12. Vada
VADA
The sound of Maya blow-drying her hair in my bathroom creates a familiar soundtrack as I sit on my bed, scrolling through the social media notifications that have been flooding my phone since our volleyball victory.
The engagement numbers are honestly staggering, content featuring both Emory and me consistently outperforms either of our individual posts by significant margins.
"Okay, but seriously," Maya calls over the hair dryer noise, "how good was meeting Stella? Because from what I could tell during that video call, that girl absolutely adores you already."
"She was incredible," I call back, closing my laptop and moving to help Maya with the makeup setup she's arranged across my vanity. "Smart, funny, completely down-to-earth despite being a successful architect. And the way she talked about Emory..."
"Like he's been pining for you for eight years?" Maya suggests with obvious delight, turning off the dryer.
"Like he never actually moved on," I admit, settling into the vanity chair while Maya starts working her styling magic. "Apparently, he compared every woman he dated to me, which is both flattering and slightly terrifying."
"Terrifying how?" Maya asks, beginning with foundation and the kind of focused attention she brings to all important projects.
"What if I can't live up to the idealized version of me he's been carrying around for eight years?" I voice the fear that's been nagging at me. "What if the reality of being together again doesn't match his memories?"
Maya pauses her makeup application to give me the look of someone explaining something obvious to a child.
"Vada, honey, have you seen the way that man looks at you? There's nothing idealized about it. He's looking at the real you, right now, and he's completely gone for you."
"You think?"
"I know," Maya says with the confidence that's made her one of Portland's most successful marketing strategists. "Trust me, I've watched enough couples try to manufacture chemistry for social media campaigns. What you two have can't be faked or performed."
She's probably right, but the vulnerability of being someone's long-held dream feels both thrilling and terrifying.
"Plus," Maya continues, moving on to eye makeup with artistic precision, "did you see those analytics you were showing me earlier? Your joint content is performing crazy well."
"The numbers are incredible," I agree, thinking about the possibilities that have been emerging all week. "We could actually build something real together."
"Could work?" Maya repeats with mock offense. "Vada, you two are sitting on a goldmine. People can't get enough of watching you be happy together."
Before I can respond, there's a familiar knock on my terrace door. Through the glass, I can see Emory holding what appears to be a bottle of wine and looking slightly windblown from the ocean breeze.
"Speaking of your business partner," Maya says with a knowing smile, "should I make myself scarce while you two work on your... evening plans?"
"Maya," I warn, though I'm already moving toward the door to let Emory in.
"What? I'm just saying, the way you light up when you see him is very... telling," she continues with her trademark innuendo.
"Ignore her," I tell Emory as I open the door, accepting the wine he offers. "Maya's been providing commentary about how obvious we are."
"Obvious how?" Emory asks, immediately stepping closer and sliding his arm around my waist like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Like that," Maya points out with obvious delight. "You two can't be in the same room for thirty seconds without gravitating toward each other."
Before we can settle into whatever evening plans we might have had, my phone buzzes with an incoming call from Erika. I answer it immediately, knowing she's probably coordinating final details for tomorrow's activities.
"Vada!" Erika's voice comes through with characteristic organization and excitement. "I'm doing final headcount for tomorrow's bachelor and bachelorette activities. Are you free to go over the schedule?"
"Of course," I say, putting her on speaker so Maya and Emory can hear. "What's the plan?"
"Okay, so the guys are taking the resort's sport fishing boat for deep sea fishing and yacht club lunch," Erika explains, and I can hear rustling papers as she consults her detailed planning notes. "Traditional bachelor party activities, very civilized, nothing crazy."
"Define nothing crazy," Emory says with the wariness of someone who's learned to be cautious about bachelor party promises.
"Legitimate fishing, excellent food, maybe some competitive storytelling," Erika laughs. "Jared specifically requested no chaos, so you're safe from any surprise activities."
"What about us?" Maya asks with obvious curiosity about the bachelorette agenda.
"Luxury spa treatments, champagne brunch, professional photography session," Erika lists with obvious satisfaction in her planning. "Private chef, wine tasting, maybe some beach time if the weather cooperates. Very sophisticated, very relaxing."
"That sounds perfect," I say with genuine enthusiasm. "Much more civilized than whatever bachelor party stories we'll probably hear later."
"Hey, we can be civilized," Emory protests with mock offense. "Some of us are very sophisticated fishermen."
"Sure you are," Maya says with obvious skepticism. "Just try not to fall overboard or create any international incidents."
"No promises about the international incidents," Emory says with a grin that suggests he's looking forward to whatever male bonding activities tomorrow will bring.
"Speaking of tonight," Erika continues, "meet at the Crown Restaurant at seven. Dress code is elegant tropical swimwear, and we're doing some toasts to celebrate the week and will cap off with a little sightseeing excursion. Nothing too elaborate, just good food and good company."
“Why do we need swimwear?” Emory questions.
“Because we are in an ocean paradise and you never know when the sea will call you in.” Erika quips. “But trust me, you want your suit.”
"Sounds perfect," I say, checking the time and realizing we have about an hour to get ready. "We'll see you there."
After Erika ends the call, the three of us settle into comfortable conversation about tonight's ‘whatever Erika has planned’ celebration and tomorrow’s fun.
"First time apart since you reconnected, " Maya observes with obvious interest. "How are you feeling about a whole day of separation?"
"We're not that attached," I protest, though privately I'm already calculating how many hours until we're reunited tomorrow evening.
"Right," Maya says with the tone of someone who doesn't believe that for a second. "Which is why Emory's thumb is currently stroking circles on your hip and you look like you want to climb into his lap."
I glance down and realize she's absolutely right, his hand has found its way under the hem of my shirt, his thumb tracing absent patterns on my skin that are making it difficult to concentrate on conversation.
"We're... affectionate," I say weakly, though I make no move to create distance between us.
"Anyway," Maya says, standing up and gathering her styling materials, "I should let you two have some private time before dinner. Just try not to be completely disgusting with your obvious happiness."
"We're not disgusting," I say with a laugh.
"You're absolutely gone for each other," Maya corrects with obvious affection. "But it's the good kind of gone that makes people believe in second chances."
After Maya leaves, the atmosphere immediately shifts to something more intimate. Without her amused commentary, I see how Emory's looking at me, how his hands have never quite stopped touching me since he arrived.
"Come here," he says softly, pulling me fully into his lap so I'm straddling his thighs on the sofa.
"We should probably start getting ready for dinner," I say, though my hands are already threading through his hair.
"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting me go, his hands slide up my back, pulling me closer. "But first I want to kiss you without Maya providing commentary."
When his lips meet mine, it's with the kind of desperate intensity that suggests he's been holding back all day. My fingers tighten in his hair as I kiss him back with equal hunger, both of us trying to make up for the anticipation of tomorrow's separation.
"Fuck, I've been wanting to do that all day," he breathes against my mouth, his hands gripping my hips like he's trying to memorize the feel of me.
"Then why didn't you?" I ask, trailing kisses along his jaw.
"Because if I'd started kissing you this morning, we never would have made it out of bed," he says with such honesty that heat floods through me.
"That doesn't sound like a problem," I murmur, biting gently at his earlobe in a way that makes him groan.
"It's definitely not a problem," he agrees, one hand sliding under my shirt to palm my breast through my bra. "Though we really do need to get ready for dinner."
"Do we?" I ask, rocking slightly in his lap and enjoying the sharp intake of breath it draws from him.
"Yes," he says firmly, though his actions contradict his words as he pulls me down for another kiss. "Because if we don't show up, someone would come looking for us, probably that Derek, and I'd prefer not to be interrupted."
"Good point," I agree reluctantly, though I steal one more kiss before forcing myself to stand up. "Rain check?"
"Definitely rain check," he says, his eyes dark with promise. "After dinner."
"So," he says, straightening his shirt and trying to look like we weren't just making out on my sofa, "ready for our last evening together before fishing adventures?"
"Ready for Derek's inevitable speeches about destiny?" I counter, checking my reflection in the mirror and trying to fix my thoroughly kissed appearance.
"As ready as anyone can be for that guy's public speaking," Emory says, coming up behind me and pressing a kiss to my neck that makes me shiver. "Though I have to admit, I'm looking forward to celebrating everything that's happened this week."
"Everything that's happened," I repeat, turning in his arms so we're facing each other. "It's been quite a week."
"The best week," he corrects, his forehead resting against mine. "And it's not over yet."
"Not over yet," I agree, going up on my toes to kiss him one more time before we have to face the world again.
I grab my suit, as Emory looks on with a grin. “Just go get your suit on,” I laugh as he sheepishly heads to his suite.
Tonight we'll celebrate with friends, old and new, who've become invested in our happiness.
Tomorrow we'll test how well we handle separation after a week of constant togetherness.
But right now, we have ocean views and privacy and the growing certainty that what we're building together is worth every complication and risk.