Page 6 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

I leaned closer, studying the old photograph. A younger version of Arthur Horton stood proudly before the resort, surrounded by what looked like half the town. My throat tightened as I spotted Dad in the crowd, wearing that same confident smile Taylor inherited. The joy on every face was palpable, even through the faded colors and dusty glass.

“Pine Haven wasn’t just his dream.” Amelia’s voice carried an edge of fierce pride that set my heart racing. “It was Evergreen’s first real tourist attraction. Before this, the town was dying. The lumber mill had closed, and families were leaving. This place...” She touched the glass gently. “It gave people hope. Jobs. A reason to stay.”

I turned to study her profile, struck by the passion in her expression. It was the same look she’d worn at Taylor’s wedding, defending Pine Haven against some Silicon Valley exec’s dismissive remarks. “And now?”

“Now?” Her laugh held no humor. “Now we employ thirty-seven people. That’s thirty-seven families, depending on us staying open. And that’s not counting the local businesses we support—the farmers who supply our restaurant, the gift shop that stocks our boutique, the maintenance crews...” She ran a hand through her hair, a gesture I remembered from debate club stress.

“I get it,” I said. “The stakes are high.”

She finally met my eyes, and the intensity there hit me like an avalanche. “Do you? Yesterday you talked about corporate retreats and modernization like this was another business makeover. Pine Haven isn’t some startup you can reinvent overnight, Hunter. People’s lives depend on us getting this right.”

The conviction in her voice struck deep. This was why I’d volunteered—not just because her father asked, because of my complicated feelings, but because I knew Amelia would fight with everything she had to save this place just like Dad would have.

“Show me,” I said. “Everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I need to understand exactly what we’re working with.”

She studied me for a long moment, searching for something in my expression. The early morning light caught the gold in her hair, and I forced myself to focus on the business at hand. Finally, she nodded. “Let’s start with the ski slopes. They’re our biggest liability right now.”

The next three hours were a crash course in resort management and Pine Haven’s heart. Every problem Amelia pointed out came with a story that made spreadsheets and profitmargins feel hollow. Outdated ski equipment that had taught three generations of local kids. Unreliable snow machines that still somehow managed enough powder for the annual charity race. The restaurant’s staffing issues complicated by loyalty to a chef who’d worked there for twenty years.

“The spa facilities are decent,” she explained as we crossed the frost-covered grounds. Her boots crunched against the morning-stiff grass. “We upgraded those five years ago, but compared to Crystal Mountain’s new wellness center...” She gestured toward the competing resort looming on the opposite peak.

But I saw something else—potential screaming from every corner. The location was incredible, with views that could rival any luxury resort in the country. The staff we encountered greeted Amelia with genuine warmth that no corporate training manual could replicate. And despite its problems, Pine Haven had what marketing couldn’t manufacture: soul.

When we returned to her office, my mind was already forming a plan. Not just a business strategy, but a vision for what Pine Haven could become while preserving its heart.

“Sit,” I said, pulling out my laptop. The familiar weight felt strange after hours of touring rustic charm. “I want to show you something.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow but settled into her chair. The morning light streaming through her window caught the shadows under her eyes, reminding me why we were here. I pulled up the presentation I’d been working on since yesterday—since that moment after the bank meeting when I’d glimpsed real fear behind her professional mask.

“This is a preliminary marketing strategy.” I turned the screen toward her, watching her expression carefully. “We focus on what makes Pine Haven unique—its history, community connection, authentic charm. But with a modern twist.”

I clicked through the slides, each crafted to preserve Pine Haven’s soul while securing its future. “We position the resort as the anti-corporate retreat. A place where families can disconnect from technology and reconnect with each other. Where corporate teams find genuine team building experiences, not just trust falls in conference rooms.”

“And the costs?” Her voice remained carefully neutral, but I caught the slight tremor in her hands—the same tremor she’d had delivering her valedictorian speech.

“I’m doing this as a favor to your father,” I said, meeting her gaze steadily. The real reason—that I couldn’t bear to watch her lose this place—stayed locked behind my teeth. “No fees, no contracts. Just me helping an old friend of my father’s.”

She stood abruptly, pacing behind her desk like a caged thing. “I can’t accept that.”

“Why not?”

“Because!” She spun to face me, eyes flashing with that fire I remembered from high school debates. “Because you’re Hunter Miller, CEO of Miller Marketing. Your time is worth thousands per hour. Because this isn’t just a quick fix—it’s a month-long commitment at minimum. Because—”

“Because you’re too proud to accept help?” I challenged, standing to face her. The moment felt eerily similar to that dance at Taylor’s wedding when she’d refused to admit she was exhausted from running the resort alone.

She flinched as if I’d struck her. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” I moved closer, drawn by some force I couldn’t fight. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in her green eyes, close enough to catch that subtle pine and vanilla scent that always made me think of her. “Amelia, I’m not here as a CEO. I’m here as someone who cares about this place. About...” I caught myself before saying ‘you.’ “About what it means to the community.”

The tension between us crackled like static before a storm. For a moment, I thought she might argue further. Then her shoulders slumped slightly, and I saw the exhaustion she usually hid so well.

“Fine,” she mumbled, wrapping her arms around herself. “Partners. But I want everything in writing—what you’re proposing, what you expect in return, all of it.”

I held out my hand, ignoring how my pulse quickened. “Deal.”

She took it, her smaller hand warm in mine. The contact sent a jolt through me that had nothing to do with business partnerships. I remembered another handshake years ago when she’d congratulated me on getting into business school, neither of us knowing how our paths would cross again.

“I’ll have the paperwork drawn up by tomorrow,” I said, reluctantly letting go. “In the meantime, we should start on that recovery plan for the bank. Thirty days isn’t much time.”

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