21. Emory
EMORY
I wake up to the smell of bacon and the sound of Vada singing off-key in the kitchen, and for a moment I just lie there processing how domestic this has become in less than a week.
We've got keys to our new place, a moving truck reserved for the weekend, and our first joint client consultation scheduled for this afternoon.
The singing stops abruptly, followed by what sounds like creative swearing.
"Everything okay?" I call out, rolling out of bed and pulling on shorts.
"Perfectly fine," Vada calls back, but there's definitely an edge to her voice that suggests otherwise.
I find her in the kitchen staring at her laptop with the expression she gets when she's trying to solve a complicated logistics problem. There's a perfectly cooked breakfast spread across the counter, but she's completely focused on whatever's on her screen.
"What's wrong?" I ask, wrapping my arms around her from behind and peering over her shoulder.
"The Cabo couple wants to do a video call in an hour," she says, leaning back against my chest. "I thought we had until this afternoon to prep, but apparently they're on East Coast time and didn't think to mention it."
"Okay," I say, trying to sound calm despite the fact that my stomach just dropped. "That's fine. We can handle an hour."
"Can we?" she asks, turning in my arms to face me. "Because I've been lying here since five AM thinking about all the ways this could go wrong. What if we're terrible at working together? What if our styles don't match? What if they can tell we have no idea what we're doing?"
There it is—the anxiety spiral I remember from college, when she'd work herself up about presentations or group projects until she was convinced everything was going to be a disaster.
"Vada," I say, cupping her face in my hands, "breathe. We've got this."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because we've been working together all week without even realizing it," I point out. "Every time we created content, every time we coordinated activities, every time we solved problems together. This is just making it official."
She takes a deep breath and nods, but I can see she's still wound up about the timing change.
"Besides," I add with a grin, "worst case scenario, we're just two attractive people who clearly enjoy each other's company talking about planning parties in Mexico. How bad could that be?"
"You're right," she says, and I can see her event planner brain starting to take over. "Okay. Coffee, breakfast, quick strategy session, then we charm the hell out of these people."
"Now you're talking," I say, kissing her quickly before reaching for the coffee she's already made.
An hour later, we're sitting at her dining table with laptops and notebooks spread between us, looking like we know what we're doing.
Vada's in a professional but approachable blouse, I'm in a button-down that photographs well on camera, and we've managed to create the impression that we regularly conduct business meetings at a dining room table.
"Remember," Vada says as she opens the video call link, "you take lead on travel logistics and content creation, I handle event coordination and vendor management. We're equal partners, not boss and employee."
"Got it," I say, then the screen connects and we're looking at a couple who are clearly as excited about their wedding as they are nervous about planning it.
"Hi! You must be Vada and Emory," the woman says with a smile that immediately puts me at ease. "I'm Sarah, and this is my fiancé Mike. Thank you so much for taking the time to meet with us."
"Thanks for reaching out," Vada says smoothly, falling into her professional mode in a way that's immediately impressive. "We're excited to hear about your vision for Cabo."
What follows is exactly the kind of consultation I hoped it would be. Sarah and Mike have clearly done their research—they've watched our Paradise Cove content, they understand what we're offering, and they want authentic documentation of their celebration rather than stuffy formal photography.
"We saw how you two worked together during that volleyball tournament," Mike says with obvious enthusiasm, "and that's exactly the kind of energy we want for our wedding. Real moments, genuine fun, people actually enjoying themselves."
"That's our specialty," I say, glancing at Vada and catching her small smile of approval. "Creating content that shows what the experience actually feels like, not just what it looks like."
"Emory handles all the visual storytelling," Vada adds seamlessly, "while I coordinate with vendors and manage the timeline to make sure everything runs smoothly. You get both professional event management and beautiful documentation."
The consultation goes better than I could have imagined.
Vada and I flow naturally between topics, building on each other's points without stepping on each other's toes.
When Sarah asks about logistics, Vada handles it with confidence and expertise.
When Mike wants to know about content deliverables, I can explain exactly what they'll receive and when.
"This sounds perfect," Sarah says after we've covered budget and timeline. "But I have to ask—working together romantically and professionally, how do you make that work?"
It's the question I was dreading, but Vada handles it without missing a beat.
"Honestly, it makes us better at both," she says with genuine warmth. "We trust each other completely, we communicate well, and we want the same thing—to create something beautiful for our clients."
"Plus," I add, "when you're genuinely excited about what you're doing, it shows in the work. We love what we do, and we love doing it together."
"That definitely comes through," Mike agrees. "So what are the next steps?"
Twenty minutes later, we're ending the call with a signed contract, a deposit, and timeline for their March wedding in Cabo. As soon as the screen goes black, Vada and I just stare at each other for a moment.
"Did that just happen?" she asks.
"We just booked our first client," I confirm, feeling a rush of excitement and relief. "Holy shit, Vada. We did it."
"We did," she says, but instead of looking excited, she looks slightly panicked. "Oh God, now we actually have to do it."
"Hey," I say, reaching across the table to take her hands. "What's wrong?"
"What if we can't deliver what we promised? What if we get down there and realize we have no idea how to coordinate a destination wedding? What if—"
"Vada," I interrupt gently. "You've been planning events for years. I've been creating content in challenging locations all over the world. We're going to be fine."
"But this is different," she says. "This is our business. Our reputation. If we mess this up..."
"We won't mess it up," I say with more confidence than I feel, because honestly, the responsibility is a little overwhelming. "And even if something goes wrong, we'll figure it out together. That's what partners do."
The word "partners" seems to settle something in her, and I watch her shoulders relax slightly.
"Partners," she repeats. "I like the sound of that."
"Good," I say, bringing her hands to my lips to kiss her knuckles. "Because I'm thinking this is just the beginning."
We spend the rest of the morning creating a shared project management system and dividing up initial research tasks.
It's weirdly satisfying to see our different skills complement each other—Vada's organizational systems merged with my visual planning, her vendor contacts combined with my location scouting experience.
"This actually works," Vada says, looking at the timeline we've created together. "We're not duplicating effort or stepping on each other's roles."
"Almost like we're good at this," I agree, saving our shared document.
"Don't get cocky," she says with a smile. "We haven't actually pulled off a wedding yet."
"Details," I say, which makes her laugh.
By afternoon, we're deep in research mode—vendor lists for Cabo, accommodation options for guests, potential ceremony locations that will photograph well. Vada's at her most focused, and watching her work is like seeing an artist in their element.
"What about this place?" I ask, showing her photos of a beachfront resort with incredible natural lighting.
"Good bones," she says, studying the images with professional assessment. "Though we'd need to check their vendor policies and see whether they allow outside photographers for the ceremony space."
"I can reach out to my contact there," I offer. "Shot content there two years ago, and the events manager was great to work with."
"Perfect," Vada says, making notes in our shared system. "That's exactly what I mean about this partnership working. I never would have had that connection."
The afternoon flies by as we dive deeper into planning. It's collaborative in the best way—we're building on each other's ideas, solving problems together, creating something neither of us could do alone.
"We should probably take a break," Vada says eventually, stretching in her chair. "My brain's starting to blur vendor names together."
"Agreed," I say, closing my laptop. "Besides, we've got that dinner with Maya tonight."
"Right," Vada says, checking the time. "She wants to celebrate our new apartment and interrogate you about your intentions."
"My intentions?"
"Maya takes her best friend duties very seriously," Vada explains with obvious affection. "She's going to want to make sure you're not going to break my heart and disappear back to your nomad lifestyle."
"And what should I tell her?"
"The truth," Vada says simply. "That you're here to stay."
Something about the way she says it makes my chest warm. Because she's right—I am here to stay. Not just in Portland, but with her, building whatever this is we're creating together.
"Good answer," I say, standing to pull her up from her chair. "Though I should probably mention that watching you work today was incredibly hot."
"Was it?" she asks with obvious interest.
"Very," I confirm, backing her against the wall beside her desk. "Something about competent professional Vada makes me want to mess up all your careful organization."
"Is that so?" she says, her hands finding the buttons of my shirt. "Well, lucky for you, we're technically off the clock right now."
"Very lucky," I agree, leaning down to kiss her in a way that definitely qualifies as unprofessional.
What follows is the kind of impromptu desk-adjacent situation that would absolutely violate our theoretical workplace guidelines, but since we're in her apartment and technically our own bosses, I'm calling it a productivity break.
"We're going to be late meeting Maya," Vada says afterward, both of us slightly disheveled and breathing hard.
"Worth it," I say, helping her straighten her shirt. "Though we should probably establish some actual ground rules about this before we're working with clients."
"Probably," she agrees, but she's smiling in a way that suggests those ground rules might be challenging to maintain.
Two hours later, we're sitting across from Maya at a trendy Portland restaurant, and I can tell she's been waiting all day to conduct this conversation.
"So," Maya says once we've ordered, "Emory. Let's talk about your long-term plans."
"Maya," Vada warns, but she's clearly not surprised by the directness.
"What? These are legitimate questions," Maya says unapologetically. "I need to know whether you're planning to stick around or if this is some extended vacation before you get bored and move on to the next adventure."
I appreciate that she's protecting Vada, even if the interrogation is slightly intimidating.
"I'm not going anywhere," I say honestly. "I mean, we'll travel for work, but Portland's home now. Vada's home."
"And the business partnership? That's not just an excuse to spend more time together?"
"The business partnership is real," Vada interjects. "We booked our first client today, actually."
"Really?" Maya's protective expression immediately shifts to excitement. "That's amazing! Tell me everything."
The rest of dinner passes with Vada and me explaining the Cabo project while Maya asks increasingly detailed questions about logistics and timeline. By dessert, she's fully on board with our professional collaboration and making suggestions about marketing strategy.
"You guys could seriously build something incredible," Maya says as we're leaving the restaurant. "Travel meets events, authentic documentation, couples who actually like each other—it's a perfect niche."
"That's the plan," I say, taking Vada's hand as we walk back to her car.
"Good," Maya says with obvious satisfaction. "Because I've already started telling people about your services, and I have at least three friends who are going to want to hire you."
"Maya," Vada laughs, "we've had one consultation."
"So? You two are naturals at this. Trust me."
Later, as we're getting ready for bed, I catch myself thinking about how much has changed in just a few days. We've got an apartment, a business, and Maya's official approval. It feels like we're actually building something real together, not just playing house.
"Good day?" Vada asks, settling beside me.
"Great day," I confirm, pulling her closer. "Though I think we're going to need those professional boundaries we talked about."
"Probably," she agrees, but she's already kissing my neck in a way that suggests boundaries might be more theoretical than practical.
"Tomorrow," I say, my hands finding the hem of her shirt.
"Definitely tomorrow," she agrees, and then we're both too distracted to worry about professional protocols.
Some partnerships require very careful boundary management. Others just require trusting that you're building something worth the complications.