Page 54 of Love, Take Two

Leave it to Maya to find the practical angle that makes everything make sense.

"When you put it like that," Emory says slowly, "it sounds less like charity and more like smart business planning."

"Exactly," I say, relieved he's not going to let pride get in the way of something good.

The second apartment is smaller and cheaper, but it lacks the character of the first place. The third is in a great neighborhood but has no natural light and a kitchen the size of a closet.

"So, the Pearl District place?" Maya asks as we sit in a coffee shop afterward, comparing notes.

"It felt right," I say, looking at Emory for confirmation.

"It felt like home," he agrees. "Though I should probably mention that my credit isn't exactly stellar right now. Travel lifestyle and inconsistent income don't impress landlords."

"Good thing my credit is excellent," I say with a grin. "Corporate job had its perks."

"You'd really do that? Put the lease in your name?"

"Emory," I say, reaching across the table to take his hand, "we're in this together. That means all of it—the good stuff and the practical stuff."

The relief on his face makes my chest warm. I'm starting to understand that his travel lifestyle, while Instagram-perfect, comes with a lot of financial stress that he's gotten good at hiding.

"Okay," he says. "Let's do it. Let's get an apartment together."

"YES!" Maya practically shouts, causing several other coffee shop patrons to turn and stare. "Sorry," she says at normal volume, "I'm just very invested in your happiness."

The lease application process takes most of the afternoon, but by evening we're walking back into my current apartment with move-in paperwork and a bottle of champagne Maya insisted on buying to celebrate.

"To new beginnings," Maya says, raising her glass once we've opened the bottle.

"To figuring it out as we go," Emory adds.

"To not overthinking everything," I say, which makes them both laugh.

"Cheers to that," Emory says, clinking his glass against mine.

After Maya leaves—with strict instructions about packing timelines and moving truck reservations—Emory and I settle onto my couch with the rest of the champagne and the apartment paperwork spread out on the coffee table.

"We just got an apartment together," I say, still processing the magnitude of what we've done.

"We did," he agrees, pulling me closer. "Feeling good about it?"

"Feeling terrified and excited and happy all at once," I admit. "You?"

"Same," he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Though mostly excited. This feels like the beginning of something really good."

"Speaking of which," I say, reaching for my laptop, "I got an email today from a couple in Seattle who want to hire us for their destination wedding in Cabo next spring."

"Us?" Emory asks, sitting up straighter.

"They specifically mentioned seeing our social media content from Paradise Cove and wanting that same energy for their celebration," I explain, pulling up the email. "Full documentation, behind-the-scenes content, authentic storytelling. They're willing to pay really well for it."

Emory reads over my shoulder, and I can feel his excitement building as he processes the details. "This is exactly what we talked about," he says. "Travel meets event planning, authentic experience documentation."

"The question is, are we ready to take on a client together?" I ask. "I mean, we just got an apartment. Maybe we should figure out living together before we try working together."

"Or maybe," Emory says, turning to face me fully, "this is the perfect opportunity to test whether we're as good a team professionally as we are personally."

"You think we should say yes?"

---