23. Emory
EMORY
The sound of Vada's phone buzzing at six AM should probably be annoying, but when she answers with "King Event Planning, this is Vada," in her sleepy professional voice, I find it ridiculously attractive instead.
"Yes, we do destination celebrations," she says, sitting up in bed and immediately switching into business mode. "Can you tell me about your vision?"
I watch her grab a notebook from the nightstand—because of course she keeps one there now—and start scribbling notes while having a completely professional conversation despite being in pajamas with serious bed hair.
"That sounds incredible," she's saying. "A vow renewal in Tuscany with full documentation and family coordination. Let me connect you with my business partner and we can set up a consultation this week."
Business partner. I'm still getting used to how good that sounds.
"Thank you so much for thinking of us," Vada continues. "We'll email you our information packet today, and I'm confident we can create exactly the experience you're dreaming of."
She hangs up and immediately turns to me with eyes bright with excitement. "Tuscany vow renewal. Twenty-fifth anniversary. They have a budget that's going to make your head spin."
"How big a budget are we talking?" I ask, pulling her back down beside me.
"Let's just say we could afford to stay in some very nice places while we're scouting locations," she says with a grin that makes me want to celebrate in ways that have nothing to do with business.
"I love it when you talk about profit margins," I say, kissing her neck in a way that makes her laugh.
"Focus, Wise," she says, but she's not making any effort to stop me. "We need to put together an information packet, create a consultation timeline, and research Tuscan venues before—"
Her phone buzzes again.
"This is becoming a pattern," she says, checking the caller ID. "Maya, it's six-fifteen in the morning."
"Vada!" Maya's voice is loud enough for me to hear from across the bed. "I just saw the posts from your Paradise Cove content. You guys have gone completely viral. Like, millions of views viral."
"What?" Vada puts the phone on speaker, and suddenly we're both wide awake.
"The volleyball video, the wine tasting clips, the dancing footage—it's all over TikTok and Instagram," Maya continues with obvious excitement. "People are calling you the 'Paradise Couple' and demanding to know when you're getting married."
"We're not getting married," Vada says automatically, then catches my expression. "I mean, we're not getting married right now. We're focused on building the business."
"Well, the business is about to explode," Maya says. "I've been getting messages all morning from people asking how to hire you. This is incredible exposure."
After Maya hangs up—with strict instructions to check our social media immediately—Vada and I spend the next hour scrolling through notifications that seem to multiply by the minute.
"This is insane," Vada says, watching view counts climb in real time. "Look at this comment thread about authentic relationship goals."
"Here's one asking if we do engagement parties," I add, screenshotting a particularly enthusiastic inquiry. "And another one wanting to hire us for a anniversary celebration in Bali."
"Bali?" Vada looks up from her phone with the expression she gets when she's mentally calculating logistics. "That would be incredible content."
"It would also be incredible revenue," I point out, because the financial possibilities of what's happening are starting to sink in. "If even half these inquiries turn into actual clients..."
"We're going to need systems," Vada says, already switching into planning mode. "Intake processes, contract templates, vendor databases for multiple locations."
"And we're going to need to decide how much we want to lean into the couple angle," I add. "Because that's clearly what people are responding to."
It's a good question, and one we haven't really discussed. Our success at Paradise Cove came from genuinely being ourselves, but now that people are invested in our relationship story, there's pressure to keep sharing personal details that maybe should stay private.
"I don't want to perform our relationship for social media," Vada says carefully. "But I also don't want to hide the fact that we're together if that's what makes our work authentic."
"Agreed," I say, though I'm already thinking about the balance we'll need to strike. "Maybe we focus on the professional partnership and let the personal stuff show naturally, without forcing it."
"Smart," she agrees, then her phone buzzes again. "Another inquiry. This one's asking about a destination birthday party in Costa Rica."
By the time we make it to the kitchen for actual breakfast, we've received twelve new business inquiries, gained three thousand followers, and started a list of systematic changes we'll need to make to handle increased demand.
"I think we need to hire help," Vada says, reviewing our notes over coffee. "Even if we only convert half these inquiries, we're looking at more work than two people can handle."
"What kind of help?" I ask, though I'm already thinking about the logistics myself.
"Administrative support, maybe a part-time coordinator for vendor research," she muses. "Someone who can handle the initial client screening while we focus on the actual creative work."
"Maya would be perfect for that," I suggest. "She's got marketing experience, she knows our vision, and she's already invested in our success."
"You think she'd be interested?"
"I think Maya would love to quit her corporate job and work with people she actually likes," I say. "Plus, she's been giving us business advice since day one anyway."
We spend the morning developing a business expansion plan that feels both exciting and slightly overwhelming. More staff, more systems, more everything. But the client demand is clearly there, and the financial opportunity is too good to ignore.
"This feels big," Vada says, looking at our projected revenue numbers. "Like, life-changing big."
"Good big or scary big?" I ask.
"Both," she admits with a laugh. "Definitely both."
By afternoon, we've drafted job descriptions, created intake forms, and scheduled consultations with six potential clients.
Maya accepts our offer to join the team before we even finish explaining the role, and suddenly we're running an actual company instead of just being two people with complementary skills.
"I should probably call Stella," I say, settling onto our couch with my laptop. "Let her know how things are going."
"Good idea," Vada agrees, curling up beside me.
The video call connects to show Stella in her home office, looking professionally put-together despite it being late afternoon on a Wednesday.
"Emory!" she says with obvious delight. "How's domestic life treating you?"
"Really well, actually," I say, pulling Vada closer so she's in frame. "
"We're pretty happy," Vada says, and something about the way she says it makes my chest warm.
"You should be," Stella says with obvious approval. "And from what I can tell, you're building something incredible together professionally too."
We fill Stella in on the business growth, the client demand, the expansion plans we're developing. She asks smart questions about sustainability and work-life balance that make me grateful to have an architect's practical perspective on building something meant to last.
"The most important thing," Stella says toward the end of our call, "is that you two seem genuinely happy. Not just successful, but actually enjoying what you're building together."
"We are," I say, meaning it completely. "This feels right in ways I didn't expect."
"Good," Stella says with satisfaction. "Because life's too short to build something you don't love with someone you don't adore."
After we end the call, Vada and I sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, processing the day's developments and what they mean for our future.
"This is really happening, isn't it?" she says eventually.
"Looks like it," I agree. "How are you feeling about everything?"
"Excited," she says without hesitation. "Maybe a little nervous about the speed, but mostly excited. What about you?"
"Same," I say, pulling her closer. "Though I have to admit, the best part isn't the business success."
"No?"
"The best part is getting to build it with you," I say honestly. "Getting to wake up every morning knowing we're creating something together."
"That's very romantic for a business discussion," she says, but she's smiling as she says it.
"Maybe that's our secret," I suggest. "We're not just business partners or just romantic partners. We're both."
"Both," she agrees, settling against my chest. "I like the sound of that."
That evening, as we're cooking dinner together and discussing vendor contracts like it's the most natural thing in the world, I catch myself thinking about how much my life has changed since Paradise Cove.
Three weeks ago, I was stressed about credit card bills and uncertain about my future.
Now I'm planning international travel for work, expanding a business with someone I love, and looking forward to tomorrow in ways I haven't felt in years.
"What are you thinking about?" Vada asks, following my gaze out the kitchen window where the Portland skyline is lit up against the evening sky.
"Just that this feels like the beginning of something really good," I say. "All of it. The business, living here, building a life with you."
"The beginning," she repeats thoughtfully. "I like that better than thinking of it as the end of our single lives."
"Much better," I agree, turning to kiss her because I can, because she's here, because we're creating something beautiful together.
Some partnerships are about dividing responsibilities and managing boundaries. Others are about multiplication—taking what you each bring and creating something bigger than the sum of its parts.
As we finish dinner and start planning tomorrow's client calls, I realize we're definitely the multiplication kind.