Page 31 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

"Do you? Question it?" I ask, suddenly needing to know.

"Sometimes." His honesty surprises me. "The resort operates on thin margins. We need this wedding to be successful—the publicity could transform our booking situation."

The admission creates an unexpected connection between us—both carrying the weight of professional pressure, both needing this event to succeed for different yet complementary reasons.

"We'll make it work." The words emerge with conviction I didn't know I possessed. "Whatever happens with the weather, we'll find a way."

Lucas's smile transforms his face, erasing the lines of worry. His hand tightens around mine, a silent acknowledgment of our unlikely alliance.

Through the glass ceiling, the clouds begin to part, revealing patches of brilliant blue. The storm has broken, at least temporarily. But as I stand beside this complicated man in the sanctuary he's shared with me, I realize another kind of storm is just beginning—one that might prove far more dangerous to my carefully ordered life than any blizzard.

And that storm is Lucas Reid.

Chapter 7

Melting Point

"No, not like that."I reach across the table, plucking the mangled napkin from Lucas's hands. "You're crushing the corners."

His sigh fills the resort's grand dining room, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Outside, snow continues to fall in lazy spirals, adding to the three feet already blanketing Angel's Peak. Inside, we wage our own battle—me against Lucas's apparent inability to fold a simple napkin into a swan.

"It's a piece of fabric." He leans back in his chair, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing forearms corded with muscle. "Does it really matter what shape it's in? It's just going to end up in someone's lap."

I smooth the cream-colored linen across the polished mahogany table. "Details matter. The Mortons are paying for perfection, not 'good enough.'"

"Right." He reaches for another napkin from the stack I've meticulously arranged. "Show me again."

Morning in the atrium gave way to afternoon in the storage rooms. After discovering the resort's inventory system was as relaxed as its owner—meaning non-existent—I launched into an impromptu audit. Surprisingly, Lucas didn't object. Instead,he offered to help. Now, with supplies counted and emergency plans drafted, we've moved on to table settings.

I demonstrate the fold again, my fingers moving smoothly through the steps. "Bring the corner to the center, crease firmly, then fold back the sides to create the wings."

Lucas mimics my movements, his larger hands surprisingly nimble until the final fold, when the entire creation collapses into an unidentifiable heap.

"That doesn't look like a swan." He frowns at the crumpled fabric. "More like a swan that's been hit by a snowplow."

Despite my frustration, laughter bubbles up, escaping before I can suppress it. "That's possibly the worst napkin fold I've ever seen."

"You should've seen my attempt at origami in third grade." He grins, the expression transforming his face from merely handsome to devastating. "My paper crane looked more like a wounded pterodactyl."

"I believe it." I reach for his mangled creation, attempting to salvage it. "Here, watch closely."

Our heads bend together over the table, his shoulder warm against mine. The scent of his soap—something woodsy and subtle—fills my senses, momentarily distracting me from the task. My fingers falter on the fold as memories from last night and our elevator encounter surge unbidden. The heat of his body against mine, the commanding whisper of his voice in the darkness...

"Like this?" His question pulls me back to the present.

I blink, focusing on his latest attempt. It's still terrible—lopsided with uneven creases—but recognizable as bird-adjacent. Progress.

"Better." I can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "Though I wouldn't call it wedding-ready."

"How many of these do we need again?" He eyes the mountain of unfolded napkins like it personally offended him.

"Two hundred." I suppress a laugh at his horrified expression. "But we can probably manage with fifty perfect ones for the head tables and simpler folds for the rest."

"Thank God." He reaches for another napkin, determination etched in his jaw. "I was beginning to think we'd be here until next winter."

His next attempt ends in disaster—a mangled mess that looks more like a squashed bat than any kind of fancy fold.

"How is that even possible?" I stare at the lumpy shape in his hands, biting back a laugh. "You've defied the laws of physics."

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