She closed her eyes.
The last thing she was conscious of before sleep pulled her under was his lips pressing against the top of her head—brief and quiet, as if he thought she was already asleep and was saying something he wouldn’t have said otherwise.
Emma smiled into his chest and didn’t tell him she felt it.
She could wait for the words.
She’d chosen.
Chapter 45
Practiced Efficiency
The island lookedlike it had been shaken and left to settle.
Emma walked along the pathway from the staff quarters toward the main resort building, her eyes cataloging damage with practiced efficiency. Scattered palm fronds littered the stone walkways, some still dripping from the deluge. Two decorative planters had toppled near the fountain, spilling soil across the pavers in dark, muddy streaks. The palms themselves bent at angles they hadn’t had the day before, their trunks stressed but not broken.
Everywhere around her, staff were moving. The first of them had returned that morning, while she was with Zach. Maintenance was the first scheduled to return, but she’d bet her last dollar security had been in the first boatload.
A maintenance crew worked in the west courtyard, clearing debris with methodical focus. Two groundskeepers hauled branches toward a growing pile by the service road. Lights shone from the windows of the main building, people bustled about, and systems hummed back to life.
Emma’s shoulders settled as she took it in. The storm had passed. The danger was over. Now came the part she understood best: putting the pieces back together.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket—a text from David confirmed their meeting. Another from the Maintenance Director with a preliminary damage assessment. She’d read them both in a moment, but for now, she walked and inspected, making notes.
The air smelled clean. Rain-washed and salt-bright, with the electric clarity that followed a storm. Her hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, still damp from her shower with Zach. She’d chosen casual clothes—dark jeans and a crisp white blouse, professional but practical—and the normalcy of it felt almost surreal after the events of the past twenty-four hours.
The Windstone. The storm. Zach.
Her pulse kicked, but she didn’t let herself dwell. Not yet. She had work to do first.
She turned toward the administrative wing and nearly collided with Maria from housekeeping.
“Ms. Vann!” Maria’s face brightened. “You’re all right!”
“I’m fine,” Emma offered her a warm smile. “Are you? Is everyone accounted for?”
“Yes, ma’am. All staff present and safe. We’re finishing the final room checks.”
“Any damage to the guest accommodations?”
“Minor water intrusion in two suites on the east side—the window seals need replacing. Maintenance is already on it. Everything else held. We’ll be ready for opening day.”
Emma nodded, a knot of tension easing. “Good. Thank you for moving so quickly on this.”
Maria waved a hand. “This is what we do. Besides—” She lowered her voice, glancing around with a conspiratorial air. “After what Mr. Steele’s security protocols put us through during that lockdown drill last month? This was easy.”
A laugh bubbled up. “I’ll be sure to tell him you said so.”
“Please don’t,” Maria grinned. “I like this job.”
She moved on, and Emma continued toward the conference room, fielding two more check-ins along the way—both from department heads confirming their teams were intact, and operations and normal schedules would resume the next morning. Each conversation settled something in her chest. This was familiar territory. Crisis management, staff coordination, operational oversight.
This was what she was good at.
She was halfway across the lobby when she noticed it. A small, folded piece of paper, cream-colored and elegant, rested on the corner of the reception desk; her name written in script.
Miss Emma.
