Page 19 of Love, Take Two

"Okay, I have to say it," he announces loudly enough for half the remaining guests to hear. "You two were like watching wine tasting foreplay! The way you shared food, the intimate conversations, it was better than reality TV!"

"Derek," Vada starts, but he's clearly just getting warmed up.

"The beach volleyball tournament starts in thirty minutes," I say, redirecting Derek's attention before he can elaborate further on our "wine foreplay."

We walk back toward our rooms to change into beach volleyball attire, and as I pull on board shorts and a tank top, I try desperately not to think about how incredible Vada looked in that sundress—the way it hugged her curves, how the fabric moved when she laughed. And I definitely shouldn't be imagining how good she'd look out of that dress, but apparently my brain has other plans.

Through the thin resort wall, I can hear her moving around next door, getting ready, and my traitorous mind conjures images of her peeling that sundress over her head…

I grab my sunglasses and head for the door before my imagination gets me into any more trouble. Time to focus on volleyball. Just volleyball. Not on Vada out of her dress.

8

VADA

Standing in my suite's walk-in closet, trying not to think about how wine tasting felt like the most intimate date I've had in years, I choose my outfit with more care than usual, a black athletic bikini with high-waisted shorts that are both practical for competition and flattering for the inevitable photo documentation. The ensemble strikes the right balance between serious athlete and confident woman who's comfortable being watched with her reunion boyfriend.

My phone buzzes with notifications—comments flooding my latest Instagram post about the wine tasting experience. The engagement is incredible, but the comments are... telling.

"THE WAY YOU TWO LOOK AT EACH OTHER ??"

"This is not friendship energy, bestie"

"When's the wedding?? The chemistry is UNREAL"

"Travel daddy found his match ?"

I scroll through dozens of similar comments, heart sinking as I realize that whatever happened between Emory and me duringwine tasting was obvious enough to thousands of strangers through a phone screen. The way we shared food, finished each other's observations, created that intimate bubble that excluded everyone else—it was all caught on camera and broadcast to my growing follower count.

A knock interrupts my social media spiral. Through the peephole, I see Maya's face.

"SURPRISE!" Maya shouts when I open the door, throwing her arms around me.

"Maya!" I squeal, hugging my best friend with desperate relief. "What are you doing here?"

"Jared invited me to join the celebration," Maya says, pulling back to study my face with laser focus. "Plus, your texts were giving me serious anxiety. 'Solid 7, maybe 8 complicated'? I needed to see this situation for myself."

She's wearing a flowy sundress and designer sunglasses. Maya Burdell knows me better than anyone, which means she'll see right through any attempt to downplay what's happening with Emory.

"Come in, I can't believe you're here!" I step aside so she can enter my suite. "But I should warn you, the situation has evolved since yesterday."

"Define evolved,"Maya says, gravitating toward the ocean view windows. "Because from your Instagram content, it looks like you're recreating some romantic wine tasting fantasy with your college boyfriend."

"We're not recreating anything," I protest, though the words sound weak. "We're surprisingly compatible as collaborators."

Maya turns to look at me with an expression that suggests she's not buying that explanation for even a second. "Vada. Honey. I've seen your content collaboration with other event vendors. It doesn't usually involve looking at each other like you're about to start making out over a cheese board."

Heat rises in my cheeks because she's not wrong. Whatever happened during wine tasting went way beyond friendly collaboration into territory that felt sexy and charged.

"It's complicated," I say finally.

"So you mentioned," Maya replies, settling onto my sofa with determination. "Start from the beginning. How did your college boyfriend end up at your ex-boyfriend's wedding?"

I give her the full rundown—the cosmic joke of Jared marrying Erika, the collision at the cocktail party, Derek's inappropriate oversharing, our adjoining rooms, couples' yoga.

"Wait,"Maya interrupts when I get to the wine tasting. "You two dominated a professional wine education session together? Like, impressing the sommelier and making everyone else feel undereducated?"

"We have complementary palates," I say defensively.

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