Page 50 of The Reunion

Snapaday story by @GOTV_fanboiiii / 11:15 p.m.

who am i kidding this show can do no wrong and ill stan no matter what

16

I arrive at the studio ten minutes early. It’s just before dawn, still dark out—but that doesn’t stop two dozen photographers outside the gates from snapping a hundred shots of me on my way in. I toss my hair and give them a subdued smile; I’m feeling generous this morning.

“Liv! Over here!” one shouts. “Liv, can I ask you a question?”

“Just did!” I say with a cheeky smile. They never like that answer very much, but this one seems amused to have gotten a response at all. With a small wave, I duck inside the studio door and leave them behind.

Everything is quiet and still, even the normally bustling espresso bar. The other café on the lot opens at five, but the one here in our building won’t open until quarter to six. It’s only just now 5:28—how early did Ransomgethere, anyway? I glance down at the directions he sent ten minutes ago. In the corner is an unassuming door marked with the universal signage for a stairway; I slip inside and head all the way up to the top.

As it turns out, there’s an entire rooftop terrace up here I never knew existed—another upgrade in the latest studio remodel, no doubt, with posh orange patio seating and Edison bulb lighting that’s currently as sleepy as the rest of the building. Ransom’s leaning on the railing, his dark silhouette framed by deep lavender sky and the last bits of starlight.

“Well,thisis lovely,” I say, and he turns. Even in near darkness, his smile is brilliant.

I meet him at the far end of the terrace. On the frosted glass table beside him are a pair of insulated coffee mugs and a plate of double chocolate biscotti.

“It’s about to get even better, and not just because I brought your favorite flat white.” He grins, and so do I. Everyone knows my drink, so it’s not that surprising he’d remember, but that he went out of his way to get one—especially at such an early hour—makes me feel a rush of affection for him.

The sky is turning lighter by the minute, pale lavender now, bright enough that I can see all the distinct shades in Ransom’s eyes. “We don’t have a lot of time, but I figured we could start this day off right, and start it together.” He twists open the lid to my flat white and hands it to me, along with the biscotti, remembering from years ago how much I love to dip them in before taking a bite.

“It’s perfect,” I say, and I mean it—I couldn’t have asked for a more thoughtful start to this day, a more romantic place to watch the sunrise together. He slips his arm around me, a warm shield from the early-morning chill. We sip our coffees in silence, taking in the view as golden light overtakes the sky.

I could live in this moment forever.

It won’t be long before it ends, but neither of us breaks the magic by saying so. We linger as long as we can, soaking up the silence and stillness before things turns intense with the day’s shoot. Eventually, his phone alarm vibrates in his pocket—I feel it, too, pressed up this close against him.

He turns to face me, dips his forehead to rest against mine. “We should probably go,” he says quietly.

I bite my lip, not ready for this to end. He’s right, of course. “Yeah. We probably should.”

He leans in, presses a soft, slow kiss to my lips. When he pulls away, I could swear he’s taken a part of me with him. “Come to my place tonight, since last night didn’t work out? I’ll make you dinner, and I want to hear all about Vienna.”

“Yes,” I say immediately, with one more quick kiss for emphasis. “But only because dinner’s involved, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he says, with a lopsided grin I’ll be thinking about all day.

He gathers our empty coffee tumblers, shoves them along with the plate into the depths of his backpack, the same one he brought to our hangout on the beach. A few minutes later, he disappears into the stairwell, promising to text me an all clear so we aren’t seen leaving the terrace together.

When I slip back in to reception, Ransom’s long gone. No one seems to notice me, as the few people in the room are over at the window, eyeing the crowd that’s doubled outside the studio gate.

“Millie must be on her way, then?” I comment to anyone within listening distance. At the moment, that includes a couple of interns and Gretchen, my makeup artist. If they’re surprised to see me, they don’t show it.

“She dropped another new single overnight,” one of the interns says. “It’s already stuck in my head.”

Our barista, who’ll get his own line in the credits for keeping us caffeinated, appears from the opposite hallway, a fresh flat white in hand. “Made it a triple this morning,” he whispers conspiratorially, “to make up for Bryan punishing you yesterday.” His eye roll is over-the-top dramatic, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You’re the best,” I say, not about to tell him I’ve already had an entire flat white courtesy of Ransom.

“Ready when you are,” Gretchen says. “Didn’t see you slip in this morning—how’d you manage that?”

“Got here extra early today,” I say, hoping she doesn’t notice the heat blooming in my cheeks. “Couldn’t risk being late again.”

She laughs. “Yeah, good call.”

A little over an hour later, when she and Emilio have turned me into a very fashion-forward version of Honor for the brunch scene we’ll be shooting, I head out to the golf cart that will deliver me to our outdoor set on the far side of the lot. It’s been done up to look like a cute little café; Sasha-Kate and Millie are already there when I arrive, waiting on its patio.

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