Page 14 of Love, Take Two

The silence that follows is the kind that makes you hyper-aware of background noise—waves crashing, birds chirping, and the sound of Erika's followers absolutely losing their minds in the comments.

"That's... a lot of information for breakfast time," I say with a laugh that comes out more strained than I intended.

"Sorry, sorry," Derek says, though he's clearly not sorry at all. "I'm just excited about this whole romantic full-circle situation. It's like a movie!"

"Speaking of movies," a smooth voice says behind me, and I turn to see Emory approaching our group with a travel mug and the kind of easy smile that used to make our professors forget what they were lecturing about.

He looks incredible in shorts and a fitted tank top that shows off chiseled muscles that come from an active outdoor lifestyle. His dark curls are still slightly messy from sleep, and those warm brown eyes catch mine with a moment of shared amusement about Derek's broadcasting habits.

"Morning, everyone," Emory says, joining our circle with the natural confidence of someone comfortable on camera. "Ready for some sunrise yoga?"

"Emory!" Erika immediately pulls him into the livestream frame next to me, and suddenly we're standing close enough that I can smell him and that brings back way too many memories.

"Say hi to everyone," Erika instructs, clearly delighted by the content possibilities of having us together on camera.

"Good morning, Erika's amazing followers," Emory says with practiced charm. "Thanks for letting us crash your celebration week. This place is stunning”

"And you two know each other!" Erika continues with obvious excitement. "College sweethearts who haven't seen each other in eight years, reunited in paradise!"

Emory and I exchange a look that I'm sure communicates our mutual awareness that we're being turned into a social media narrative whether we want to be or not.

"It's been a fun surprise," Emory says diplomatically.

"Fun is one word for it," I agree, which makes him smile in a way that's going to get analyzed in Erika's comments section.

"This is going to be the best content," Erika says, ending the livestream with satisfaction. "You guys are going to be perfect partners for yoga."

The yoga instructor turns out to be a gorgeous woman named Serenity (of course) who has the kind of zen energy that makes you want to buy whatever wellness products she's endorsing. She's set up an elegant studio space right on the beach, with mats arranged in romantic pairs facing the sunrise.

"Welcome, beautiful souls," Serenity says in a voice like honey and meditation apps. "Today we're going to explore our partners, using our connections with each other to deepen our practice and open our hearts to love."

I glance at Emory, who's looking at our assigned mats with the same expression I'm probably wearing, mild panic mixed with resignation.

"Partner yoga is all about trust," Serenity continues, apparently oblivious to the fact that half her class consists of people who aren't actually romantically involved. "We'll be supporting each other physically and emotionally, creating sacred space for vulnerability and connection."

Derek, who's been paired with Jared's cousin Marcus (both single groomsmen), raises his hand enthusiastically. "What if your partner keeps talking during the meditation parts?"

"We embrace all forms of expression," Serenity says with unlimited patience. "Though mindful silence often allows for deeper connection."

The other couples settle onto their mats with the easy intimacy of people who actually touch each other on a regular basis. Jared and Erika look like they're about to pose for the cover of a wellness magazine, all coordinated workout gear and natural chemistry.

Emory and I approach our mats with significantly more caution.

"So," he says quietly as we settle into cross-legged positions facing each other, "this should be interesting."

"Define interesting," I whisper back, acutely aware that we're being photographed by Erika's professional photographer.

"We begin with eye contact meditation," Serenity announces. "Look into your partner's eyes and breathe together. Allow yourself to be seen."

This is a terrible idea. Looking into Emory's eyes for extended periods was dangerous enough in college when we were actually dating. Doing it now, when we're supposed to be "just friends" dealing with our bizarre situation maturely, feels like emotional Russian roulette.

But everyone else is settling into the exercise, and backing out now would create exactly the kind of drama we're trying to avoid. So I look into Emory's warm brown eyes and try to breathe normally while my heart rate spikes like I'm running uphill.

His eyes are exactly the same as they were in college—expressive, intelligent, with those little gold flecks that become more obvious in natural light. But there's something different too. More depth, more confidence, the kind of self-awareness that comes from years of life experience.

"Breathe together," Serenity's voice floats over us. "Match your partner's rhythm. Feel the connection between your energies."

Without meaning to, I find myself syncing my breathing to Emory's slower, deeper rhythm. It's automatic, the same way we used to naturally match each other's pace when walking across campus or fall into synchronized sleep patterns when we lived together.

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