7. Emory
EMORY
Hot water pounds my shoulders in the marble shower, but I can't stop thinking about yoga.
Vada's body pressed against mine. The trust in her eyes when she fell backward into my arms. How we moved together like we'd been practicing for years instead of seeing each other for the first time in eight years yesterday.
This is a problem.
Our "just friends" agreement lasted twelve hours before yoga destroyed any pretense that we can ignore eight years of history and whatever chemistry is crackling between us. The way she looked at me during that final pose wasn't friendly. It was dangerous.
I turn off the water and grab a soft towel, catching sight of myself in the massive mirror.
Travel keeps me in decent shape, but seeing myself through Vada's eyes this morning made me notice how I've changed since college.
Broader shoulders, more definition from years of adventure sports, confidence that comes from building something successful from nothing.
The question is whether any of that matters to someone who knew me when I was twenty-two and thought ramen was a food group.
My phone buzzes. Comments flood my Instagram from the yoga content. Erika tagged me in posts that are blowing up, and my followers want to know about my "yoga partner."
"Who is she and why do you look at her like she hung the moon?"
"THE CHEMISTRY THO ??????"
"Emory found his person and I'm here for this love story"
"Plot twist: travel boy settles down for the perfect girl"
I scroll through dozens of similar comments, heart sinking as I realize that our attempt to fly under the radar has completely failed. Whatever was happening between Vada and me this morning was obvious enough that thousands of strangers picked up on it through a phone screen.
This is either going to be the best content week of my career or a complete disaster that ruins both of us.
A knock on my terrace door interrupts my social media spiral. Through the glass, I see Vada holding two travel mugs. Her sundress makes my pulse jump.
"Coffee delivery," she says when I open the door, extending one mug. "I figured we both needed caffeine after that yoga situation."
Her words trail off as her eyes do a slow sweep from my face down to my chest, lingering on the water droplets still clinging to my skin, then traveling lower to where the white hotel towel sits low on my hips.
I watch her throat move as she swallows, and when her gaze finally makes it back up to meet mine, there's heat there that has nothing to do with the morning sun.
"Give me a minute to throw on some clothes," I say, my voice rougher than intended.
"Take your time," she manages, though her eyes drift south again before she seems to catch herself. "I mean—no rush. The coffee will keep warm.
"You're a lifesaver," I say, accepting the mug and trying not to notice how the ocean breeze catches her hair. "Please tell me you put something stronger than cream in this." I take a sip and place it on the table before stepping into the bathroom to slip on some shorts.
"I wish," she laughs, settling into one of the terrace chairs while very deliberately not looking in my direction. "But we've got wine tasting in an hour, so we should probably pace ourselves."
"About this morning," I start, settling into the chair across from her.
"The yoga was intense," she agrees quickly, like she's been thinking about it too.
"That's one way to put it," I say, studying her face for clues about what she's actually thinking. "Derek certainly had opinions about our 'obvious chemistry.'"
"You’ll see that Derek has opinions about everything," Vada says, but her cheeks pink slightly. "Though I have to admit, we were probably more synchronized than two people claiming to be casual friends should be."
"Definitely more synchronized," I agree. "The trust poses felt..."
"Yeah," she finishes.
We both know that's an understatement but neither of us seems ready to acknowledge what happened during partner yoga.
Looking into her eyes felt like coming home.
Catching her in my arms triggered every protective instinct I'd buried.
Touching her again felt like the most natural thing in the world.
"So, wine tasting," I say, changing the subject before we wander into territory that our friendship agreement can't handle. "Any idea what we're in for?"
"Knowing Erika, it's going to be elaborate and perfectly curated for social media," Vada says, pulling out her phone. "She sent the details this morning. We're tasting five wines from different regions, paired with artisanal cheeses and 'locally sourced delicacies,' whatever that means."
"Sounds like content gold," I say, my influencer brain automatically cataloging the possibilities. "Though I should probably warn you, I've developed what some people call an embarrassingly sophisticated palate since college."
"Some people?"
"My sister Stella. She says I've become insufferably pretentious about wine."
Vada's smile is genuinely delighted. "That's hilarious, because I was about to confess the same thing. Event planning has forced me to learn way too much about wine and food pairings."
"We're going to be insufferable together," I realize.
"The sommelier won't know what hit them."
There's something exciting about showing off together. Combining our skills and creating killer content. Travel meets event planning, adventure lifestyle meets authentic coordination—it's a collaboration that could benefit both our brands.
"Want to create some content together?" I ask. "Behind-the-scenes prep, maybe some educational stuff about wine regions?"
"Now that you brought it up..." She's already pulling out her camera equipment. "My followers have been requesting more beverage content, and your audience would love the educational angle."
We spend thirty minutes creating preliminary content on the terrace, and it's obvious we work together seamlessly. Vada has an eye for composition that complements my technical skills, and our natural banter creates the kind of authentic chemistry that can't be manufactured.
"Okay, that was fun." She says when we've captured enough pre-content. "We should head down before Derek comes looking for us with more inappropriate commentary."
The wine tasting setup is more elegant than I expected. The resort transformed their glass pavilion into a tasting room. High-top tables face the ocean, and a sommelier station looks straight out of Napa Valley.
Other wedding guests are mingling with glasses of sparkling wine. I spot Derek holding court near the cheese display with what appears to be his second drink despite the fact that the tasting hasn't started.
"This is going to be interesting," Vada murmurs as we approach the group.
"EMORY! VADA!" Derek's voice carries across the pavilion like he's announcing a sporting event. "The yoga superstars! Everyone was talking about you guys this morning!"
Several heads turn in our direction, and I catch multiple people pulling out phones to discretely capture our arrival. Apparently, we're the entertainment for this event whether we want to be or not.
"How's the wine, Derek?" I ask, hoping to redirect his attention toward alcohol instead of our personal lives.
"Incredible!” Derek acknowledges, though his eyes are already glazing slightly from whatever he's been drinking. “Seriously, you guys have to try the Sauvignon Blanc. It's almost as crisp and refreshing as young love."
He wanders off toward the next tasting station, leaving us in the wake of his commentary while other guests exchange glances.
"Welcome, wine lovers!" The sommelier, a sophisticated woman named Celeste, calls for everyone's attention. "Today we're going to explore five exceptional wines from different regions, each paired with complementary flavors that will enhance your tasting experience."
She explains the proper tasting technique—swirl, sniff, sip, savor—while servers distribute the first wine, a crisp Albarino from Spain.
"The key to wine tasting," Celeste continues, "is to pay attention to how the wine evolves in your mouth, how it interacts with different foods, and how sharing the experience with someone enhances your appreciation."
Vada and I find ourselves naturally gravitating toward a high-top table, and when we start tasting, it becomes immediately obvious that we both know more about wine than the average wedding guest.
"Citrus notes," Vada says after her first sip, "with mineral undertones that suggest coastal soil."
"Definitely coastal," I agree, swirling the wine to release more aromatics. "The acidity is perfect for the oysters they're serving with it. Classic Spanish pairing."
Celeste overhears our conversation and approaches with obvious interest.
"Fascinating," Celeste says, studying us with the expression of someone solving a puzzle. "You're picking up complementary notes and building on each other's observations."
"The second wine," Celeste announces to the group, "is a Burgundian Pinot Noir from Oregon's Willamette Valley."
This wine is more complex, and I watch Vada's face as she tastes it, noting the slight furrow in her brow that means she's analyzing something complicated.
"Earth and cherry," she says thoughtfully, "but there's something else. Something floral?"
"Rose petals," I add, taking another sip. "And maybe a hint of tobacco from the oak aging."
"Show-offs," Derek announces loudly from the next table. "Leave it to Vada to turn wine tasting into a competitive sport."
"We're not competing," Vada says with admirable patience. "We're just sharing observations."
When she reaches across our table to try a cheese pairing I haven't sampled yet, her fingers brush mine, and the contact sends electricity up my arm that has nothing to do with wine and everything to do with the woman creating it.
"Try this with the Chateauneuf-du-Pape," she says, offering me a piece of aged Gouda on her fork.
"Perfect pairing," I say, though I'm more focused on the fact that she's close enough that I could kiss her without moving more than a few inches.
"Isn't it?" she agrees, but her voice is slightly breathless, and I catch her glancing at my mouth for just a moment longer than necessary.
The fourth wine is a complex Barolo that requires significant discussion to properly appreciate, and by this point, Vada and I are standing close enough to share the same glass if we wanted to, heads bent together over our tasting notes, creating the kind of intimate bubble that excludes everyone else.
"Leather and roses," Vada says, so close to my ear that I can feel her breath against my neck.
"With hints of tar and cherry," I add, hyperaware of how good she smells even under the complex aromatics of the wine.
"The final wine," Celeste announces, apparently oblivious to the romantic tension drama happening at our table, "is a dessert Riesling from the Mosel Valley. Sweet, complex, and perfect for sharing intimate moments."
Of course the final wine is specifically designed for intimate moments.
This wine is honeyed and complex, with layers of flavor that require slow, careful consideration.
Vada closes her eyes while she tastes it, and the expression on her face is so genuinely sensual that I have to look away before I do something stupid like lean over and kiss her right here in front of everyone.
"Apricot and honey," she says with a little sigh of appreciation that does things to my pulse rate that wine has never done before.
"With mineral undertones that keep it from being cloying," I add, trying to focus on the wine instead of the way her lips look against the rim of the glass.
"Perfect analysis," Celeste says with obvious approval.
By the time the tasting ends, we've somehow become the unofficial stars of the session.
Other guests are asking us for wine recommendations, Celeste is exchanging contact information with both of us for potential future collaborations, and someone has definitely captured enough footage of our "wine chemistry" to create viral social media content.
As we're leaving the pavilion, Derek intercepts us with the determination of someone who has consumed significant amounts of wine and has opinions to share.
"Okay, I have to say it," he announces loudly enough for half the remaining guests to hear. "You two were like watching wine tasting foreplay! The way you shared food, the intimate conversations, it was better than reality TV!"
"Derek," Vada starts, but he's clearly just getting warmed up.
"The beach volleyball tournament starts in thirty minutes," I say, redirecting Derek's attention before he can elaborate further on our "wine foreplay."
We walk back toward our rooms to change into beach volleyball attire, and as I pull on board shorts and a tank top, I try desperately not to think about how incredible Vada looked in that sundress—the way it hugged her curves, how the fabric moved when she laughed.
And I definitely shouldn't be imagining how good she'd look out of that dress, but apparently my brain has other plans.
Through the thin resort wall, I can hear her moving around next door, getting ready, and my traitorous mind conjures images of her peeling that sundress over her head…
I grab my sunglasses and head for the door before my imagination gets me into any more trouble. Time to focus on volleyball. Just volleyball. Not on Vada out of her dress.