Amelia
Chapter Three
Amelia
I spent 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 had already 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 swept across 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—”
“No, you’re looking at this like any other business. Numbers on a spreadsheet. But Pine Haven isn’t—”
A knock interrupted my tirade. Sophie stood in the doorway, anxiety written in the tight lines around her eyes. That expression—one I’d seen too often lately—made my stomach sink. “Ms. Horton? We have a situation. Three housekeepers called in sick, and we have a full house this weekend.”
Perfect. Just perfect.
“I’ll handle it,” I said, already moving toward the door, grateful for the excuse to escape this conversation and Hunter’s too-perceptive gaze.
“I’ll come with you.” He rose, his chair scraping against the new deck boards—boards he’d somehow replaced overnight, like some corporate fairy godfather.
“No.” It came out sharper than intended. I softened my tone at his raised eyebrow, though the concern in his eyes made it harder to maintain distance. “I mean, you work on the marketing plan. This is my job.”
As I followed Sophie inside, I caught my reflection in the glass doors—professional blazer, carefully chosen outfit—about to be ruined by hands-on resort management. But that’s what Pine Haven needed right now. Not marketing strategies or corporate retreats. Just someone willing to do whatever it took to keep it running, to keep its heart beating.
The next two hours blurred into a symphony of phone calls and reorganized schedules. I ended up helping strip beds myself, my carefully chosen armor collecting dust as I worked alongside the housekeeping staff. Monique, our head housekeeper of fifteen years, protested at first, her familiar accent thick with concern.
“Ms. Horton, you shouldn’t—”
“Remember when I was twelve, and you taught me the proper way to fold fitted sheets?” I asked, already gathering linens that held the scent of Pine Haven’s signature lavender soap—Mom’s recipe, still used after all these years. “Time to put those skills to use.”
Through it all, I felt Hunter watching from a distance. He’d stationed himself in the hallway with his laptop, pretending to work but monitoring the situation. Every time I passed, I caught him observing how we handled room turnover, how the staff communicated, and how guests were managed. Always analyzing, always planning—exactly what made him successful and what made Pine Haven more than another business project.
It was nearly noon when I finally made it back to my office, exhausted and disheveled. To my surprise, Hunter was still there, working at the conference table as if he belonged in my space. Fresh coffee sat on my desk—he must have noticed I’d missed my usual mid-morning cup. The thoughtfulness of the gesture stirred something deep inside me.
“You missed a spot,” he said without looking up, gesturing to a dust smudge on my cheek.
I rubbed at my cheek self-consciously, painfully aware of how far I’d fallen from my carefully planned professional appearance. “Don’t you have better things to do than hang around here all day?”
Now he looked up, his expression serious, making my pulse skip. “You could have called in temp workers.”
“And risk the quality of service our guests expect? No thanks.” I thought of Monique teaching the newer staff her special towel-folding technique, passed down through years of pride in her work. “These rooms aren’t just places to sleep. They’re where memories happen.”
“So instead, you do it yourself.” It wasn’t a question. Something in his voice made me meet his eyes directly, despite my disheveled state.
“Whatever it takes,” I said firmly, meaning every word. “That’s what running Pine Haven means.”
Something shifted in his expression—respect, maybe, or understanding. The same look he’d had at Taylor’s wedding when I’d left the dance floor to help a lost child find her parents. “I know I push hard, Amelia. But I see how much you’re willing to sacrifice for this place. I want to help make sure those sacrifices pay off.”
The sincerity in his voice made it hard to breathe. Before I could respond—before I could do something foolish like thank him or, worse, trust him—my phone buzzed. Michael’s name lit up the screen, his timing as impeccable as ever.
“I should take this,” I said, grateful for the interruption. “My brother.”
Hunter nodded, gathering his things. His eyes lingered on the coffee he’d left on my desk—my favorite roast, I realized, from the local shop in town. Just another detail he shouldn’t have known. “I’ll review the housekeeping schedules, see if we can prevent another staffing crisis. Maybe set up some on-call arrangements with local agencies.”
As he left, I answered the phone, sinking into my chair. “Michael? Everything okay?”
“That depends.” My brother’s voice was tight with concern. “Want to tell me why Hunter Miller is suddenly playing white knight at Pine Haven?”
I caught a whiff of the coffee Hunter had left—the blend I’d mentioned liking months ago at Taylor’s wedding. “Dad told you?”
“Sophie did. She’s worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, watching through my window as Hunter stopped to help Mrs. Wilson with her bags, his easy charm making her smile. “Hunter’s helping with marketing strategy, that’s all.”
“Is it?” Michael’s tone held the skepticism he usually reserved for my more questionable decisions. “Because from what I hear, he’s practically moved in. And Sis?” His voice softened the way it had after Mom died when he’d appointed himself my protector. “You need to be careful.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I know Hunter better than you think. We ran in the same circles in high school, remember? He’s good at what he does because he gets personally invested. And when things go south...”
My stomach churned, remembering how natural Hunter had looked on the deck this morning like he belonged there. Like he’d always belonged there. “Michael—”
“Just watch yourself, okay? Don’t let your guard down around him. He has a habit of leaving collateral damage when he moves on to the next project.”
I watched through my window as Hunter charmed Mrs. Wilson, probably gathering more insight into our longtime guests’ needs. His smile—the same one that had dazzled at debate competitions, Taylor’s wedding, and countless family gatherings—made something twist in my chest. The same smile I’d been trying not to fall for since high school.
Michael’s warning rattled around in my head as I tried to focus on the stack of invoices cluttering my desk. Each time I glimpsed Hunter through my office window—consulting with staff, making notes on his tablet, still charming Mrs. Wilson—my brother’s words echoed: “ He has a habit of leaving collateral damage.”
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across my desk when Hunter knocked on my door frame. He’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, looking less like a CEO and more like the boy who sometimes used to help Grandpa with resort maintenance during summers. The sight made my heart do dangerous things.
“Got a minute?”
I nodded, though every instinct screamed to keep my distance. He sat across from me, looking more serious than usual. The stack of papers in his hand promised more changes I wasn’t sure Pine Haven—or my heart—could handle.
“I’ve been reviewing the staffing schedules,” he said, sliding a document across my desk. “We’re running too lean. One sick day shouldn’t throw the entire system into chaos.”
“We can’t afford more full-time staff,” I replied automatically, thinking of Monique training temporary workers this morning, the pride in her voice when explaining Pine Haven’s standards.
“Actually...” He pulled up something on his tablet, the blue light from the screen catching the determined set of his jaw. “If we adjust the rate structure for the premium rooms and implement dynamic pricing for peak seasons, we could cover three more full-time positions.”
I frowned at his calculations, trying to ignore how he’d already memorized our staffing patterns, peak periods, and needs. “These rates are too high. Our regular guests—”
“Would still get preferential pricing through a loyalty program,” he cut in, leaning forward with that familiar intensity that used to win debate tournaments. “I’m not suggesting we price out your core clientele. But tourists coming up from the city for ski weekends? They’ll pay premium rates for the right experience.”
His logic was sound, which only irritated me more. As Michael had warned, every suggestion made perfect business sense—Hunter was good at what he did. Too good.
“And what happens when the novelty wears off?” I challenged, thinking of Pine Haven’s history of outlasting trends. “When the city folks find the next trendy mountain getaway?”
“That’s why we diversify.” He leaned forward, enthusiasm lighting his face—the same look he’d get before presenting a winning debate strategy. “Look, I’ve been talking to local artists about displaying their work in the lobby and partnering with that new craft brewery for tasting events. We make Pine Haven not just a resort but a destination.”
Through my window, I could see the Wilsons showing their grandchildren the spot where they’d first met fifty years ago. The joy on their faces contrasted with Hunter’s sleek proposals. “By turning us into some hipster mountain retreat?”
Hunter sat back, studying me with an intensity that made me want to look away. “What’s really bothering you, Amelia? Because this isn’t just about business models anymore.”
I stood, needing to move, to escape his too-perceptive gaze. “You don’t understand. Every change we make, every ‘improvement,’ pushes us further from what Pine Haven is supposed to be.”
“And what’s that? A museum piece? Frozen in time while your competitors evolve?”
“A home,” I snapped, turning to face him. The word echoed with memories—Mom’s laugh in the kitchen, Dad teaching ski lessons, Michael and me racing down the halls. “A place where families make memories, where traditions matter, where people feel like they belong. Not some Instagram-worthy backdrop for corporate retreats.”
Something softened in his expression. “Why can’t it be both?”
“Because—” I started, but a commotion outside interrupted me.
Sophie burst in, looking flustered. “Ms. Horton? The Harrison wedding party is here early. Their rooms aren’t ready because of the staff shortage, and Mrs. Harrison is... well...”
A shrill voice carried down the hallway: “This is completely unacceptable! Do you know how much we’re paying for this weekend?”
I squared my shoulders, ready to face another crisis, already calculating which rooms could be ready fastest. But Hunter stepped in front of me, his movement smooth and deliberate.
“Let me handle this,” he said quietly. His eyes met mine with a gentleness that made my defenses waver.
“Hunter—”
“Trust me.” The words carried weight beyond this moment. “I know you can handle it. But you don’t always have to.”
Before I could protest, he was gone, his voice carrying back as he greeted the angry mother of the bride with the same charm that had won debate championships. “Mrs. Harrison? I’m Hunter Miller. I understand today hasn’t started the way any of us hoped...”
Within minutes, the commotion died, replaced by what sounded suspiciously like laughter. Through my office window, I watched him leading the wedding party to the lounge, gesturing toward the mountain view as he spoke, making the entire situation seem like a planned exclusive experience rather than a crisis.
Sophie lingered in my doorway, relief clear on her tired face. “Mr. Miller offered them complimentary drinks in the lounge while we finished preparing their rooms. He also mentioned a sunset champagne toast for the entire party on the deck.” She paused, her next words hitting harder than any of Michael’s warnings: “He’s... quite good at this.”
“Yes,” I said, watching him chat with the bride. “He is.”
She hesitated, then added words that stopped me cold. “The staff likes him, you know. He takes time to learn everyone’s names, asks about their families.” A small smile played on her lips. “This morning, he helped Jorge fix that temperamental coffee machine in the breakfast room that’s been driving us crazy for months. He rolled up his sleeves and got to work like he’d been here forever.”
The information shouldn’t have affected me, but it did. Hunter wasn’t just swooping in with business strategies—he was becoming part of Pine Haven’s daily life. Like he’d done with that tech startup in DC and that boutique hotel in Ohio. Making himself essential before...
“Was there something else?” I asked, noting Sophie’s lingering presence.
“Just...” She smiled softly. “It’s nice seeing someone care about this place the way you do.”
After she left, I sank back into my chair, Michael’s warning warring with what I’d just witnessed. Through the window, Hunter had the entire wedding party laughing now, Mrs. Harrison’s earlier fury forgotten as he described something with animated gestures. He’d probably just saved us from a scathing review, maybe even gained us future bookings.
He was exactly what Pine Haven needed, or the biggest threat to my heart since the last time I’d let myself feel something for him.
The memory of Taylor’s wedding hit me unexpectedly—Hunter pulled me onto the dance floor after Taylor’s first dance, his hand warm on my waist. “One dance won’t kill you, Amelia,” he’d teased. But then the music slowed, and his eyes met mine with an intensity that made me forget every reason why we wouldn’t work.
My phone buzzed, breaking the dangerous train of thought. A text from Michael: Did you think about what I said? Be careful, Sis.
I stared at the message, then at Hunter through my window. He’d moved the wedding party to the newly restored deck, where the afternoon sun caught his profile as he pointed out landmarks in the valley. As if sensing my gaze, he glanced up, catching my eye. The smile he gave me was small, private—just for me.
My heart betrayed me by skipping a beat.
Careful might already be too late.
A knock at my door made me jump. Jorge stood there, looking apologetic. “Ms. Horton? About that plumbing issue in the east wing...”
I welcomed the distraction and the chance to focus on something concrete rather than the complicated emotions Hunter stirred up. But as I followed Jorge down the hall, I heard Mrs. Harrison’s voice drift from the deck:
“You must have grown up here. You know so much about the resort’s history...”
“Not exactly,” Hunter replied, his voice carrying that warmth that made everyone feel special, “but Pine Haven’s always been special to me.”
I quickened my pace, refusing to analyze why those words struck a cord deep within me.
***
Evening settled over Pine Haven like a soft blanket, the last rays of sunlight painting the mountains in shades of purple and gold. I stood on the newly renovated deck, trying to sort through the chaos of emotions the day had brought. The wood still smelled of fresh stain—another detail Hunter had gotten exactly right.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
I didn’t turn at Hunter’s voice, keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon. Below, the Wilsons’ grandchildren were having their first ski lesson on the same slopes where their parents had learned. “Just thinking about what my grandfather would make of all this.”
His footsteps were quiet as he joined me at the railing. “The changes?”
“Everything.” I gestured vaguely at the resort spread out below us. A place caught between past and future, just like my feelings for the man beside me. “The financial troubles, the modernization plans, you...”
“And what’s the verdict?”
I finally looked at him. The setting sun caught his profile, softening his usual sharp edges. He’d rolled up his sleeves to help Jorge with some last-minute maintenance—another way he kept surprising me. “I honestly don’t know anymore.”
He was quiet momentarily, then said, “I found something today, while I was looking through old marketing materials.” He pulled a weathered brochure from his back pocket—how long had he been carrying it, waiting for the right moment? “From Pine Haven’s first year.”
I took it carefully; the paper was fragile and old. My grandfather’s words jumped out: “A haven for those seeking both adventure and comfort, where modern luxury meets mountain tradition.”
“He wasn’t afraid of evolution, Amelia,” Hunter said softly, his voice carrying that same gentle tone he’d used when he’d found me crying at Taylor’s wedding. “He built this place to grow, to change with the times while keeping its heart intact.”
“Stop that,” I muttered, handing the brochure back, trying not to notice how our fingers brushed.
“Stop what?”
“Being right. Being...” I gestured at him helplessly. “Understanding. It makes it harder to stay angry at your ridiculous proposals.”
A smile tugged at his lips—not his business smile or charming-the-guests smile, but the real one I remembered from summer bonfires years ago. “My ridiculous proposals that got the Harrison wedding party to not only calm down but book three extra rooms for their guests?”
“Pure luck,” I said, but I couldn’t help smiling back.
“Skill,” he corrected, stepping closer. The deck rail pressed against my back, and suddenly, I was aware of his presence. “The same skill that will help save Pine Haven if you let me.”
The air between us grew thick with tension. He was too close, smelling of cedar and fresh sawdust from helping Jorge, a combination that made my pulse race. Michael’s warning screamed in my head, but my body swayed toward him instinctively, remembering other moments like this—always interrupted, always left wondering.
My phone’s sharp ring shattered the moment. Hunter stepped back as I fumbled for it, seeing Michael’s name again. The universe had perfect timing.
“I should take this,” I said, already moving toward the door, needing escape.
“Amelia?” Hunter’s voice stopped me. When I looked back, the sunset painted him in gold, making him look like he belonged here. “We make a good team, you know. When you’re not fighting me at every turn.”
I escaped inside before he could see how his words affected me, answering the phone with shaking hands. “Michael?”
“Tell me you haven’t fallen for him again.” My brother’s voice was sharp and concerned.
I sank into my office chair, watching through the window as Hunter absently traced the railing we’d just been leaning against. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb, Sis. I remember how you looked at him at Taylor’s wedding. After the dance, when you thought no one was watching. And now he’s there, playing hero...”
I walked to my car under a sky full of stars—the same stars that had watched over Pine Haven for generations. Behind me, laughter drifted from the deck—Hunter’s deep chuckle mixing with the Hendersons’ joy. The sound followed me home, with the memory of his smile, his hand on the railing where we’d almost...
Professional, I reminded myself firmly. We had to keep this professional.
But as I fell asleep that night, I couldn’t help wondering if some damages were worth risking everything for.