Page 1 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

Chapter One

Amelia

“Still no heat in rooms 212 through 215.” Jorge, our maintenance supervisor, rubbed his weathered hands together as I hurried through Pine Haven’s kitchen. Dawn light barely penetrated the frosted windows. “Parts won’t arrive until next week.”

I paused before the industrial coffee maker, breathing in the rich aroma that had greeted guests for forty years. “Move the Hendersons to the east wing. They’ve been coming here since before I was born—they deserve better than space heaters.”

“On it, Ms. Horton.” Jorge shifted his weight, work boots scuffing against the worn tile floor. “About the payroll adjustment, you mentioned...”

“Everyone gets paid on time.” I forced warmth into my voice despite the knot tightening in my stomach. “I’ll figure something out.”

Morning fog wrapped around Evergreen’s mountains like a worn quilt, hiding the peaks that had been my compass since childhood. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main lobby, fingers curved around a coffee mug that had long since gone cold. The grounds lay quiet, save for scattered birdsong and the distant hum of the maintenance crew starting their day.

Mrs. Henderson’s sensible shoes clicked against the hardwood as she crossed the lobby, her smile warm despite the chill in her room. “Another beautiful morning, dear.” She paused, eyes drifting to the empty spaces beyond the window. “Though I noticed the parking lot’s sparse for fall season.”

I traced a finger along the cold windowpane. The view that used to fill me with pride now mocked our struggles, each empty parking space a reminder of what we stood to lose. Those vacant spots represented more than lost revenue—they represented failed promises to families who’d trusted Pine Haven with their memories for generations.

“Ms. Horton?” Sophie approached, her usually bouncy step subdued. The weight of the file she carried matched the shadows under her eyes. “The quarterly reports you asked for.”

“Thanks, Sophie. Just leave them on my desk.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

The thickness of the folder told me everything I needed to know. I’d been avoiding those numbers, focusing instead on the daily crises—broken heating systems, staffing shortages, delayed maintenance—but I couldn’t hide from reality any longer.

Morning light spilled through my office windows, illuminating dust motes that danced above Grandpa’s old oak desk. Family photos lined the walls like silent witnesses: Grandpa cutting the ribbon on opening day, his eyes bright with possibility. Mom andDad hosting their first Christmas celebration, the lobby packed with local families. Me learning to ski on our private slopes, back when our equipment rivaled any resort in the valley.

Each image felt like an accusation now.

The quarterly report’s pages trembled in my hands. The numbers didn’t suggest we were losing money—they screamed it. Losses from last quarter alone could have easily covered the much-needed equipment upgrades we’ve been waiting for.

My phone buzzed against the desk’s scarred surface—Dad’s name lighting up the screen. He always seemed to call when things couldn’t get worse.

“Morning, Dad.”

“Morning, sweetheart. How are things up there?”

I stared at the red figures, remembering afternoons spent at this desk while he taught me resort management. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

“Amelia.” His voice softened in that way that always made me feel five years old again. “I know things are tough. That’s why I called. I’ve been talking to an old friend who specializes in resort management and marketing—”

“Dad, I can handle this.” The words came out sharper than intended, echoing off the wood-paneled walls. “I just need time to—”

“We don’t have time, honey. The bank—”

“I know about the bank.” My fingers curled into a fist, knuckles white against the mahogany desk. Those threatening letters haunted my dreams. “I’m working on it.”

A heavy pause filled the line. “Well, regardless, he’s sending someone to look at our situation. A consultant.”

The word stuck like ice in my throat. “You went behind my back?”

“I’m trying to help, Amelia. Sometimes we need fresh eyes.”

Tires crunched on gravel outside my window. A sleek black Mercedes glided into the circular drive, the morning sun glinting off its polished surface. The driver’s door opened, and my heart stumbled.

Hunter Miller emerged from the Mercedes, his tailored suit a far cry from the letterman jacket he’d worn in high school. Success looked good on him—too good. The morning light caught his dark blond hair, highlighting the golden tones that had always made my fingers itch to touch. Memories of his nephew’s christening three months ago flooded back—his hand warm on my waist as we danced, that moment when the music slowed and something electric passed between us before reality intruded.

“Dad,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper, “I have to go.”

I hung up before he could respond, unable to tear my eyes from Hunter as he retrieved a leather briefcase from his car. This couldn’t be happening. Hunter belonged in Coleman, running his marketing empire, not here at my failing resort, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of Forbes.

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