Page 9 of Saving it with My Best Friend's Brother

Dad always said some risks were worth taking, even if they meant getting hurt. Looking back at Pine Haven, at the woman who’d haunted my thoughts long before her father called for help, I finally understood what he meant.

This wasn’t just about saving a resort anymore. Maybe it never had been.

Chapter Three

Amelia

Ispent twenty minutes staring at my closet, feeling utterly ridiculous. Last night’s dreams lingered—filled with Hunter’s almost-confession, making even the simple act of choosing clothes feel weighted with meaning. Each outfit seemed to broadcast intent—too casual meant I wasn’t serious enough, too formal screamed, desperate to impress.

Mom would have laughed at my indecision. She always said clothes were armor, meant to make you feel strong. I finally chose a navy blazer and pencil skirt—professional, polished, a suit of armor against whatever today might bring. Against Hunter’s too-perceptive gaze.

The morning sun barely crested the mountains as I walked into my office, determined to get ahead of the day. Jorge hadalready texted about a plumbing issue in the east wing, and the weekend’s wedding party needed final confirmation on their room block—normal problems. Manageable problems. Unlike the complicated emotions I’d been avoiding since yesterday.

“You’re here early.”

I jumped, nearly spilling coffee down my carefully chosen outfit. Hunter sat at the conference table, surrounded by papers and looking unfairly put together for 6:30 AM. His steel-gray button-down made his eyes look stormy, and I forced myself to look away. The last thing I needed was another moment like yesterday’s almost-kiss.

“Could say the same about you.” I moved to my desk, where urgent emails were already blinking for attention, digital demands adding to the weight of Pine Haven’s future. “Some of us sleep here, you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sleeping at the resort?”

“Figure of speech.” Though there had been nights when driving home seemed like too much effort, the weight of Pine Haven’s problems kept me working until dawn—nights when I’d curl up in Mom’s old office chair, surrounded by the ghosts of better days. “Shall we get started?”

“Actually...” He stood, gathering his papers with a glint in his eye I remembered from high school schemes. “I thought we could do this somewhere else. Follow me?”

Ignoring my better judgment and all my promises to maintain professional distance, I followed him. We walked through the resort’s morning rhythms, past early-rising guests and staff members starting their daily routines. The familiar scents of coffee and pine followed us as we headed toward the old observation deck. I’d been avoiding this spot for months. The rotting boards and peeling paint had become another item on our endless repair list, another reminder of what Pine Haven was losing.

But when he opened the door, I gasped.

The deck had been transformed. Fresh pine boards replaced the rotting ones, their rich color matching the original design perfectly. The railing gleamed with fresh paint, erasing years of neglect. Two Adirondack chairs—restored versions of the ones Grandpa had originally placed here—sat facing the mountains, a small table between them holding what looked suspiciously like fresh pastries from Marie’s Bakery in town.

“When did you...” The words caught in my throat as I took in the transformation. The morning fog lifted from the valley, revealing the view that had made this spot famous in Pine Haven’s early days. How many proposals have happened here? How many family photos captured memories against this backdrop?

“Called in a few favors last night.” He settled into one chair, looking irritatingly at home like he belonged here—the most dangerous thought. “Thought we could use a change of perspective.”

I sat cautiously, trying to ignore how intimate this felt—too similar to those summer evenings when we’d all gather here after the resort closed, Taylor, Van, Michael, and his college friends, Hunter always somehow ending up beside me as we watched the sunset paint the valley in gold. The memory of his shoulder brushing mine, of conversations that lasted until stars appeared, felt dangerous in the morning light.

“You didn’t have to do this.” The words came out softer than intended, betraying more than I meant to reveal.

“Consider it market research.” He handed me a bear claw—my favorite, though I couldn’t remember telling him that. Maybe Taylor had mentioned it, or perhaps he’d just been paying attention all these years. “This deck is prime real estate. Perfect for sunrise yoga sessions, evening wine tastings...”

“Corporate team building?” I couldn’t help the sarcasm, even as I noticed how he’d maintained the deck’s original charm while updating its features. Just like Dad would have done.

His lips twitched. “Among other things. Now, about that marketing strategy...”

He pulled out a sleek tablet, and we spent the next hour going over his proposals. The morning sun warmed the deck, carrying the scent of fresh pine and promises of what Pine Haven could become. And that’s when the trouble started.

“We can’t just abandon our current client base,” I argued, pointing at his projected numbers. Through the glass doors, I watched the Wilsons checking in—their fortieth year at Pine Haven. Each wrinkle in Mrs. Wilson’s smile held memories of summers past. “These families have been coming here for generations.”

“I’m not saying abandon them.” Frustration edged into Hunter’s voice as he gestured toward the Wilsons, now chatting with Sophie like old friends. “I’m saying expand beyond them. The family market alone isn’t enough to keep Pine Haven afloat.”

“So we throw out tradition for corporate dollars?” The bear claw sat forgotten on my plate, though I noticed Hunter had remembered exactly how I liked them—slightly warm, the icing just melting. Another detail he shouldn’t have known.

“For survival.” His eyes met mine, intense and challenging in a way that reminded me of debate club finals—when he’d argue with passion but never cruelty, even when winning meant everything. “You can’t serve anyone if you’re bankrupt.”

I stood abruptly, needing space from both his logic and his presence. The valley stretched below us, still misty in the morning light, holding decades of Pine Haven’s stories in its shadows. “You don’t understand. These people aren’t just clients. They’re part of Pine Haven’s story.” My hand sweptacross the view, each gesture pointing to memories. “The Wilsons have celebrated Christmas here every year since we opened—their grandchildren learned to ski on the same slopes their children did. Steve and Donna Richmond got engaged on this very deck—they’re returning for their thirtieth anniversary next month. The Rodriguez kids who learned to ski here now bring their children.”

“Amelia—”

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