Page 31 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

And someone we trusted was helping them do it.

Chapter Eight

Hunter

As local business owners filed in, the Pine Haven conference room buzzed with energy. I stood at the front, watching Amelia greet each arrival. Mrs. Morgan from the hardware store who’d supplied Pine Haven since opening day, old Joe Murray, whose brewery had started in the resort’s basement, faces that carried decades of shared history. Two days after her father’s hospitalization, she looked exhausted but determined. The morning sun caught her hair as she laughed at something Marie from the bakery said, and my heart did that familiar flip.

Focus, Miller.

“Thanks for coming, everyone,” I began once everyone sat down. “Pine Haven isn’t just a resort. It’s the heart of this community. And right now, that heart needs your help.”

Twenty faces looked back at me—shopkeepers, restaurant owners, local artisans. People whose livelihoods were intertwined with Pine Haven’s success. I saw the worry in their eyes, but something stronger too—determination.

“We’re planning a weekend festival,” I continued, clicking through my presentation. “Not just at the resort, but throughout town. A celebration of everything that makes Evergreen special.”

“And how will that help?” Tom Parker, the sporting goods store owner, asked skeptically. His family had outfitted Pine Haven’s ski rentals for three generations.

“By showing potential investors what they’d be destroying,” Amelia stepped forward, her shoulder brushing mine. The contact sent electricity through me, even now. “This isn’t just about saving Pine Haven. It’s about protecting our entire community from corporate vultures.”

Her passion was contagious. I watched the room’s energy shift as she outlined her vision—local vendors setting up stalls, hiking tours showcasing the mountains, and evening concerts in the town square. Mrs. Morgan started taking notes. Joe Murray nodded thoughtfully, and even Tom’s skeptical expression softened.

“We’ll need everyone’s participation,” I added. “Marie, your pastries are legendary—the Hendersons drive up from the city just for your bear claws. Tom, those sunset hiking tours you used to run? People still talk about how you helped them spot their first eagle.”

The meeting evolved into a brainstorming session. Ideas flew back and forth—Carol from the art gallery suggested painting classes on the deck where she’d met her husband thirty years ago. Joe proposed taste-testing events featuring recipes passed down through Evergreen families.

“This could work,” Tom said, his skepticism melting. “Remind people what makes us special.”

“Exactly.” I pulled up the next slide. “And we’ve already got media coverage lined up. Local news, travel bloggers—legitimate ones,” I added, seeing Amelia tense at the word ‘blogger.’ The memory of Alexis Smith’s hit piece was still fresh.

As the meeting wrapped up, enthusiasm replaced doubt. People lingered, forming committees and volunteering resources. The energy felt like the old days Amelia had described when Pine Haven hosted town meetings that turned into community celebrations.

I felt Amelia watching me as I moved between groups, coordinating details. She’d shed some of the tension from the past few days, drawing strength from the community’s response.

“You’re good at this,” she whispered when we finally had a moment alone. “Getting people to believe.”

“Easy when you believe in what you’re fighting for.” I reached for her hand, relieved when she didn’t pull away. The memory of our kiss in her office still lingered. “How’s your father?”

“Better. They’re talking about releasing him tomorrow.” She squeezed my fingers. “He keeps asking about you.”

“Yeah?”

“Says he knew you’d take care of things.” Her eyes met mine, soft with something that stirred an ache I couldn’t name.“He’s not wrong.”

Before I could respond, Sophie appeared with a stack of permits. “Mr. Miller? The events board needs these signed.”

Right. Back to work.

The day passed in a blur of planning and phone calls. By sunset, the festival was taking shape. Local businesses pledged support, volunteers signed up, and social media buzzed with excitement I hoped Crystal Ridge couldn’t ignore.

I found Amelia on our deck—and somehow it had become our deck—watching the sun color the mountains gold.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She smiled as I joined her at the railing, and for a moment, I saw echoes of that girl from the high school debate club. “Just thinking about how different you are from what I expected.”

“Oh?”

“When you first came here, I thought you were just another corporate fixer. All strategy and no heart.” She turned to face me, the dying light softening her features. “I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.”

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