Page 56 of Stranded with the Resort Owner

"I can when the success of this event depends on precision and execution." I match his intensity, keeping my voice low but firm. "Your chef was dismissing my concerns because of his ego."

"And you were overriding his expertise because you need to control every detail." Lucas steps closer, the hallway suddenly feeling much narrower. "Sometimes you have to trust people to do their jobs."

"Trust?" The word emerges as a scoff. "I trusted the weather would cooperate. I trusted your staff would be here three days ago. I trusted the venue wouldn't spring leaks. Look where trust has gotten us."

"Exactly where we need to be." He gestures sharply toward the bustling main areas. "Working together, finding solutions, creating something better than the original plan."

"That's not because of trust. It's because of contingency planning and quick thinking." I step forward, refusing to be intimidated by his proximity. "If I just trusted everything would work out, we'd be facing disaster right now."

"If you trusted the people around you, you might not be constantly on the edge of burnout." His words hit precisely. "There's a difference between high standards and destroying yourself to meet impossible expectations."

His hand wraps around my upper arm, not painful but firm—a physical emphasis to his words that sends heat cascading through me. For a heartbeat, I think he might pull me closer and finally break the careful distance we've maintained. His eyes darken, dropping briefly to my lips before he visibly reins himself in, releasing my arm and stepping back.

The charged moment stretches between us, neither advancing nor retreating. Finally, understanding dawns clearly. This isn't about control versus flexibility. It's about trust in each other, in the strange partnership we've forged through the crisis.

"You're right." The admission costs me nothing, I realize with surprise. "I need to trust more, but you must understand why that's difficult for me."

Something softens in his expression. "I do understand. Perfection is your armor."

The simple observation strikes uncomfortably. Before I can respond, a staff member calls for Lucas from the main hall—another crisis requiring attention.

"We should get back." I smooth my shirt, rebuilding my professional composure.

"For what it's worth, I trust you. Completely." Lucas catches my hand before I can turn away.

The words settle like a weight and a gift simultaneously in my chest. "I trust you too."

We return to the chaos with a new understanding, making our coordination even more seamless. When the kitchen team hits a snag with the revised menu, I defer to Chef Morgan's expertise while offering suggestions rather than directives. When the floral team struggles with placement in the new venue, Lucas backs my vision without hesitation.

Hours blur together as late afternoon fades to evening. Staff come and go in shifts, progress visible in the gradually transforming spaces. The Mountainview Room evolves from empty potential to stunning elegance, while the atrium takes shape as a magical ceremony venue.

By midnight, only a skeleton crew remains, with most staff retiring to newly accessible accommodations in town. Lucas and I continue working side by side, reviewing progress and finalizing details for the next day's push. Our earlier tension has transformed into comfortable collaboration, punctuated by moments of shared humor over particularly challenging solutions.

"You need to eat something." Lucas appears at my elbow as I review seating charts for the twentieth time. A tray is in his hands—a midnight picnic amid wedding chaos.

"I'm not hungry." My stomach immediately betrays me with an audible growl.

"Your body disagrees." His laugh is low and warm in the quiet space.

We settle in a corner of the Mountainview Room, surrounded by half-dressed tables and stacked chairs. The wine is rich and earthy, and the food is simple but exactly what my body needs after hours of neglect.

Our shoulders touch as we lean over documents, the contact neither awkward nor intentionally intimate—just comfortable proximity between two people who have somehow crossed the boundary from adversaries to partners.

"Look around." Lucas gestures with his wine glass at the space taking shape around us. "Twenty-four hours ago, this was a contingency plan. Now it's going to be more beautiful than the original venue."

I follow his gaze, allowing myself to see not what still needs to be done but what we've already accomplished.

"We did this."

"You did." His smile in the dim light does something peculiar to my pulse. "Against impossible odds."

"Nothing's impossible with the right plan." I counter automatically, then amend: "And the right people to execute it. You're being generous with your praise. I could never have done this without you."

His hand finds mine on the table, fingers intertwining with casual intimacy that feels new and familiar. "Want to see something?"

He leads me through the quiet resort to the atrium, now softly illuminated by strings of fairy lights. The florists have begun their transformation, with greenery and early arrangements framing the circular space. Above, the glass dome reveals a clearing sky where stars glitter against the backdrop of retreating storm clouds.

"They've done amazing work." I move to the center of the room, turning slowly to take in the progress.

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