The Reunion by Kayla Olson(51)

i’ve got an idea, he writes back. meet me at the studio at 5:30? will text details in the morning

If that won’t get me out of bed on time, I don’t know what will. Suddenly the crack of dawn can’t come soon enough. I’ll be there, I reply.

As I hit send, another text comes in, this one from Bre. Sooooooo when do I get to hear about Ransom at your place last night? Please tell me this was a date??! I wanted SO BADLY to ask you about it earlier

“Hey, Siri,” I say, as I dot my face with moisturizer. “Call Bre.”

Two seconds later, she picks up, laughing. “Aren’t you so proud of my restraint, Liv? It was so hard to sit there with all the secret things burning a hole in me. Also hi, how are you?”

I laugh, too, feeling lighter already. “Such a long day, but I’m good. Thank you for suffering in silence on my behalf!”

“So?” she says. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Liv Latimer?”

The question alone fills me with butterflies, like I might somehow ruin everything with Ransom just by talking about it—like if I say it out loud, it will become a real thing that’s happening. Real things have the tendency to fall apart.

Even so, I don’t think I can hold it in.

“It wasn’t a date,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. “But it kind of felt like a date. And it’s possible he kissed me today in his trailer?”

She’s silent on the other end, for just long enough I start to wonder if I’ve made a huge mistake. “I’m sorry,” she finally says excitedly, if a little tentatively, “I thought I just heard you say Ransom Joel kissed you today.”

Now it’s my turn for silence—where to even begin?

“Liv. Liv. You’re serious right now? You and Ransom—really?! As in, real-life kissed you, not TV-kissed you?” Her smile is so infectious I can practically hear it through the phone.

“Really, really,” I say, and I can’t help it, I’m smiling now, too. I had no idea how different a kiss with Ransom could feel, just us, no scripts and no cameras. It was like we’d never done it before at all.

“We had the best time last night, Bre. Clearly, since we were both late this morning.” Heat floods my cheeks as soon as I say it because it sounds like we were doing much more than falling asleep on the couch while watching a movie.

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna need you to back up to the beginning. I’m getting some popcorn, okay? This is amazing. Tell me everything.”

I turn out my bathroom light and climb into bed, phone still on speakerphone.

So much for going straight to sleep tonight.





Snapaday story by @GOTV_fanboiiii / 11:06 p.m.

legit dying over here waiting for the GotV reunion, looks like im starting the series over Snapaday poll by @GOTV_fanboiiii / 11:07 p.m.

anyone else lowkey worried we wont get any actual answers in the reunion ep 73% theyll give answers but not the ones we want 27% the writers are trash we will never get answers Snapaday poll by @GOTV_fanboiiii / 11:14 p.m.

ok ok i hear you, too doom and gloom, is this one better IF we get answers do you think

55% honor chose duke

45% honor chose new york

fwiw she better not have chosen new york 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 Ransom get here, 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, this is 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.