Page 12 of Love, Take Two

"Friends," she confirms. "Two adults who used to date but have moved on and can support each other through an unusual situation."

"Sounds reasonable," I say, though reasonable feels like the wrong word for whatever this is.

"Perfect," Vada says, standing up in a movement that brings her closer to my chair. "We'll get through this week with minimal drama and maximum dignity."

She's close enough now that I can catch the faint scent of her perfume. I find myself remembering the way she used to lean against my desk while I was studying, close enough to touch but focused on her own work, comfortable in shared space in a way that felt natural.

"Emory?" she says, and I realize I've been staring.

"Sorry," I say quickly, standing up to put some distance between us. "Just thinking about tomorrow's schedule. Couples' yoga at sunrise ought to be interesting."

"Oh God," Vada groans. "I forgot about the couples' yoga. How exactly does that work when you're not a couple?"

“Carefully, I imagine," I say. "Though knowing Erika, she's probably already told the instructor that we're 'reconnecting old friends' or something equally optimistic."

"This is going to be a disaster," Vada says, but she's laughing as she says it.

"But at least we'll be disasters together."

"There's something reassuring about that," she says, moving toward the terrace doors. "Solidarity in awkwardness."

"If you say so," I add, following her. "And if Derek starts getting too inappropriate, you can always threaten to share some of his party stories."

"Oh, that's evil," Vada says with obvious delight. "I like it. Mutual assured oversharing."

"Derek's kryptonite," I agree, opening the door so she can step back onto the shared terrace.

"This is going to work," she says, turning to face me with a smile that's confident and friendly and absolutely nothing more than that. "Two adults, handling an awkward situation with grace and maturity."

"Grace and maturity," I repeat, matching her tone perfectly.

"Night," she says, moving toward her own suite's entrance.

"Good night, King," I reply, watching her open her door.

She pauses before going inside, looking back at me with an expression I can't quite read in the soft lighting.

"For what it's worth," she says quietly, "it's good to see you again. Even under these bizarre circumstances."

"It's good to see you too," I say, and mean it more than I should.

She disappears into her suite, leaving me standing alone on the terrace with the sound of waves and the realization that I agreed to spend a week pretending to be "friends" with someone who still makes my heart race by existing in the same space.

I go back inside and close the terrace doors, but I can hear her moving around next door—water running, drawers opening, the familiar sounds of someone getting ready for bed. It's intimate in a way that feels both comforting and dangerous, and I find myself listening despite knowing I shouldn't.

My phone buzzes with a text from Carlos: "How did the party go? Any drama with the ex situation?"

I type back: "Complicated. Will call tomorrow."

But as I get ready for bed, I keep thinking about the moment when Vada and I slipped into our old pattern of finishing each other's sentences. The way her presence in my suite felt natural despite years apart. The fact that she heard my phone conversation with Carlos and didn't seem bothered by my claim that I wasn't hung up on her.

The problem is, sitting here in the quiet of my suite with the sound of her moving around next door, I'm starting to think Derek might be right about one thing: this week is going to be very interesting.

And our agreement to keep things "platonic" might be harder to maintain than either of us wants to admit.

The suite goes quiet except for the sound of the ocean and my own awareness that we're separated by nothing but a few feet and some very thin walls.

6

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