After taking a moment to muse on the beauty of the weather (partly cloudy) and the general goofiness of Rhymin's happiness to see her (partly clod-y), we cut to a water taxi motoring down The Space Needle Causeway and up to the front door of a brightly colored house right on the water. It's all pale blue with giant windows and a big outdoor deck, but it maintains that funky look of the houses that sit on the Venice canals in L.A. that their owners bought twenty years ago for seven bucks, way back before gentrification was invented. On their way in, Trista lapses back into her Miami Heat days, noting loudly and with jarring cheerleader relish, "Look at the hot tub!" in much the same way she might once have implored large, sports-going audiences, "Gimme an 'M!' Gimme an 'I!' Dude, just don't give me some loser with no money or a small place, 'cause I mean look at this hot tub!" Inside, they continue to admire the décor, as Rhymin' notes in a interview, "Hopefully, the natural course of events will lead to a progression in the romantic mood of the evening." If you mean, "near things and people that indicate a certain great level of cash" as the kind of thing that helps at least one of you get into that "romantic mood," I think you're well on your way.
Outside on the deck now, Trista inexplicably -- almost incredulously -- asks, "Do you want to eat now?" as if a really aggressive waiter is suddenly her Billy-Madison's-penguin kind of hallucination and he keeps following her around Seattle, repeatedly trying to sell her on tonight's specials. Geez. You don't want to eat, don't eat. It looks like it's been a while, anyway. As an alternative to this odious prospect, Trista Baby hurries down the chimney tonight and instead suggests, "Do you wanna get in the hot tub?" Rhymin' saw this kind of thing happen in a movie once (actually, he's too pure of heart ever to have seen that kind of movie; clearly, Rhymin' has merely had this movie described to him by a creepy older cousin or a precocious camp friend or maybe Russ) and responds with a subtext-free, "Uh, sure." Trista uses his sincerity as a weapon, setting phasers on "mock ruthlessly," as she imitates his eagerness with a mimicking, "Er, hmmm, let me think about that." Jerk. "Whatever," Rhymin' thinks as he follows her into the house. "She's kind of a bitch, but I still get to see her naughty bits." Or so his creepy older cousin or a precocious camp friend or maybe Russ has taught him to think.
Good god, woman, I thought y'all were going to get in the hot tub. Cut to Trista fully submerged in the hot, cleansing water, while Ryan sits on the ledge behind her. He dares to dip one toe in the pool while planting the seeds for the inevitable "I hate you, you bitch" heartbreak poem that will come after his ouster, quietly wondering what rhymes with "this little piggy...is the only thing in the hot tub." Too bad it's going to be so hard for him to grow those seeds when he's not allowed anywhere near the water. And so, Shirtless Ryan -- so far my very, very, very favorite Ryan of all -- speaks through the blue lips of one sitting near naked, outdoors, in the Pacific Northwest, in October, telling Trista, "I hope that you know how I feel about you." Compensating for the loud, water-spraying jets, Trista cranes her neck back to read his lips in an exceedingly I'm-sorry-it's- so-hard-for-me- to-hear-you- over-all-of- your-not-pleasure kind of way, responding, "I do." Too bad that's the last time you'll ever hear her say those words, oh ye silver medallist of her heart. But don't count Ryan out just yet: he's learned a lot more words and he's eager to say them all out loud, in a row! "It's frustrating, 'cause I don't, like, get to talk to you and feel, like, how you're feeling." He adds that "at this last Rose Ceremony," he was "on Cloud Nine," but was disheartened to see that the other guys all came downstairs glowing after their own private conversations with Trista. There's even a gauzy montage of it, each of the guys walking back into The Room With The Rug, looking very smug. When Charlie comes into the room, he even winks at the camera, and a thousand slugs follow in his wake on the trail of slime he seems to leave behind. Ryan wonders, "Shoot. Maybe it's just how she is." Awwww! He said "shoot"! Let him get in there! Look at how cold he is! He could cut glass with those things!