4. Vada
VADA
I close my suite door and immediately lean back against it, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. My heart is still racing from seeing Emory, and I need a moment to process what just happened before I take a few clips for social media.
Emory Wise. In the flesh. At my ex-boyfriend's wedding to his ex-girlfriend.
I push off from the door and head toward the bathroom, pulling out my phone to create some quick content while my makeup is still intact and the evening lighting is perfect through the windows.
"Hey everyone," I say to my camera, managing what I hope looks like my normal bright smile.
"Just got back from the most gorgeous welcome cocktail party.
Paradise Cove is absolutely incredible, and meeting all the other guests has been so much fun.
" I pan the camera to show the stunning ocean view from my suite.
"Tomorrow starts a full week of celebrations, and I cannot wait to share this beautiful experience with all of you. "
I end the video and set my phone aside, not trusting myself to create any more content until I've processed whatever happened downstairs.
My followers expect authentic behind-the-scenes moments, but "guess who I just ran into, literally ran into, my college boyfriend" feels like too much authenticity for a Monday night.
I start removing my makeup, using the familiar routine to calm my racing thoughts. Eight years. God, he looks incredible. Older, but in all the right ways. Those warm brown eyes remain unchanged, and his smile still gives me butterflies I thought I'd outgrown.
The bathroom lighting is phenomenal, and I catch myself wondering if he's creating content right now too. Probably. His travel influencer account has always been impressive, and a resort like this is exactly the kind of place his followers would want to see.
Focus, Vada. This is about supporting Jared's happiness, not getting distracted by your college boyfriend who you haven't thought about in... okay, fine, who you've definitely thought about but only in a nostalgic way that doesn't mean anything.
I change into comfortable pajamas and settle onto the gorgeous bed with my laptop, planning to do some work.
Building my event planning business means I can't afford to take a full week off, even in paradise.
I have three upcoming weddings to coordinate, and I should use this time to create some inspiration content that—
"Yeah, Carlos, it's insane."
I freeze. That's Emory's voice, clear as if he's standing in my room instead of next door. The adjoining wall situation is going to be more of a privacy issue than I anticipated.
I shouldn't listen to his conversation. I should put on headphones or turn up music—anything other than eavesdropping on my college ex-boyfriend talking to whoever Carlos is.
"No, I didn't know she was going to be here," Emory continues. His voice drifts through the thin wall as if he's standing beside me. "Trust me, if I'd known Jared had also dated Vada, I would have mentioned that my ex was marrying my college girlfriend's ex-boyfriend."
College girlfriend. The casual way he refers to me sends an odd pang through my chest that I don't want to analyze.
"She looks incredible, man. I mean, she always did, but she's grown into herself, you know? More confident. More successful. She's building her own event planning business now."
Wait, how does he know about my business? We haven't talked about careers yet beyond basic pleasantries.
"This dude, Derek somebody, started with the oversharing," Emory says with a laugh I remember from late-night conversations in our shared apartment senior year. "Announced to everyone that 'Jared dumped her' and brought up her corporate job situation. Guy has zero filter."
I wince. Derek's tactless commentary was worse than I remembered, and it was obvious enough that Emory picked up on how uncomfortable it made me.
"No, it wasn't weird seeing her," Emory continues, though something in his tone suggests otherwise. "I mean, it was surprising, obviously, but we ended things well. No drama, no hard feelings. We just grew apart after graduation, wanted different things."
That's accurate, though hearing him summarize our entire relationship history in two sentences feels oddly reductive.
We were together for two years, lived together senior year, talked about post-graduation plans that just naturally led us in different directions.
It wasn't dramatic or painful; we both knew we were better as friends than as a couple trying to force something that wasn't quite right.
"The problem is we're in adjoining suites," Emory says, and I can hear him moving around, probably pacing the way he used to when he was processing something complicated.
"Like, connecting rooms with a shared terrace.
And Erika wants to pair us together for all the couple activities this week because we're both single. "
There's a pause, and I assume Carlos is responding to this information.
"Yeah. A whole week in close quarters with someone I used to be in love with, pretending we're casual friends while everyone analyzes our every interaction for signs of romantic drama."
Used to be in love with.
That phrase hits differently than I expected.
Because he's right—we did love each other, in that intense, all-consuming way that happens in college when everything feels like the most important thing ever.
But hearing Emory acknowledge it out loud, even to someone else, brings back memories I thought I'd filed away safely in the "fond college experiences" category of my brain.
"She seems happy for Jared," Emory continues. "No jealousy or weirdness about watching him marry someone else."
"No, I'm not still hung up on her," Emory says, answering a question I couldn't hear. "It's been eight years, Carlos. We're different people now. She's building this successful business, I'm making decent money with the social media stuff... we've both moved on."
Have we, though? Because sitting here listening to him process our reunion, I'm realizing that seeing Emory stirred up feelings I thought were safely in the past. Not romantic feelings, necessarily, but.
.. something. Familiarity, maybe. Comfort.
The recognition of someone who used to know me better than anyone.
"The challenge is going to be this Derek dude," Emory says with a groan. "He's started with the embarrassing stories, and we've got six more days of him oversharing everyone's personal business with strangers."
A loud knock on my door interrupts both his conversation and my eavesdropping. I freeze, hoping whoever it is will go away, but the knocking comes again, more insistent.
"Vada! Hello!"
Derek. Of course it's Derek.
I can hear Emory's conversation pause next door as I reluctantly get up to answer the door.
Through the peephole, I can see Derek holding what appears to be a bottle of wine and wearing the expression of someone who has decided we're about to have a long, intimate conversation whether I want to or not.
"Hey, Derek," I say, opening the door but not stepping aside to invite him in. "What's up?"
"I brought wine!" he announces, holding up the bottle like it's a trophy. "I figured we should catch up properly, you know? It's been years since we talked."
"That's sweet," I say, trying to inject enthusiasm into my voice, "but it's getting late, and tomorrow starts early with the sunrise yoga—"
"Oh, we've got time," Derek says, bulldozing past my polite decline and walking into my suite like I invited him. "Besides, we need to discuss the Emory situation."
"The Emory situation?" I follow him into my room, realizing I'm going to have this conversation whether I want to or not.
"Come on, Vada," Derek says, making himself comfortable on my sofa and opening the wine without asking if I want any. "You can't tell me you weren't completely shocked to see him tonight. I mean, what are the odds?"
"Pretty astronomical," I agree, accepting the glass of wine he pours for me because refusing would probably just prolong this conversation.
"Seriously!" Derek continues, taking my agreement as encouragement. "You and Jared were like roommates who occasionally made out. Sweet, comfortable, but no spark, you know? But the look Emory Chen was giving you tonight..."
Through the wall, I can hear Emory's phone conversation resume, probably after being interrupted by Derek's arrival. His voice is quieter now, like he's trying not to listen to our conversation, but the sound carries.
"We were good friends," I say carefully. "We still are, I hope."
"Friends," Derek repeats with a snort. "Right. Is that why you guys couldn't stop looking at each other tonight? Because you're such good friends?"
"We were surprised to see each other," I protest. "It's been eight years, Derek. Of course we were going to stare a little bit."
"Vada, honey," Derek says with the tone of someone who's about to share wisdom I definitely don't want, "I saw the way Emory stepped closer to you when other people started talking.
And I saw the way you looked at him when you thought nobody was watching.
That wasn't friendly surprise. That was chemistry. "
"You're imagining things," I say, but even as I say it, I'm remembering the flutter in my chest when Emory's hands steadied me after our collision. The way his presence felt both familiar and electric at the same time.
"I'm just saying, this could be really interesting," Derek continues, pouring himself another generous glass of wine. "Two college sweethearts, reunited at their exes' wedding in paradise? It's like a romantic comedy waiting to happen."
Derek pauses, staring into his wine glass for a moment. When he looks up, his expression is unusually serious.
"You know, Jared called me crying at 3 AM when you two broke up," he says quietly. "Not because he was heartbroken, but because he was terrified he'd ruined your friendship. He spent hours asking if I thought you'd ever forgive him for not ending things sooner."
Derek takes a sip of wine, "He's never wanted anything more than for you to be genuinely happy, Vada. Neither have I. That's why I'm so excited about you and Emory—because I can see what Jared saw back then. You light up around each other in a way that's completely different."
"Derek, I'm here to support Jared's happiness," I say firmly. "That's it. I'm not looking for romantic drama or second-chance love stories or whatever Hallmark movie scenario you're imagining."
"But if something did happen—"
"Nothing is going to happen," I interrupt, though I'm not entirely sure who I'm trying to convince. "Emory and I are adults who can handle an awkward situation maturely. We'll probably barely interact beyond basic politeness."
Derek looks at me with the expression of someone who knows something I don't, which is terrifying because Derek's knowledge usually comes from his complete inability to mind his own business.
"Well," he says, "it's going to be a very interesting week either way."
He launches into a series of stories about our Spokane friend group, including several embarrassing details about my relationship with Jared that I would prefer to keep in the past. The wine makes him even more talkative than usual, and I find myself trapped in a conversation about everyone's romantic history that goes on for what feels like hours.
Through the wall, I can hear Emory's phone call end, followed by the sounds of him moving around his suite. Getting ready for bed, probably.
"... and that's when Jared realized he was more attracted to Erika's Instagram posts than he ever was to any actual human being he'd dated," Derek is saying, apparently wrapping up some story I stopped listening to twenty minutes ago.
"That's... great, Derek," I say, stifling a yawn. "But I really should get some sleep. Tomorrow's starting early."
"Of course, of course," Derek says, finally taking the hint and standing up.
"Good night, Derek," I say firmly, closing the door before he can elaborate on his romantic predictions.
I lean back against the door again, processing Derek's oversharing and his observations about tonight's interactions. Was it that obvious that seeing Emory affected me? Did we really spend the evening looking at each other in ways that suggested more than friendly surprise?
The problem is, Derek might not be wrong. There was something about seeing Emory again that felt like more than nostalgia. Something about the way he stepped in to deflect Derek's inappropriate comments, the way his presence felt both familiar and electric, the way my heart races hours later.
But I'm here for Jared's wedding and to make professional connections that could benefit my business. I'm not here to get distracted by my college boyfriend or to create drama at someone else's celebration.
I need to talk to Emory about how we're going to handle this week. We need ground rules, clear boundaries, and a strategy for dealing with Derek's oversharing without letting it turn us into a spectacle.
Taking a deep breath, I walk over to the French doors that lead to our shared terrace. Through the glass, I can see that the lights are still on in his suite. Now or never.
I knock softly on the connecting door, and after a moment, I hear footsteps approaching.
"Vada?" Emory's voice comes through the glass.
"We need to talk," I say. "About this week and how we're going to handle... everything."
The door opens to reveal Emory in shorts and a t-shirt, his hair even more tousled than usual. Looks like he’s been running his hands through it, which is something he used to do when he was processing complicated situations.
"Yeah," he says, stepping aside so I can enter his suite. "We need to talk."