Page 16 of Love, Take Two

"Thanks," I say quietly.

"Anytime," he replies, and something about the certainty in his voice makes me feel warm and safe in a way I hadn't realized I missed.

"So," I say as we approach the elegant breakfast buffet, trying to ignore how natural it felt to have him step in like that. "How traumatizing was that yoga session on a scale of one to ten?"

"Solid eight," Emory says with a laugh. "Though I have to admit, we were surprisingly good at it."

Around us, the other wedding guests are chatting and taking photos and creating content about the beautiful morning yoga session. But all I can think about is how natural it felt to trust him to catch me, and how the way he looked at me during that final pose felt like something much more dangerous than friendship.

Derek bounds over with his plate loaded with tropical fruit and the kind of enthusiasm that suggests he's about to share more observations about our "obvious chemistry."

"You guys were incredible!" he announces to anyone within hearing distance. "Like, seriously, everyone was watching you. You moved together like you'd been doing couple yoga forever!"

"Derek," I start, but he's already in full commentary mode.

"I'm just saying what everyone's thinking! The trust, the coordination, the way you looked at each other during that heart-opening thing—it was like watching a romance movie!"

Emory and I exchange a look of shared resignation about Derek's inability to read social situations, but there's something else in his expression too. Acknowledgment, maybe, that Derek isn't entirely wrong about what other people observed this morning.

The problem is, Derek isn't wrong about what I felt either. And judging by the way Emory's eyes lingered on mine during that final pose, he might be feeling something similar.

Our "friends" agreement is officially in trouble, and we haven't even made it through day one of activities yet.

7

EMORY

Hot water pounds my shoulders in the marble shower, but I can't stop thinking about yoga. Vada's body pressed against mine. The trust in her eyes when she fell backward into my arms. How we moved together like we'd been practicing for years instead of seeing each other for the first time in eight years yesterday.

This is a problem.

Our "just friends" agreement lasted twelve hours before yoga destroyed any pretense that we can ignore eight years of history and whatever chemistry is crackling between us. The way she looked at me during that final pose wasn't friendly. It was dangerous.

I turnoff the water and grab a soft towel, catching sight of myself in the massive mirror. Travel keeps me in decent shape, but seeing myself through Vada's eyes this morning made me notice how I've changed since college. Broader shoulders, more definition from years of adventure sports, confidence that comes from building something successful from nothing.

The question is whether any of that matters to someone who knew me when I was twenty-two and thought ramen was a food group.

My phone buzzes. Comments flood my Instagram from the yoga content. Erika tagged me in posts that are blowing up, and my followers want to know about my "yoga partner."

"Who is she and why do you look at her like she hung the moon?"

"THE CHEMISTRY THO ??????"

"Emory found his person and I'm here for this love story"

"Plot twist: travel boy settles down for the perfect girl"

I scroll through dozens of similar comments, heart sinking as I realize that our attempt to fly under the radar has completely failed. Whatever was happening between Vada and me this morning was obvious enough that thousands of strangers picked up on it through a phone screen.

This is either going to be the best content week of my career or a complete disaster that ruins both of us.

A knock on my terrace door interrupts my social media spiral. Through the glass, I see Vada holding two travel mugs. Her sundress makes my pulse jump.

"Coffee delivery," she says when I open the door, extending one mug. "I figured we both needed caffeine after that yoga situation."

Her words trail off as her eyes do a slow sweep from my face down to my chest, lingering on the water droplets still clinging to my skin, then traveling lower to where the white hotel towel sits low on my hips. I watch her throat move as she swallows, andwhen her gaze finally makes it back up to meet mine, there's heat there that has nothing to do with the morning sun.

"Give me a minute to throw on some clothes," I say, my voice rougher than intended.

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