Page 59 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

“I was wrong about you,” he said, offering his hand. “The way you love her... it’s real.”

“More real than anything in my life.” I took his hand, feeling years of mistrust heal.

He nodded. “Take care of her. Better than we did.”

“I will.” I met his eyes. “But she doesn’t need taking care of. She’s the strongest person I know.”

“Yeah,” he smiled slightly. “She is.”

Later, as we prepared to leave, I pulled Amelia aside near the window where snow continued to fall, softening the world outside.

“You okay?” I searched her face. “Learning about your mom, about Michael and your dad...”

“I’m...” she paused, considering. “I’m sad. But also relieved. No more wondering, no more secrets.” She looked up at me, snowlight making her eyes luminous. “Thank you for being here. For loving me through all this chaos.”

“Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” I admitted, drawing her closer. “Everything else—the investigation, Crystal Ridge, all of it—that’s just details. You’re what matters.”

She rose on tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “We should go. Time to end this.”

But as we headed for the door, Arthur called out, his voice suddenly urgent.

“Hunter? There’s something else. About your father’s accident...” He swallowed hard, monitors marking his anxiety. “The night he died, he wasn’t alone in the car.”

Amelia’s hand tightened as my world tilted, the hospital room suddenly spinning.

“What do you mean?” I asked, though something in me already knew the answer.

“The passenger survived,” Arthur said quietly, each word falling like snow. “Someone who could prove everything. Someone Crystal Ridge has been searching for all these years.”

“Who?”

His answer changed everything:

“Your mother.”

The monitors beeped steadily in the silence that followed, marking the moment my past and future collided in a hospital room filled with falling snow and rising truth.

Chapter Fifteen

Amelia

Morning sunlight streamed through Pine Haven’s historic windows, casting diamond patterns across the marketing materials spread over my desk. The warmth hadn’t yet chased away the mountain chill, and steam rose from my untouched coffee as I studied the press coverage from yesterday’s conference. Our truth had resonated more than Wheeler’s lies—but my eyes kept drifting to Hunter, who stood at the window. His reflection in the antique glass showed the weight of yesterday’s revelation about his mother, tension visible in every line of his body.

I wanted to go to him, but sometimes love means giving space. Instead, I focused on the campaign boards Claire and I had created, each showing Pine Haven’s evolution: sepia photos ofthe original lodge, candid shots of families making memories through the decades, and architectural drawings of our planned renovations. Beneath each image lay a story of resilience and renewal.

A fresh coffee cup appeared at my elbow, Hunter’s familiar scent—pine and spice and something uniquely him—wrapping around me as he leaned close.

“You haven’t stopped working since dawn,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. A hint of exhaustion in his voice betrayed his sleepless night.

“Neither have you,” I pointed out, but accepted the coffee, letting my fingers brush his. The simple contact sent warmth through me that had nothing to do with the hot drink.

His hand settled on my shoulder, thumb tracing small circles that sent shivers down my spine. “What’s all this?”

“Our new story.” I gestured to the boards, each carefully chosen to show Pine Haven’s heart. “Not just about scandal and survival, but about legacy. Family. Future.”

The weight of those words hung between us. Family. Future. Everything that had been complicated by yesterday’s revelations. A photo of Hunter’s father at the original lodge opening caught the light. His smile mirrored his son’s so perfectly that it sent a pang through me.

Hunter’s hand tightened slightly on my shoulder. Then he did something that made my heart stop—he pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, lingering there like he was drawing strength from the contact. The scent of his coffee mingled with the mountain air drifting through the slightly open window.

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