18. Vada
VADA
I wake up tangled in Emory's arms with sunlight streaming through the windows and the immediate awareness that this is our last morning in paradise. The thought hits me harder than I expected, making my chest tight with something between sadness and panic.
"Last day," Emory murmurs against my hair, and I can hear the same reluctance in his voice that I'm feeling.
"Don't remind me," I say, burrowing deeper into his warmth. "I'm not ready to leave this place."
"The resort or this?" he asks, tightening his arms around me.
"Both," I admit honestly. "This whole week has felt like living in a dream."
And it has. Between the luxury resort, the perfect weather, the wedding celebration, and reconnecting with Emory, everything has felt magical in a way that real life rarely does.
Tomorrow we have to pack up and go back to our separate cities, our separate lives, and figure out how to make this work outside of paradise.
"We should probably talk about logistics," Emory says, though he makes no move to let me go.
"Probably," I agree, though the thought of planning and organizing and figuring out practical details makes my stomach twist with anxiety. "But maybe not right now?"
"Coffee first," he decides, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Everything's better with coffee."
Twenty minutes later, we're sitting on his terrace with steaming mugs, watching the resort staff clean up from last night's wedding celebration.
The ceremony area is already being dismantled, white chairs stacked and floral arrangements being carefully packed away.
It's efficient and professional, but seeing it all come down makes everything feel final.
"Erika and Jared are probably on their way to the airport already," I say, watching workers fold up the elegant linens.
"Honeymoon in Santorini," Emory confirms. "They looked so happy when they left."
"They did," I agree, remembering their glowing faces as they said goodbye to the remaining guests this morning. "It was really beautiful to see."
"Kind of makes you think about what you want your own future to look like," Emory says carefully, like he's testing the waters.
"Yeah," I say, but the word comes out smaller than I intended. Because thinking about the future brings up all the complicated questions we've been avoiding all week. Where would we live? How would we manage the travel? What if this paradise magic doesn't translate to real life?
"You okay?" Emory asks, clearly picking up on my shift in mood.
"Just thinking," I say, trying to push away the anxious thoughts that are starting to spiral. "About how different everything's going to be tomorrow."
"Different how?"
"You'll go back to your travel schedule, I'll go back to my event planning business in Portland, and we'll be trying to figure out how to make this work across distance and time zones and completely different lifestyles."
The words tumble out faster than I intended, and I can hear the edge of panic in my voice. Emory sets down his coffee mug and turns to face me fully.
"Vada," he says gently. "What are you really worried about?"
"That this was just a vacation romance," I blurt out, voicing the fear that's been nagging at me since I woke up.
"That we got caught up in this perfect tropical setting and convinced ourselves we still have something real, when maybe we're just two people who had great chemistry in college and got nostalgic. "
Emory is quiet for a long moment, and my anxiety ratchets up another notch. Maybe he's been thinking the same thing. Maybe he's relieved I brought it up so he doesn't have to be the one to suggest we pump the brakes.
"Is that what you think this is?" he asks finally. "Nostalgia and good vacation vibes?"
"I don't know," I say honestly. "That's what scares me. How do we tell the difference between real feelings and paradise magic?"
"Want to know what I think?" Emory asks, moving closer to me on the terrace furniture.
"Yeah."
"I think the paradise didn't create anything between us," he says, taking my hands in his. "I think it just gave us the space to remember what was already there."
"But what if we're wrong? What if we get back to real life and realize we don't actually fit together anymore?"
"Then we figure it out," he says simply. "But Vada, I've spent eight years dating other people and comparing them to you. Don't you think that means something?"
His honesty makes my chest warm, but it also brings up another worry. "What if I can't live up to whatever version of me you've been carrying around all these years? What if the real me disappoints you?"
Emory looks at me like I've said something completely ridiculous. "Vada, I've been with the real you all week. You think I've been in love with some fantasy version?"
"Haven't you?" I ask, genuinely unsure.
"No," he says firmly. "I've been in love with the woman who overthinks everything but still takes risks.
Who organizes everyone else's chaos but can't always control her own anxiety.
Who's built an incredible business from nothing but still second-guesses herself sometimes.
That's who I fell for in college, and that's who I'm falling for again now. "
The specificity of his words settles something in my chest that I didn't realize was tight. He's not in love with some idealized memory—he's in love with my actual personality, flaws and all.
"Besides," he adds with a grin, "if this was just vacation magic, would we have been able to coordinate like that during volleyball? Or wine tasting? Or any of the activities this week?"
He has a point. Our compatibility hasn't just been about the romantic setting—it's been about how naturally we work together, how easily we fall into sync.
"I'm scared," I admit quietly.
"Me too," he says, squeezing my hands. "But I'm more scared of walking away and spending another eight years wondering what if."
"So what do we do?"
"We be brave," he says. "We figure out the logistics, we take it one day at a time, and we see what happens."
The simplicity of his answer makes me laugh despite my anxiety. "That's your big plan? Wing it?"
"Pretty much," he admits with the grin that made me fall for him in college. "Though I should probably mention that I've already been thinking about basing my operations out of Portland."
"Really?"
"Really. I can travel from anywhere, and Portland's got great access to outdoor content opportunities. Plus, there's this amazing event planner there who I'd like to see more of."
"Just see more of?" I ask, feeling my mood lift.
"Well, maybe collaborate professionally. And personally. And in every way possible."
"I like that plan better than winging it," I say, leaning over to kiss him.
"Good," he says against my lips. "Because I'm hoping you'll let me stick around long enough to prove this isn't just paradise magic."
"How long are we talking?"
"How about forever?" he asks, and something in his tone makes me look at him more carefully.
"Emory—"
"I know it's fast," he says quickly. "I know we've only been back in each other's lives for a week. But Vada, I've never been more sure of anything. This isn't nostalgia or vacation romance. This is right."
The certainty in his voice makes my heart race in the best way. Because he's right—it does feel right. All of it. The way we fit together, the way we bring out the best in each other, the way everything feels possible when we're together.
"Forever sounds good," I say, surprising myself with how easily the words come out.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I confirm, kissing him properly this time. "Though I reserve the right to panic about logistics later."
"Deal," he agrees. "But right now, we have one more day in paradise. What do you want to do with it?"
I look around at the stunning resort, the perfect weather, the luxury amenities we'll probably never experience again. Then I look at Emory, and the answer becomes obvious.
"I want to spend it exactly like this," I say. "Just us, no schedule, no wedding activities, no social media content. Just being together."
"Perfect," he says, settling back with his coffee. "Though I should probably warn you—Maya's going to want a full debrief before we leave."
"Maya can wait," I say firmly. "Today is about us."
We spend the morning exactly like that—talking, laughing, sharing stories we haven't had time for during the busy wedding week.
Emory tells me about his travel adventures that didn't make it onto social media, the lonely hotel rooms and financial stress behind the perfect content.
I tell him about building my business, the clients who turned into friends, the satisfaction of creating something entirely my own.
Around noon, we finally get dressed and venture out of the suite for lunch at one of the resort's quieter restaurants. The wedding guests who haven't left yet are scattered around the resort, everyone looking relaxed and slightly tired from last night's celebration.
"There they are!" Derek's voice carries across the restaurant patio, and I see him approaching our table with what appears to be a tropical drink despite it being barely past noon. "The lovebirds! How are you two feeling about your last day in paradise?"
"Good," I say diplomatically, though privately I'm grateful that Derek's leaving tomorrow too and won't be able to provide running commentary on our relationship much longer.
"You know," Derek says, settling into an empty chair without being invited, "you two should really consider doing a destination wedding yourselves. After watching Erika and Jared's celebration, I'm convinced tropical weddings are the way to go."
"Derek," Emory says with remarkable patience, "we're taking things one day at a time."
"Right, right," Derek agrees with a knowing wink. "But when you do decide to tie the knot, just remember who introduced you to the magic of Paradise Cove."
"You didn't introduce us to anything," I point out with amusement. "We literally ran into each other by accident."
"Details," Derek waves off my correction. "The important thing is that love found a way."
He wanders off to bother other guests, leaving us both shaking our heads but smiling.
"He means well," Emory says.
"He really does," I agree. "In his own completely inappropriate way."
The afternoon passes peacefully. We walk along the beach, swim in the calm waters, take photos that are just for us instead of for social media. As the sun starts to set, we find ourselves back on Emory's terrace, watching the sky turn brilliant shades of orange and pink.
"I'm going to miss this view," I say, leaning back against his chest as we watch the sunset.
"Me too," he agrees, his arms tightening around me. "But I think I'll miss this more."
"This?"
"Us. Being together like this, no pressure, no schedule, just... us."
"We can have this in Portland too," I point out.
"I know. But it won't be exactly the same."
He's right, and that knowledge creates a bittersweet feeling that I'm not quite ready to examine.
Tomorrow we'll pack up our perfect week and try to translate it into real life.
Some things will carry over—our compatibility, our chemistry, our genuine feelings for each other.
But some things will be different. We'll have work stress and daily responsibilities and all the mundane details that paradise protected us from.
"What are you thinking about?" Emory asks, probably sensing my mood shift.
"Just that tomorrow everything changes," I say honestly.
"Not everything," he says, turning me in his arms so I'm facing him. "The important stuff stays the same."
"Promise?"
"Promise," he says, sealing it with a kiss that tastes like tropical sunset and new beginnings.
Later that night, after dinner and dancing under the stars and one last swim in the bioluminescent bay, we make love with an intensity that feels both desperate and hopeful. Like we're trying to memorize each other, to capture this perfect moment before real life intrudes.
"I love you," Emory whispers against my skin afterward, and the words don't surprise me because I've been feeling them all week.
"I love you too," I whisper back, meaning it completely.
As we drift off to sleep in each other's arms, I realize that tomorrow isn't really an ending. It's just the next chapter of something that started eight years ago and got interrupted for a while. We're older now, more sure of ourselves, ready for what scared us off the first time.
Paradise might be ending, but our real story is just beginning.