Page 52 of Love, Take Two
"Comfort food sounds perfect," I say honestly.
Watching Vada cook dinner in her own kitchen is weirdly intimate in a way that's different from anything we shared at the resort. She moves around the space with easy familiarity, and there's something deeply appealing about seeing her in her natural environment. This is her life, her home, her routine, and she's letting me be part of it.
"Need help?" I ask as she starts chopping vegetables.
"Can you handle opening wine and being entertaining company?" she asks.
"I think I can manage that," I say, finding the wine opener and settling onto a stool at her kitchen counter.
"So," she says as she works, "what's the weirdest place you've ever had to create content?"
"Definitely the time I got stuck in a hostel in Mumbai during monsoon season," I say. "The internet was terrible, the power kept going out, and I had to film three sponsored posts in a room the size of a closet with five other travelers."
"How did that work out?"
"Actually pretty well," I admit. "Some of my most authentic content came from that trip. Turns out people like seeing the behind-the-scenes chaos, not just the perfect moments."
"That's exactly what I've been thinking about for events," Vada says with obvious excitement. "People are tired of seeing only the final result. They want to know what goes into creating something beautiful."
"Which is perfect for collaboration," I point out. "Your planning expertise plus documentation of the actual creative process."
"Exactly," she says, and the enthusiasm in her voice makes me even more sure that this is going to work. Not just the relationship, but the business partnership too.
Dinner turns out to be incredible—some kind of pasta situation with vegetables and herbs that tastes like comfort and home. We eat on her couch with a movie playing in the background, and it's exactly the kind of domestic evening I never thought I wanted but apparently absolutely do.
"This is nice," I say as we're cleaning up afterward.
"Which part?" she asks.
"All of it," I say honestly. "Being here with you, making actual plans, feeling like I'm building something instead of just passing through."
"Good," she says, standing on her toes to kiss me. "Because I like having you here."
Later, as we're getting ready for bed in her guest room, I catch myself thinking about how different this feels from every other place I've stayed in the past three years. It's not just the comfort or the quality of the furniture. It's the sense of belonging somewhere, with someone, in a way that feels permanent instead of temporary.
"Everything okay?" Vada asks, appearing in the doorway in pajamas that make my heart skip.
"Perfect," I say, meaning it completely. "Just thinking about how much everything's changed."
"Good changes?" she asks, settling onto the bed beside me.
"The best changes," I confirm, pulling her closer. "Though I have to admit, I'm a little nervous about tomorrow."
"Why?"
"First day of real life," I say. "What if we're terrible at the domestic routine stuff?"
"Then we'll figure it out as we go," she says simply. "Besides, how hard can it be? We managed to coordinate volleyball and wine tasting. I think we can handle grocery shopping and apartment hunting."
"When you put it like that, it sounds easy," I say with a laugh.
"Maybe it will be," she says, settling against my chest. "Maybe the hard part was admitting we wanted to try."
As I drift off to sleep with Vada curled against me in a real bed in a real apartment in a city I'm actually going to live in, I realize that paradise wasn't the location. It was finding each other again and being brave enough to build something together.
Tomorrow we start figuring out what that actually looks like, but tonight, I'm exactly where I want to be.
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