Page 5 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

Something in his expression made my breath catch. We were too close. The air between us buzzed with unspoken possibilities. For a moment, I thought he might—

The phone’s shrill ring shattered the moment. Hunter straightened, clearing his throat. “You should get that.”

I grabbed the receiver like a lifeline. “Amelia Horton speaking.”

“Honey?” Dad’s familiar voice came through. “How did the meeting go?”

I closed my eyes, fighting back fresh tears. “Not great, Dad.”

“I was afraid of that.” He sighed, the sound heavy with years of worry. “Listen, about Hunter—”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, watching Hunter study the family photos on my wall—Mom and Dad’s wedding reception, the first Christmas after we lost her, all the moments that made Pine Haven more than just a business. “We’re... working together on this.”

“Good. That’s good.” Relief colored his voice. “He’s one of the best in the business, sweetheart. Trust him.”

Trust him? If only it were that simple. If only my heart didn’t jump every time he looked at me like he was looking at me now.

After saying goodbye to Dad, I turned to find Hunter watching me with an expression that made my pulse skip.

“So,” he said, “thirty days.”

I nodded, squaring my shoulders. Outside, the morning sun finally broke through completely, bathing Pine Haven in golden light. “Think you can handle the pressure, Miller?”

A slow smile spread across his face—the kind that used to make girls swoon in high school, the one that still made my breath catch all these years later. “Bring it on, Horton.”

As he pulled out his laptop and started outlining a plan of attack, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the next thirty days would either save Pine Haven or break my heart.

Possibly both.

Chapter Two

Hunter

Ipulled into Pine Haven’s parking lot before dawn touched the mountains. My headlights caught a swirling fog that wrapped around the resort like a mother’s embrace—the same fog that used to hide my teenage self sneaking onto the ski slopes before hours, back when Dad was helping Arthur Horton install the lifts. Back when Amelia was Taylor’s quiet friend who’d challenge anyone who claimed girls couldn’t handle the expert runs.

Not the woman who’d been haunting my thoughts since my nephew’s christening three months ago.

I killed the engine but remained in the Mercedes, studying the main building through the mist. Even in the pre-dawn shadows, I caught what investors would label “deferred maintenance”—peeling paint around Victorian trim, shutters hanging slightly askew, fall leaves gathering in forgotten corners. But beneath the wear, I saw what Dad always praised: character money couldn’t manufacture and charm no focus group could design.

My hand brushed the pocket square, and I grimaced at yesterday’s tactical error. The power suit had been CEO armor, as out of place here as my Italian leather shoes. Today I’d opted for dark jeans and a blazer, though “casual” was relative when your entire wardrobe came from Milan. Old habits from a life that felt increasingly hollow lately.

“You’re early.”

Amelia’s voice startled me from my thoughts. She stood framed in the doorway, coffee mug cradled in both hands, backlit by the warm glow spilling from the lobby. She looked like she’d been up for hours, which, knowing her, she probably had been. The sight catapulted me back to summer breaks, watching her help open the resort at dawn. That same quiet determination set to her shoulders even then.

“Thought I’d get a head start.” I climbed the worn steps, each board creaking familiar greetings beneath my impractical shoes. The scent of pine and fresh coffee wrapped around me as I reached the landing. “Nice outfit.”

She glanced down at her hiking boots and practical khakis, a flush coloring her cheeks. Even exhausted, she was beautiful in a way that made me breathless—not the polished beauty of the corporate world, but something real and wild as the mountains themselves. “We’re touring the property today. Unless you’d rather do it in those shoes?”

I couldn’t help but smile. Same old Amelia—quick wit wrapped in quiet defiance. The girl who’d once challenged me to a ski race down Double Black Diamond then refused my help when she wiped out. “I came prepared.” I nodded toward my car, wherehiking boots waited. “Though they’re probably not as broken in as yours.”

“Follow me.” She spun around, sending a wave of vanilla and pine past me. “I want to show you something before we start the official tour.”

I fell into step beside her through the lobby, past Sophie at the front desk, who watched us with poorly concealed hope. These people were counting on me—on us—to save more than just a building. The weight of that trust settled heavily as we headed down a hallway I’d somehow missed yesterday.

Black-and-white photographs lined the walls, documenting decades of Pine Haven’s story—not the generic scenic shots that fill corporate resorts, but genuine moments frozen in time. I recognized faces—the Hendersons celebrating their 25th anniversary, now approaching their 50th, and the Parkers’ ski school graduation. Snapshots of memories my family had been part of back when Dad consulted on their first expansion.

Amelia stopped at one particular image, her fingers hovering near the glass. “This was opening day,” she whispered. “Right after my grandfather cut the ribbon.”

---