I wait for his booming laugh, but it doesn't come. A few seconds later, the narrow road we've been following widens, and I get my first glimpse of the resort. Surrounded by tropical flowers and elaborate fountains, it looks like a painting, almost too beautiful to actually exist. Bellamy gasps beside me, and when I glance over at her, I notice Eric slide a look in her direction.
Attendants are waiting for us when we step out of the car, and Joshua hands them our carry-ons. A man in a pale gray suit greets us with a wide smile and outstretched hands. There are the beginning traces of white flecked through his dark hair, but his brown eyes are warm and inviting.
"Welcome," he says. "We've been expecting you. I am Alonso Ordoñez, one of the managers of Windsor Palms Resort. Please, let me show you to the reception desk."
I follow him through automatic glass doors into the lavish lobby. A waterfall tumbles down a rock wall in the middle of the space while huge skylights flood the area with light. Gatherings of plush furniture arranged throughout the lobby invite guests to relax and socialize, which several are doing. The atmosphere and energy of the resort is breezy and carefree, but the carefully orchestrated transportation and service tells me there are strict, complex protocols happening behind the scenes to maintain that feeling for the guests.
The woman at the desk smiles as Alonso walks up to her and introduces us.
“Welcome to Windsor Palms,” she says. “My name is Constance. Congratulations on winning your stay here.”
“Thank you,” I tell her.
“Is there anything I can do right now to ensure your trip is everything you hoped for? Any special requests I may be able to fulfill for you?” she asks.
“Not that I can think of,” I tell her.
Bellamy and Eric nod their agreement.
“Then I will have the attendants bring you to your rooms. Your luggage is already waiting for you there. If you can think of anything you may like, please don't hesitate to get in touch with me. I am a simple phone call away,” she says, then gestures for the three men holding our carry-on bags.
“Thank you,” I tell her again and fall into step behind the man carrying my bags.
The three men lead us along a hallway leading away from the lobby to a door that brings us into a breezeway. We follow them along a path weaving through trees and plants that make the air thick with a fresh, sweet scent. The greenery ends, and we see the pristine beach and blue ocean a few hundred feet away at the bottom of a slight grassy slope beside the path.
We make it to the guest building and ride a fast, smooth elevator several floors up before being taken to our separate rooms. The attendant uses the key Constance gave him to unlock the door, then steps aside so I can walk in.
"Your luggage is in the bedroom," he tells me, gesturing to one side of the room. "The pool is at the end of the building. Meals are available in the lobby or can be delivered to your room. Cocktails are served in the lobby every evening. Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you."
"Thank you very much," I tell him.
He leaves with a tip in hand, and I step up to the glass door leading out onto the balcony to admire the incredible view. Only when I release the latch and grasp the handle to open the door, it won’t move.
Chapter Twelve
I'm still shaking the handle on the balcony door when the door to the room opens.
“Oh, I'm sorry,” a voice says behind me.
I turn around and see a beautiful woman in her late teens or early twenties standing just inside the door, an armful of towels held in front of her. Her crisp uniform tells me she works for the resort, and the light in her eyes speaks to hope and life. I shake my head.
“It's okay,” I say. “Come on in.”
She takes another few steps in and closes the door behind her.
“I'm just bringing fresh towels,” she explains. “I didn't realize you'd already checked in.” She tilts her head to look around me at the door. “Are you having trouble with the handle?”
I look at my hand still wrapped around the metal and give a short laugh.
“Yes, I am. It doesn't seem to want to work,” I tell her.
She sets the towels down on the back of a couch and comes toward me with a friendly smile.
“Don't worry,” she says. “It's not just you. Some of these doors are a little tricky. It seems there was trouble when they were installing them.” She gives me a secretive look out of the corner of her eye. “But you didn't hear that from me.”
“Of course not,” I nod.
“You see, the doors are positioned just slightly off, so they sometimes get caught and latch incorrectly. It makes them very easy to open. That includes from the balcony. Since the balconies can't be accessed through anything but the rooms themselves, it's not too much of a problem, but it can be frustrating when they don't stay fully shut from the inside. Many guests leave their doors open all the time, so they may not notice the issue. But those of us who close them in between guests rather than leaving them open have a trick.”
She shows me a small piece of metal bent and positioned toward the bottom of the door to keep it in place. A flick of her finger releases the piece, and she gestures to the handle. I barely pull on the door, and it slides open.
"Oh," I say, surprised by it gliding open.
"See? We are working on getting these doors replaced, but since there haven’t been any guest complaints, it hasn’t been a priority. The resort is still fairly new, so Mr. Windsor seems to discover new things he wants to
