Page 18 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

My phone buzzed again—Arthur Horton’s name on the screen.

Amelia stepped back, the moment shattering. “You should get that,” she said, turning toward the door. “I need to check on the Hendersons, anyway.”

I watched her disappear inside before answering, my voice heavy with resignation. “Yes, sir?”

“Hunter, we need to talk. About what’s really at stake here.”

Through the window, I could see Amelia with the Hendersons now, her face glowing in the candlelight as she laughed at something Mrs. Henderson said. Fifty years of anniversaries celebrated here—the tradition Crystal Ridge would destroy without a second thought.

“Yes,” I said, watching the woman who was becoming everything to me share another family’s joy. “I think we do.”

The mountains loomed dark against the star-filled sky, witnesses to too many family legacies lost. But not this one. Not her legacy.

This time, I’d fight harder. Fight smarter. Fight dirtier if I had to.

Because some things—some people—were worth risking everything for.

Chapter Five

Amelia

Some nights, when sleep proves elusive, I wander Pine Haven’s halls. Tonight, my footsteps echoed against the hardwood floors that had carried three generations of guests. A half-moon cast silver light through the windows, turning familiar corners into something dreamy and strange.

The old photos lining the walls seemed to watch me pass—Great-aunt Flora teaching the first ski class, Uncle Jamie repairing the original chairlift, Grandma’s careful hands arranging flowers for the Hendersons’ first anniversary. Each face held a piece of my grandfather’s dream, their silent judgment weighing heavily as I carried my laptop toward the empty lounge.

I hadn’t expected to find Hunter there.

He sat in darkness, illuminated only by dying embers in the massive stone fireplace where Dad had taught me to roast marshmallows. His usual polished appearance was nowhere to be seen—jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled. He looked... human. Vulnerable, almost.

I almost retreated, but he glanced up before I could escape. “Can’t sleep either?”

Something in his voice made me pause—a rawness I’d never heard before. “Too much on my mind.”

He gestured to the chair beside him—Mom’s favorite, where she used to read me stories on rainy afternoons. After a moment’s hesitation, I sat, tucking my feet under me. The fire’s warmth and the late hour created an odd bubble of intimacy, making the space feel smaller and more personal.

“I used to hide out here during family vacations,” I said, watching the flames dance in patterns I’d memorized as a child. “When the cousins got too loud, or Mom fussed over wedding details.” The memory of her arranging flowers in this room caught in my throat. “Grandpa always knew where to find me.”

“Arthur mentioned you practically grew up here,” Hunter said softly, using that gentle tone he’d used when I’d twisted my ankle during debate finals.

“It was more home than our actual house.” I traced the worn leather of the armrest, feeling years of stories beneath my fingertips. “Every milestone happened at Pine Haven. First ski lesson on the bunny slope with Dad, first job working the front desk when I could barely see over it...” The firelight cast dancing shadows on walls that held a thousand memories. “This lounge was my favorite escape. Something about it just felt... safe.”

Hunter shifted in his chair, turning to face me more fully. The movement brought him closer, and suddenly his presence filled my senses—the subtle cologne he wore, the way his shoulders filled out his dress shirt, how his eyes caught the firelight. Helooked softer in this light, more like the man who’d danced with me at Taylor’s wedding than the CEO who’d arrived to save Pine Haven.

My heart did an unexpected flutter. This was dangerous territory.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, needing to break the intimate mood before I did something foolish. “The truth this time.”

He was quiet for so long that I thought he might not answer. The fire popped and settled, sending sparks up the chimney where Dad had once convinced me Santa had visited. Finally, he spoke softly, “Because I remember what Pine Haven meant to everyone who came here. The families, the celebrations, the traditions.” His eyes met mine, intense in the flickering light. “And because when your father called, he didn’t just sound worried about the business. He sounded worried about you.”

“Me?” I scoffed, but it came out weaker than intended. Mom used to say I got my stubborn pride from Grandpa.

“You’re running yourself into the ground, Amelia. Taking on everyone’s burdens, trying to fix everything yourself. Just like at debate finals when you insisted on competing with that fever.”

“That’s my job.” The words felt automatic, worn smooth like Pine Haven’s front desk from years of use.

“Is it? Or is it what you think you have to do to prove yourself worthy of your grandfather’s legacy?”

The words hit too close to home, echoing conversations I’d overheard between my parents late at night. I stood abruptly, needing space. The air between us felt charged, like the moment before a summer storm broke over the mountains. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

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