Page 45 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

Neither of us acknowledged what nearly happened. For the second damn time.

And now? The pattern is becoming painfully familiar.

Moments of closeness. Real connection. Heat that hums like a live wire between us.

Then distance. Retreat. A muttered goodnight and separate sleeping arrangements like we're coworkers on a church retreat.

Correction: I'm not the one afraid of it. I'm team Full-Steam-Ahead. Open arms, open heart, open bed.

Lucas?

He's team Full-Stop.

Captain Line-in-the-Sand. And heaven forbid either of us step a toe over it.

It's infuriating.

Not just because I want him—which I do—but because he wants me back. I see it in every look that lingers too long, in how his voice dips when he says my name, and how his hands settle at my waist like it's instinct.

And then he yanks himself back like he's been burned.

Like I'm the fire.

Spoiler alert, Lucas—I'm just the tinder. You're the fire, and I need you to make me burn.

I'm starting to lose patience with playing the role of something dangerous he needs to resist.

"Amelia? Are you listening to a word I'm saying?"

"I'm sorry, Miranda what did you say?"

"The Mortons have tentatively approved the changes."

Relief washes through me. "That's wonderful news. We?—"

"Hold, please." Her voice cuts off, replaced by muffled conversation.

Sure, because I have nothing to do but hold for her. It's not like I'm preparing for the marriage of the century.

"Amelia?" Miranda's voice returns, tight with fresh tension. "I have Charlene Morton on the other line. There's a situation."

My stomach drops. "What kind of situation?"

"She wants to change the menu. Specifically, she's insisting on adding her grandmother's signature chocolate soufflé for dessert. Apparently, it's a family tradition she suddenly can't live without."

I close my eyes, counting to five before responding. "The menu was finalized months ago. The resort has already ordered all ingredients."

"I'm aware." Miranda's tone suggests she's already had this conversation. "But the bride is distraught. Crying on the phone. Her grandmother passed recently, and this is now a non-negotiable element."

Of course, it is because nothing about this wedding could possibly be simple.

"Let me speak with her."

A click, then Charlene's voice fills my ear, punctuated by theatrical sniffles. "Amelia? Please tell me you can make this happen. It's the only last-minute thing I've asked for, and it would mean everything to have Grandma Rose's soufflé at my wedding."

I bite back the observation that she's asked for at least seventeen "last-minute" changes since we began planning. "Charlene, I understand this is important to you. Do you have the recipe?"

"Of course. I'll email it right away. It's very specific—the chocolate has to be a particular French brand, and there's a special vanilla bean infusion that makes it uniquely hers."

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