Saving it with My Best Friend’s Brother

Chapter One Amelia

“ Still no heat in rooms 212 through 215.” Jorge, our maintenance supervisor, rubbed his weathered hands together as I hurried through Pine Haven’s kitchen. Dawn light barely penetrated the frosted windows. “Parts won’t arrive until next week.”

I paused before the industrial coffee maker, breathing in the rich aroma that had greeted guests for forty years. “Move the Hendersons to the east wing. They’ve been coming here since before I was born—they deserve better than space heaters.”

“On it, Ms. Horton.” Jorge shifted his weight, work boots scuffing against the worn tile floor. “About the payroll adjustment, you mentioned...”

“Everyone gets paid on time.” I forced warmth into my voice despite the knot tightening in my stomach. “I’ll figure something out.”

Morning fog wrapped around Evergreen’s mountains like a worn quilt, hiding the peaks that had been my compass since childhood. I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows of the main lobby, fingers curved around a coffee mug that had long since gone cold. The grounds lay quiet, save for scattered birdsong and the distant hum of the maintenance crew starting their day.

Mrs. Henderson’s sensible shoes clicked against the hardwood as she crossed the lobby, her smile warm despite the chill in her room. “Another beautiful morning, dear.” She paused, eyes drifting to the empty spaces beyond the window. “Though I noticed the parking lot’s sparse for fall season.”

I traced a finger along the cold windowpane. The view that used to fill me with pride now mocked our struggles, each empty parking space a reminder of what we stood to lose. Those vacant spots represented more than lost revenue—they represented failed promises to families who’d trusted Pine Haven with their memories for generations.

“Ms. Horton?” Sophie approached, her usually bouncy step subdued. The weight of the file she carried matched the shadows under her eyes. “The quarterly reports you asked for.”

“Thanks, Sophie. Just leave them on my desk.” My voice sounded steadier than I felt.

The thickness of the folder told me everything I needed to know. I’d been avoiding those numbers, focusing instead on the daily crises—broken heating systems, staffing shortages, delayed maintenance—but I couldn’t hide from reality any longer.

Morning light spilled through my office windows, illuminating dust motes that danced above Grandpa’s old oak desk. Family photos lined the walls like silent witnesses: Grandpa cutting the ribbon on opening day, his eyes bright with possibility. Mom and Dad hosting their first Christmas celebration, the lobby packed with local families. Me learning to ski on our private slopes, back when our equipment rivaled any resort in the valley.

Each image felt like an accusation now.

The quarterly report’s pages trembled in my hands. The numbers didn’t suggest we were losing money—they screamed it. Losses from last quarter alone could have easily covered the much-needed equipment upgrades we’ve been waiting for.

My phone buzzed against the desk’s scarred surface—Dad’s name lighting up the screen. He always seemed to call when things couldn’t get worse.

“Morning, Dad.”

“Morning, sweetheart. How are things up there?”

I stared at the red figures, remembering afternoons spent at this desk while he taught me resort management. “Oh, you know. The usual.”

“Amelia.” His voice softened in that way that always made me feel five years old again. “I know things are tough. That’s why I called. I’ve been talking to an old friend who specializes in resort management and marketing—”

“Dad, I can handle this.” The words came out sharper than intended, echoing off the wood-paneled walls. “I just need time to—”

“We don’t have time, honey. The bank—”

“I know about the bank.” My fingers curled into a fist, knuckles white against the mahogany desk. Those threatening letters haunted my dreams. “I’m working on it.”

A heavy pause filled the line. “Well, regardless, he’s sending someone to look at our situation. A consultant.”

The word stuck like ice in my throat. “You went behind my back?”

“I’m trying to help, Amelia. Sometimes we need fresh eyes.”

Tires crunched on gravel outside my window. A sleek black Mercedes glided into the circular drive, the morning sun glinting off its polished surface. The driver’s door opened, and my heart stumbled.

Hunter Miller emerged from the Mercedes, his tailored suit a far cry from the letterman jacket he’d worn in high school. Success looked good on him—too good. The morning light caught his dark blond hair, highlighting the golden tones that had always made my fingers itch to touch. Memories of his nephew’s christening three months ago flooded back—his hand warm on my waist as we danced, that moment when the music slowed and something electric passed between us before reality intruded.

“Dad,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper, “I have to go.”

I hung up before he could respond, unable to tear my eyes from Hunter as he retrieved a leather briefcase from his car. This couldn’t be happening. Hunter belonged in Coleman, running his marketing empire, not here at my failing resort, looking like he’d stepped off the cover of Forbes.

My hands smoothed over my pencil skirt—thank God I’d chosen one of my better business outfits. Through the window, I watched him pause at the entrance, adjusting his tie with the same precise movements I remembered from our debate club. Even then, he’d carried himself with that quiet confidence that made people lean in when he spoke.

His footsteps echoed across Grandpa’s hand-laid hardwood. Sophie’s heels clicked a rapid staccato as she led him toward my office, her expression bouncing between hope and worry—the same look I’d seen on every employee’s face lately.

I remained frozen behind my desk, pulse drumming against my ribs.

“Hey, Amelia,” he said in a deep voice. His words echoed from my doorway, giving me an unwelcome chill. “We need to talk.”

I lifted my chin, meeting eyes as dangerous as I remembered. “Let me guess. My father sent you.”

Hunter’s expression softened at the edges, just enough to make my chest ache. “I’m here to help.”

“I don’t need help.” I squared my shoulders, fighting the urge to step back as his cologne teased my senses. “Especially not from you.”

He stepped into my office, closing the door with a quiet click that seemed to seal my fate. “Actually,” he said, holding my gaze, “you do. And I’m not leaving until we save this resort.”

I stood, needing the height of my heels beneath me. “Save the resort? That’s a bit dramatic, even for you.”

Hunter set his briefcase on my desk, the soft leather out of place among my scattered papers. My stomach dropped when he pulled out a document with that familiar letterhead—identical to the quarterly report I’d been avoiding.

“Your father sent me the numbers, Amelia.” The gentleness in his voice made my teeth clench. “The resort lost over two hundred thousand dollars last quarter alone. Your occupancy rate is at thirty percent, and your operational costs—”

“I know my numbers.” I snatched the paper from his hand, resisting the urge to crumple the damning evidence of my failure. Each figure represented a broken promise—to our staff, to the families who’d trusted us for generations, to Mom’s memory. “What I don’t understand is why you’re involved. Shouldn’t you be in Coleman, running your marketing empire?”

A familiar half-smile played at his lips, the same one that used to make my teenage heart flutter. “Marketing empire? Is that what you think I do?”

“Isn’t it?” I gestured toward his suit, trying not to notice how perfectly it fit across his shoulders. “CEO Hunter Miller, turning small businesses into overnight successes?”

He loosened his tie, and the casual gesture sent my thoughts to places they had no business going. “What I do is help businesses realize their potential.” His eyes swept around my office, lingering on the family photos. “And Pine Haven? This place has more potential than anywhere I’ve seen in years.”

Something in his tone made me pause. I studied his face, searching for the condescension or pity I’d expected, but found only sincerity. And something else—something that echoed that moment at the christening, when the music had slowed, and the rest of the world had faded away.

“You know nothing about running a resort,” I argued, but the words felt weak even to my ears.

“No,” he agreed, moving to stand before the window where the fog was finally lifting from the mountains. “But I know about turning around failing businesses. And I know you, Amelia.”

The morning light cast his profile in sharp relief. “Do you?”

He turned back, and the intensity in his gaze made me grip the edge of my desk. “I know you’re brilliant at hospitality management. I know how your guests light up when you remember their grandchildren’s names or anniversary traditions.” He took a step closer. “And I know you’re too proud to admit when you need help.”

“That’s not—” The protest died in my throat as his cologne wrapped around me, bringing back memories of his hand warm against my back as we’d danced.

“Your father didn’t send me, Amelia. I asked to come.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“When he mentioned the resort was struggling, I volunteered.” He ran a hand through his hair—that familiar gesture from our high school debate club when he was choosing his words carefully. “Because I knew you’d never ask for help yourself, and because—”

“Because what?”

The sunlight caught his face, highlighting the determination in his expression. “Because I’ve seen what this place means to you. Every time you talk about Pine Haven, your whole face lights up. You love it here.” His voice dropped lower. “And I will not stand by and watch you lose it.”

I turned away, blinking back sudden tears. Through the window, Mrs. Henderson sat with her morning coffee, teaching that young family her secret hot chocolate recipe—the same one she’d taught me twenty years ago. “It’s not that simple. The problems here run deeper than marketing strategies and occupancy rates.” My fingers traced the old woodwork beneath the window. “This place... it’s my family’s legacy. My grandfather built it from nothing. He wanted families to have a place where they belonged. If I fail—”

“Hey.” His hand on my shoulder was warm, steady, achingly familiar. “You haven’t failed. You’re just stuck. Let me help you get unstuck.”

I wanted to shrug off his touch, to prove I could handle this alone. But exhaustion weighed on my shoulders like fresh snow. I was tired of pretending everything was fine during staff meetings, tired of juggling bills and maintenance emergencies, tired of watching everything my family built slowly crumble while I smiled and assured everyone it would be okay.

“What’s your plan?” I asked finally, turning to face him.

“First?” That familiar competitive spark lit his eyes—the one I’d seen before every debate tournament. “You’re going to show me everything. Every corner of this place, every problem, every possibility. No holding back.”

“And then?”

“Then we figure it out. Together.” He held out his hand. “Partners?”

I stared at his outstretched hand, the weight of the moment settling around me like evening frost. Accepting his help meant admitting I couldn’t do this alone. It meant long days working beside a man who already occupied too many quiet moments of my thoughts. It meant risk—professional and personal.

But the photos on my wall watched silently, generations of memories captured in fading frames. Mrs. Henderson’s laugh drifted through the door as she shared another Pine Haven tradition.

I took his hand, trying to ignore how perfectly my fingers fit between his. “Partners.”

His smile widened, warming his eyes. “Good. Now, where do we start?”

“The resort tour can wait.” I gestured to the stack of financial reports, each page a testament to my failures. “First, you need to understand exactly what we’re up against.”

Hunter settled into the chair across from my desk, looking far too at home in my office. “I’m all ears.”

I spread the financial reports across my desk, painfully aware of Hunter’s presence as he leaned in to study them. His subtle cologne tickled my senses, making it difficult to focus on the grim numbers before us. Through the window, I could see Jorge fixing the ancient heating system - another Band-Aid on a growing list of problems.

“Our biggest losses are in winter,” I explained, pointing to a depressing chart. “We used to be known for our ski slopes. The Parkers met here thirty years ago during ski lessons. But the bigger resorts have been killing us lately. They have better equipment, newer facilities—”

“More marketing budget,” Hunter added, tracing the downward trend line. His finger followed the decline that matched perfectly with Crystal Mountain’s expansion. “When was the last time you updated your winter sports equipment?”

I winced, remembering the local kids’ disappointed faces last season. “Three years ago? Maybe four.”

He made a noncommittal sound that somehow conveyed volumes of disapproval. “And your snow machines?”

“Two are completely dead. The others are...” I trailed off, remembering last winter’s disaster when one machine had sputtered to a stop mid-season, leaving our beginner slope partly bare. We’d had to refund an entire ski school class - families who’d been coming for generations.

“That bad, huh?” His eyes met mine, and there was no judgment, just understanding. It made it worse somehow.

“We’ve been focusing our limited resources on essential maintenance,” I defended, gesturing toward where Jorge worked. “The heating system needed an overhaul last year, and the east wing rooms required new plumbing—”

“I get it,” he interrupted gently. “You’ve been putting out fires instead of preventing them.”

The simple accuracy of his assessment stung. “What choice did I have? We can’t afford to upgrade everything at once.”

“No,” he agreed, “but we can be strategic about where we invest.” He pulled out his laptop, scanning through some files before turning the screen toward me. “The first thing has to be bringing in additional revenue streams. Have you considered corporate retreats?”

“Corporate retreats?”

“Team building getaways,” he explained, scrolling through market statistics. “The market has exploded since companies started bringing remote workers together for bonding experiences. You’ve got everything they need—conference facilities, activities, beautiful surroundings. Plus, they typically book during off-peak seasons.”

“I... hadn’t thought of that,” I admitted reluctantly, glancing toward the empty conference rooms that used to host local business meetings and wedding receptions.

“That’s why you need me,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Miller.” But I couldn’t help returning his smile. “We’d need to upgrade the conference rooms, improve the Wi-Fi—”

“All doable,” he cut in, leaning forward with contagious enthusiasm. “And the return on investment would be significant.” He paused, studying my face. “What’s holding you back, Amelia?”

I stood abruptly, needing space to think. Moving to the window, I watched the morning fog finally lift from the mountains, revealing the slopes where generations of families had learned to ski, and where I’d learned to ski, with Mom cheering from the lodge.

“It’s not that simple, Hunter. This place... it’s not just a business to me. Every change we make, every ‘upgrade’ risks losing what makes Pine Haven special.”

Before he could respond, Sophie’s gentle knock interrupted us. She poked her head in, apology written across her features. “Sorry, Ms. Horton, but Mr. Richardson is here for his eleven o’clock.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop by ten degrees. I’d completely forgotten about the bank manager’s visit. Hunter’s sudden stillness told me he understood exactly what that meant.

“Thank you, Sophie.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “I’ll be right there.”

Through the window, Richardson’s BMW sat next to Hunter’s Mercedes like old money sizing up new success. My stomach churned at the sight.

“I’ll come with you,” Hunter said, reaching for his jacket.

“No!” The word echoed against the wooden walls. At his raised eyebrow, I softened my tone. “I need to handle this myself.”

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. “Alright. But Amelia?” His fingers caught my wrist as I passed, sending warmth shooting up my arm. “Remember, you’re not alone in this anymore.”

The walk to the conference room felt endless. Every step past familiar photos and smiling guests reminded me exactly what hung in the balance. The room seemed to shrink as I entered Richardson’s presence, filling it with unspoken judgment.

He sat in his usual spot, steel-gray hair perfectly combed, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose—the same position he’d held through every meeting since I was a child, watching Mom handle these discussions with a grace I desperately wished I’d inherited.

“Mr. Richardson.” I channeled Mom’s strength into my voice. “Thank you for coming out personally.”

He nodded curtly, already flipping through our files. The wall clock’s ticking filled the silence, each second stretching like taffy. Through the window, I could see the ski slopes where his children had learned to snowboard, where he’d helped Dad install the first chairlift, where Pine Haven had been more than just another account in his portfolio.

“Ms. Horton.” He finally looked up, disappointment heavy behind those familiar glasses—the same ones he’d worn to my high school graduation. “These figures are... concerning.”

I clasped my hands in my lap to hide their trembling. “We’ve had a difficult quarter, yes, but we’re implementing new strategies—”

“With all due respect,” he interrupted, tapping the stack of late payment notices with one manicured finger, “that’s what you said three months ago.” The leather of his briefcase creaked as he pulled out a fresh document, the bank’s letterhead stark against the mahogany table where Mom used to serve him coffee. “Pine Haven’s loan payments have been late twice now. The board is questioning the resort’s viability.”

“The winter season hit us hard,” I admitted, memories of Hunter’s earlier observations about our equipment stinging fresh. “Equipment failures, unexpected maintenance costs. But our summer bookings are already fifteen percent higher than last year. The Henderson family reunion alone—”

“Amelia.” The use of my first name made me flinch. Richardson removed his glasses, polishing them with the handkerchief Mom had embroidered for him years ago. “I’ve known your family for thirty years. Watched you chase your brother through these halls in pigtails. Remember teaching you to ride that old lift?” He gestured toward the window, toward a childhood when Pine Haven’s future had seemed as solid as the mountains themselves. “But business is business. The bank needs more than promises and potential.”

A fresh document slid across the table’s worn surface. The words blurred before my eyes. “Thirty days?”

“To present a detailed recovery plan.” He replaced his glasses, still avoiding my gaze. “The board meets next month to review all high-risk accounts. Without concrete evidence that Pine Haven can turn around...” His voice trailed off, but the threat hung in the air like approaching storm clouds.

I forced my spine straighter. “What exactly do you need?”

“Projected revenue streams. Cost-cutting measures. A concrete debt repayment schedule.” He gathered his papers with practiced efficiency, then hesitated. “And Amelia? Make it good. There are... interests... who would love to see Pine Haven fail.”

Each step back to the lobby felt heavier than the last. Every family photo on the walls, every worn spot in the carpet where guests had created decades of memories, reminded me exactly what was at stake. Richardson paused at the entrance, his gaze lingering on the spot where his daughter had announced her engagement during last year’s Christmas festival.

“Your mother,” he said softly, “she always found a way. I hope you do, too.”

I maintained my professional smile until his car disappeared down the winding drive. Only then did I let the facade crack, tears burning as I stumbled back toward my office.

“Amelia?” Hunter’s voice, warm with concern, nearly undid me. He stood by my desk, looking unfairly composed while my world crumbled. “What happened?”

I tried to straighten, to be the strong resort manager everyone needed, but one look at his worried face shattered my remaining control. A sob caught in my throat as the morning’s events crashed over me—the devastating financials, his unexpected arrival, Richardson’s ultimatum.

I swiped at my eyes, but Hunter crossed the room in three long strides, crouching beside my chair. “Talk to me.”

“They’re giving us thirty days,” I whispered, the words bitter on my tongue. “Thirty days to prove we can turn things around, or they’ll...” My gaze drifted to the window where Mrs. Henderson still chatted with that young family, where Jorge finally had the heat working, where all the pieces of my heart were scattered across Pine Haven’s grounds.

“Hey.” Hunter’s hand found mine, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Look at me.”

I met his eyes reluctantly, finding none of his usual confidence—just genuine concern that made my heart twist.

“Thirty days is plenty of time,” he said with quiet conviction. “Especially since you’ve got me now.”

A watery laugh escaped me. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“No.” His thumb traced small circles on my palm, each touch sending sparks up my arm. “But I am sure about you. And about this place.”

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.