Page 19 of The Wedding Wrecker

"Miss Marshall?" A uniformed attendant appeared at my elbow before I even approached the main steps leading up to the lobby. "Welcome to Timber Vale. May I take your bags?"

"Only if you promise to give them back!” I joked.

The attendant stared at me until I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“Sure,” I said quietly, handing over my carry-on and suitcase.

The man headed off with my bags, leaving me to lift my eyes to the resort itself. It was hard not to feel intimidated by the massive log and stone structure looming before me. It managed to look both rustic and obscenely expensive. Thick, natural wood beams and countless architectural details covered the outside of the lodge. Somewhere above, smoke curled from multiple chimneys into the crystal-clear mountain air.

An actual honest-to-god sleigh with horses stood near the entrance, apparently waiting to take guests on rides through the surrounding winter wonderland. Because of course it did.

Some deeply buried, definitely romantic and fantasy-land version of me squealed a little bit. I suppressed it as much as I could.

Fantasies set people up for disappointment, Emma. You know that.

Before “the wedding wrecker” and the subsequent Irish disaster, I probably would have already asked if I could sit in the sleigh or pet the horses. Instead, I let out a weary sigh and averted my eyes, heading for the main entrance.

My phone buzzed.Maggie.

"Are you an ice cube yet?" she asked when I answered. “Are you absolutely freaking out because your sister’s wedding is only like… two weeks away? Or is it one?”

"I'm here,” I said, laughing softly at her barrage of questions. I followed the attendant with my bags through carved wooden doors into a lobby that took my breath away. An ornate stone fireplace dominated one wall, while antler chandeliers cast warm light over leather chairs and plush sofas. A full wall of windows gave a sweeping view of the snow-capped peaks and one of the ski slopes outside. I was already daydreaming about curling up in one of the comfy chairs with a good book so I could drink in the ambiance—if planning the wedding of my life didn’t keep me too busy, at least. "It's..."

"Overwhelming?" Maggie asked.

"I was going to say perfect." I lowered my voice as I passed the group in the fancy ski wear, who were now complaining about the champagne selection at the slope-side bar. "But also that."

"How's the altitude treating you?"

"Like I aged fifty years overnight." I paused to catch my breath. "Walking up a couple stairs makes me feel like I just ran a marathon.”

"Just wait until you try skiing,” Maggie said.

"Bold of you to assume I'm going anywhere near those death slopes. I've seen way too many movies where the girl tries to ski to impress some guy and ends up taking out half the resort."

"Speaking of guys trying to impress you..."

"Please don't."

"Three texts this week! That's commitment."

“If I was responding? Maybe. But I’m not, so I’d call it harassment.”

“Come on. It’s kind of sweet.”

“I went ononedate with him over a month ago now. And I told him in completely clear, unambiguous terms that I didn’t think it was going to work out.”

“Didn’tthink,” Maggie chirped, as if she had discovered a vital clue.

“Oh, come on. I was just trying to put it nicer than saying ‘we have literally nothing in common and we have about as much chemistry as a lukewarm glass of water.”

“Hey, water has chemistry. Hydrogen bonding with oxygen. It’s basically the building block of all complex chemistry.”

“Bad example,” I sighed. “But I’m really not interested in Kyle.At all.Yesterday he sent me a photo of his lunch with the caption 'wish you were here.' It was a protein shake."

"Men are weird." Maggie paused. "Though you could do worse. He's stable, successful?—"

"Not interested. Just like I told him," I finished. "Besides, I'm here to work. No distractions. I already had to block him onInstagram after he liked every single one of my posts from the last year."

---