slope looked different in the morning light.
The brownstones that had seemed charming on Saturday now felt like a maze designed by someone who hated efficiency. Every street looked the same—tree-lined, well-maintained, populated by people who clearly had strong opinions about organic produce and local coffee roasters.
I'd been walking for forty-five minutes, following an invisible thread that only I could see.
Karen's string had been bright when I left my apartment, a pale pink line stretching east toward Brooklyn. But the closer I got to its destination, the more it seemed to shift and dance, like it was teasing me. This way. No, this way. Actually, maybe over there.
[String Tracking Active]
[Target: Karen Mitchell's Primary Connection]
[Current Range: 150 meters]
[Direction: Northwest]
[FP Cost: Active — Currently at 48/100]
A woman walking a stroller gave me a wide berth. I couldn't blame her—I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, staring at nothing, occasionally muttering under my breath. I probably looked like I was having a conversation with ghosts.
Which, in a way, I was. Ghosts of futures that hadn't happened yet.
"Just find the damn bookstore," I muttered, and stepped off the curb.
The cyclist came out of nowhere.
One second I was crossing the bike lane, the next I was diving sideways, hitting the pavement hard as a flash of neon spandex and righteous fury blurred past my head.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING, ASSHOLE!"
I lay on the ground for a moment, taking inventory. Scraped palm. Bruised elbow. Dignity: critically wounded.
A teenager with headphones stopped to stare at me. "You okay, dude?"
"Fine." I picked myself up, brushed off my jeans. "Just practicing my dramatic sidewalk dismounts."
He walked away, clearly deciding I wasn't worth the interaction.
The string pulsed. Brighter now. Close.
[Target Range: 50 meters]
[Direction: Directly ahead]
I looked up and saw it: a small storefront wedged between a yoga studio and a place that sold artisanal cheese. The sign above the door read "Pages & Prose" in elegant gold lettering. A cat slept in the window display, surrounded by staff picks and a hand-lettered sign that said "Audiobooks Count, Fight Me."
The string led directly inside.
I pushed through the door.
The smell hit me first—paper and dust and something that might have been cinnamon. The store was narrow but deep, shelves crammed floor to ceiling with books that looked like they'd been loved by multiple owners. Jazz played softly from speakers I couldn't see.
And behind the counter, arguing passionately with a customer, was Daniel Park.
I recognized him from my scouting trip—same dark hair, same glasses, same vaguely professorial sweater. But the system provided details I hadn't caught before.
[Match Identified: Daniel Park]
[Age: 29. Occupation: Bookstore Owner]
[Primary String: Leads to Karen Mitchell, Manhattan]
[Compatibility: 72%]
[String Pattern: Reciprocal — Both parties demonstrate mutual attraction potential]
[Current Emotional State: Mildly annoyed (customer dispute)]
[Dealbreakers: None detected]
"I'm just saying," the customer—a middle-aged man in running clothes—was gesturing emphatically, "listening to a book is not the same as reading a book. The experience is fundamentally different."
Daniel's expression suggested he'd had this argument before. Possibly hundreds of times.
"And I'm just saying that the story enters your brain either way. The medium doesn't diminish the content." He tapped the counter with one finger. "Blind people have been enjoying literature for centuries without using their eyes. Are you saying their experience doesn't count?"
The customer opened his mouth. Closed it. Frowned.
"That's... not the same thing."
"It's exactly the same thing. Books are ideas. Ideas don't care how they get into your head."
I found myself smiling. Karen had said she wanted someone honest—someone who told the truth even when it was hard. Daniel was currently telling a customer that his opinion was wrong, in the customer's face, in his own store.
That was a particular kind of honest.
I pretended to browse while the argument wound down. The customer eventually bought a cookbook (paper, not audio, making a point that Daniel clearly found amusing), and then I was the only person in the store.
"Can I help you find something?"
Daniel had appeared beside me, moving with the quiet efficiency of someone who spent most of his time navigating narrow aisles. Up close, his eyes were warm behind the glasses—the kind of eyes that suggested he actually cared about the answer to his question.
"Just looking." I picked up the nearest book without checking the title. "Friend recommended this place."
"Yeah? Which friend?"
"Karen Mitchell. We work together." The lie came easily. "She said you have a great book club."
Daniel's face lit up. "Karen? Short red hair, works in marketing?"
For a moment, I froze. Then I remembered—Karen had been here before. Saturday. The book club. She'd already made first contact.
I was behind on my own operation.
"That's her."
"She came to our meeting last week. Smart reader. Good taste." He grinned. "We're doing The Secret History next month if you're interested."
"Maybe." I glanced at the book in my hand for the first time. The Complete Guide to North American Waterfowl. Three hundred pages of duck identification, apparently.
Daniel noticed. "You, uh... into birds?"
"Yes," I said, because committing to the bit was better than admitting I'd grabbed randomly. "Huge bird guy. Waterfowl especially. Can't get enough of those... waterfowl."
"O-kay." He took the book from me, studied it with the professional eye of someone who knew his inventory. "This is actually a solid field guide. Peterson updated it last year. The migration maps are excellent."
I was now trapped in a conversation about duck migration patterns with my client's future soulmate. This was not in the business plan.
"I'll take it."
"Are you sure? Because I have some other—"
"Positive. Love this book. Been meaning to read it for years."
Daniel shrugged, rang me up. Thirty-four dollars for a comprehensive guide to ducks I would never in my life need to identify.
"If you want to come to book club," he said as he bagged the book, "we meet every other Tuesday. Seven PM. It's pretty casual—just people who like to talk about what they've read."
"I'll think about it." I took the bag. "Thanks for the recommendation."
"Anytime. Tell Karen she's welcome back."
I left the store with my duck book and my reconnaissance complete. Daniel Park was everything Karen had asked for—honest, passionate, comfortable in his own skin. The kind of man who would argue with a customer about audiobooks because he genuinely believed what he was saying.
Seventy-two percent compatibility was looking more and more conservative.
[Reconnaissance Complete]
[Target Profile Updated: Daniel Park]
[Interests: Literature, cooking, passionate debate]
[Social Venue: Book club, biweekly Tuesdays]
[Recent History: Ended long-term relationship 8 months ago]
[Assessment: High-quality match for Karen Mitchell]
[+75 EXP for successful target identification]
On the subway home, I studied my purchase. The Complete Guide to North American Waterfowl stared back at me, its cover featuring a particularly smug-looking mallard.
Thirty-four dollars. For ducks.
I was committed now. I'd have to actually learn something about waterfowl in case Daniel ever asked.
My phone buzzed. Text from Ted.
"Emergency gang meeting tonight. Marshall's in crisis. Something about cheese futures? I don't understand but Lily says it's serious. MacLaren's, 8 PM."
I typed back: "Cheese futures?"
"DON'T ASK. Just come. We need neutral opinions."
Another text, this one from Karen.
"So... that book club guy. Daniel. He remembered me from Saturday. We talked for like twenty minutes after the meeting. He's kind of amazing?"
I smiled at the screen.
"Random question," I typed back. "Do you like book clubs?"
Her response came seconds later: "I literally just told you I went to one. Yes??"
"Good. Because I think you should go back. Next meeting. Don't ask why, just trust me."
Three dots. Typing. Stopped. Typing again.
"You're weird. But okay. I trust you."
[Quest Progress: Make Your First Match]
[Client: Karen Mitchell — Stage 2 active]
[Target: Daniel Park — Identified and profiled]
[Next Step: Facilitate second meeting. Build connection.]
I leaned back in my subway seat, duck book in my lap, phone in my hand, scraped palm throbbing slightly.
This was actually working.
I was actually doing this.
The train rattled toward Manhattan, carrying me back to whatever crisis Marshall was having about cheese, and I realized I was looking forward to it. The chaos. The drama. The people who had become, without my permission, something like friends.
In my first life, I'd died alone in a hospital bed with no one but nurses to hold my hand.
In this life, I had a matchmaking business, a book about ducks, and an emergency gang meeting about cheese futures.
Progress.
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