Page 62 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

“Together?” I asked.

His response was a big smile.

The interview went perfectly—our message of tradition meeting the future resonated just as we’d hoped. Between questions, Hunter’s proud smile warmed me when I spoke about the community, his hand at the small of my back steadying me, our eyes meeting in silent conversations that spoke volumes.

As the crew packed up their equipment, the cables snaking across our restored hardwood floors, Taylor appeared with coffee for everyone. Steam rose in the afternoon light, carrying the scent of Marie’s special mountain blend.

“That was amazing,” she said, hugging me tight. Chad’s baby powder scent clung to her clothes. “You two are incredible together.”

“They are,” Claire agreed, joining us with her tablet tucked under her arm. “Even if their googly eyes make working impossible sometimes.”

“We do not make googly eyes,” I protested, as Hunter wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my head, his warmth seeping through my jacket.

“We absolutely do,” he murmured, making me laugh.

The moment of joy shattered as Wheeler appeared in the lobby, his expensive shoes clicking against the floor like ice cracking. His face was thunderous, but something else lurked in his expression—desperation.

“How touching,” he sneered, his voice echoing off the pine walls. “The whole family together. Makes what comes next even better.”

“Get out,” Hunter’s voice turned to steel as he moved protectively in front of me, though his hand trembled slightly where it gripped mine.

“Oh, I’m going.” Wheeler’s smile reminded me of a snake about to strike. “But first—Taylor, isn’t it? Your mother says hello.”

The coffee cup slipped from Taylor’s hands, shattering on the floor. The sound seemed to freeze time as Wheeler tossed a phone onto the reception desk. The scent of spilled coffee mixed with tension in the air.

“Go ahead,” he sneered. “Answer it.”

The phone’s ringtone echoed through the lobby, each chime making Taylor flinch. Van moved to her side, taking Chad while Hunter stood frozen, his face pale beneath his tan. Coffee spread across the floor in a dark pool, reflecting the afternoon light.

“It’s not her,” I said firmly, squeezing his hand. The familiar weight of Mom’s bracelet pressed between our palms. “They’re trying to manipulate us.”

“Only one way to find out,” Wheeler smirked, though sweat beaded at his temples.

I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, but years of hospitality training kept my voice steady. “Agent Blake? Now would be good.”

Wheeler’s smile faltered as FBI agents emerged from the restaurant and gift shop, their movements precise and practiced. The click of their shoes against hardwood measured each step as they surrounded him.

“James Wheeler,” Agent Blake approached, badge catching the light. “We need to discuss some interesting banking transactions.”

“This is harassment,” he blustered, color rising in his face. “I have proof that—”

The phone kept ringing, its tone cutting through his protests like a knife.

“Take the call,” Agent Blake nodded to Hunter. “On speaker.”

Hunter moved to the desk, his hand finding mine again as he pressed the speaker button. His pulse raced against my fingers. “Hello?”

“Hunter?” A woman’s voice, trembling with emotion. “Baby, is that you?”

I felt him tense and saw the play of hope and doubt across his face. But something in the voice struck a wrong note, like an instrument slightly out of tune.

Taylor stepped forward, tears tracking down her cheeks. “That’s not Mom’s voice. Close, but... Mom had a slight lisp. Remember? From where she bit her tongue in that skiing accident?”

The line went dead, leaving only the sound of Wheeler’s ragged breathing.

Wheeler’s face had turned an interesting shade of purple as Agent Blake nodded to her team. Mountain sunlight caught their badges as they moved forward. “Mr. Wheeler, let’s continue this discussion downtown.”

As they led him away, Hunter sagged slightly. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling his heart race against my chest. The scent of spilled coffee still hung in the air, mingling with the pine-scented breeze from the open door.

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