The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances Page 7

  “Oh, and Bree?” Delia calls from her office. I wipe away the tears and paste a neutral expression on my face. I open the door to her office and Delia’s sitting behind a pile of paperwork. “Please move your SUV out of the guest lot. Guests are beginning to ask questions about the dents and bumps. You can do it this evening, after your shift.”

  With that, Delia returns to her stack of papers. I close the door and walk out of reception, my cheeks on fire.

  20

  Bree

  I step into the cool evening air and let my emotions consume me. Strangely, the shame and embarrassment is compounded by gut-wrenching fear. This past week, I’ve enjoyed myself more than I ever could’ve imagined. Legacy has started to feel like a home, the people like family.

  After everything I’ve done, I don’t want to return to Edendale.

  Garth is parked in the corner of the guest lot. My banged-up, silver SUV looks rough compared to all of the brand-new sedans, sports cars and convertibles.

  I take a seat and turn the key in the ignition. Garth sputters and shakes to life. It feels like it’s been a year since I sat in the driver’s seat, though it’s only been a week. How is it that so much can change in such a short time?

  I think about the last conversation I had with my parents, and shivers run down my spine. When I’m in trouble with them, they usually level a punishment at me and call it a day. They never expect much of me because they’re used to what I deliver — not enough, in their eyes.

  But somehow, after an act of carelessness that could’ve easily cost the Inn a good deal of business, Delia still hasn’t given up on me. In fact, she expects more from me, she simply expects me to do better.

  That’s the scariest thing of all.

  I pull out of the guest lot and make my way to the staff parking. I back into a parking spot, but leave Garth running, and stare at the mosaic of clouds above me.

  My mind races. Delia expects so much of me. So, so much. I’ll surely let her down. She wants help this busy summer, but I’m definitely not her best option. Maybe I should go back to Edendale after all.

  My stomach drops to my toes. I only ever mess things up. No wonder my mom says that I’ll never have any meaningful relationships. I’m too wild and flighty, too much to handle. Most of my “dates” have been pre-arranged, horribly cringey encounters. At school, I’ve flirted shyly — and not well — with a few guys, but my mom’s words echo permanently in my head and I chicken out before the first date every time. I’ll only ever let them down.

  It’s what I do. The Bree Lewis special.

  Anger and confusion consume me. Only one thing can comfort me now. I check my phone and I know where to go.

  I’m about to put Garth in gear when I notice Noah exiting the Inn. He walks solemnly to a motorcycle and flips up the rear seat, rummaging about in the storage compartment underneath.

  Interesting. I didn’t peg Noah for the kind of guy who would have a Bonneville T100. Loads of girls at school mentioned his motorcycle when swooning over him, but I never noticed before.

  I get another idea.

  21

  Noah

  “Call it a night, kid!” Carrie’s bellow is quickly followed by a slap on the back. I give her a fist-bump and hang up my apron. No point in arguing with Carrie.

  She then turns to Fernando. “Where did you say you put the chocolate sprinkles?”

  “Where we always keep them.”

  “So, your stomach?” Carrie says solemnly.

  Carrie and Fernando’s playful banter follows me out of the kitchen and I roll my eyes. It’s great to have Carrie back. Her passion and intensity are a nice contrast to Fernando’s milder nature. Not to mention the weight it takes off to have another hand in the kitchen.

  The kitchen door slams shut and I’m overwhelmed by the stillness in the event room. Dinner tonight was loud and bustling, typical of Sundays at the Inn. Now, it’s getting late and the guests are either enjoying the evening party in the garden, or have already gone to bed.

  I wave at a couple of staffers milling about the room, and then, my heart sinks. The nagging thought I’ve been trying to avoid all week can no longer be ignored. I gave myself the week to settle in at Legacy, and I hoped a few days off would help me push past my writer’s block. But, I don’t feel any more inspired than I did last week or last month or last year and I can’t put it off any longer.

  Being a writer has been my dream for as long as I can remember. I started working on a story before Mom got sick, but after we lost her, I scrapped everything. Now, another story has been forming in the back of my mind, but I can’t figure out how to get it on paper.

  With a resigned sigh, I throw on my leather jacket and make my way to the staff parking lot. I was hoping that being at Legacy might spur some of my thoughts into action. Instead, I still don’t know where to start.

  I walk through the parking lot and stare intently at the ground, barely noticing the SUV with its headlights on. I lift the rear seat on my motorcycle to get into the storage compartment, preoccupied and thinking of the perfect first words for the first page of my first novel. I grab my notebook and pen.

  Across the parking lot, the SUV roars to life, tearing me from my thoughts.

  I don't spare it a glance, it’s just another staff member off for a late night escape. I expect the vehicle to pull out of the parking lot, but it doesn't. Instead, it lurches towards me, its headlights flashing.

  Why is it coming this way?

  I hold my hand up to cover my eyes from the glare. It looks like — no, it is — the same silver SUV that almost mowed me over on my way home from Colman's.

  The SUV bounces over potholes, coming right at me.

  Adrenaline shoots through me. I dive over my motorcycle to get out of the way of the speeding vehicle.

  It roars past, almost clipping my motorcycle, then stops. The engine dies. There's a steady buzz as the window rolls down.

  Bree pops her head out.

  My heart is racing, blood thumping through my veins. My knuckles are gripping to the side of my Bonneville for dear life. The notebook and pen have fallen to the ground.

  Bree is smiling innocently, like nothing happened.

  “Noah,” she says happily. “Come with me.”

  22

  Bree

  For some reason, Noah is splayed against his motorcycle looking like a deer caught in the headlights. His knuckles are white, clenched onto the sides of the bike. His blue eyes flash.

  Then, something clicks. He looks angry.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He explodes, brushing off his shirt. Storm clouds gather on his face. “Do you have a death wish for me or something? You’ve almost hit me with your car twice now!”

  “Twice?”

  “Don’t you remember almost hitting someone one night in Edendale? On a pedestrian crosswalk?”

  The night of the mediocre storm. “Wow, I’m sorry, Noah. I didn’t realize—”

  “Clearly.” He glares at me, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Might be worth actually watching the road when you drive. Just a heads up.”

  He runs his fingers through his hair. He’s kind of cute when he’s mad. I can’t hold back my smile any longer. Without any ability to stop it, my face breaks into a beaming grin.

  He stares at me incredulously. “What is going on? Why are you smiling?!”

  “I got a rise out of you.” I know that I shouldn’t feel gratified, but I really do.

  “You’re psychotic.”

  I roll my eyes, shrugging it off. I’ve heard worse. “Get in.”

  “Into the death trap? Absolutely not.”

  He stalks off down the parking lot. I put my car into gear and follow him slowly.

  “Come on!” I yell through the window, honking my horn in time to his footsteps.

  “Stop, you’ll wake up the guests!”

  “You know you want to.” I blare music loud, whooping and hollering. “Please?”

&n
bsp; “You’re a menace.”

  “Pretty please?” I rev the engine.

  It stalls. Silence.

  I turn the key in the ignition once, twice. Then, I hear a very perceptible snort.

  “That’s what you get.” Noah laughs as he steps onto the gravel pathway back to the Inn.

  Okay, time for the last hail mary. I have no clue whether this will work. It worked when we were kids, but Noah and I have grown up since then.

  “I found a storm!”

  He freezes. Then turns slowly to face me, considering my words.

  “Come on, it’s close,” I say, filled with a strange sense of desperation.

  The pen and notebook are loose in his fingers and his brow is furrowed. Then, a look of resignation crosses his face. “Can’t. Up early tomorrow to bake for the guests.”

  But, he doesn’t move so I try again.

  “Are you sure?” My voice is calm, like I’m approaching a wild animal. “It should be a good one. I checked online. It’s going to be big.”

  Below the steering wheel, I cross my fingers. Chasing storms has been a solitary activity for me in the last few years. But, maybe because Delia was so angry this evening, or because of my own anger towards my parents, I want nothing more than company tonight.

  I want what we had when we were kids. I want his company.

  He turns towards the Inn.

  My heart stops. I scramble to think of something else to say, but I can’t think of anything. This is it, he’s leaving. For some inexplicable reason, I suddenly want to cry. I really wanted us to chase a storm together. What a stupid idea.

  But, Noah doesn’t walk away. Instead, he turns back around to face me. “One condition.”

  Anything. “Yes?”

  “I’m driving.”

  23

  Noah

  I click into the driver’s seat and Bree settles into the passenger seat. A nervous excitement flows through me. It’s been years since I chased a storm, and my options tonight were either to storm chase or stare at a blank sheet of paper for hours.

  I frown, pausing with my hands on the steering wheel. For years, my life has been a clear-cut recipe — I help people and I’m there when they need me. I’m there for Dad, my sisters, Fernando, Colman’s and Spruce Tree. I’m the opposite of Bree, who flings herself into life with wild abandon. She makes everything feel possible and exciting.

  Maybe, just for one night, I can try things her way.

  I turn the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life.

  “How short are you?” I ask incredulously as I move the seat backwards.

  “None of your business.” Bree flips her braids. “You sure you can handle Garth?”

  I shift into reverse. “Garth and I will be best friends in no time.”

  The engine stalls.

  “Fine.” I restart the car. “We’ll be friendly acquaintances for now.”

  I gun the gas until the car purrs happily. Bree changes the dials on the radio, finally settling on NWR.

  I grin. “I remember we used to fall asleep to this station when we were kids. Weirdest thing ever.”

  “It’s not that weird,” Bree says, a hint of defensiveness in her voice. She opens her phone and does some quick searching, going into navigation mode.

  As I turn onto the road, the low humming of the car is comforting. The tension drops from my shoulders and I rest my arm on the center console. It’s quiet, aside from the murmuring on the NWR station. It feels good to drive on a dark highway towards the promise of lightning. Bree sits back and we roll through the darkness together.

  “How’s your dad?” Bree asks. She used to love spending time with our family at Legacy. While we’ve caught up on a few things lately, we’ve carefully skirted topics relating to our parents.

  “Good,” I say, thinking of my ever-smiling dad. He rarely shows his sadness or anger anymore. “He’s always good.”

  Bree looks out the window.

  “What about your parents?” I venture tentatively.

  Her smile drops off her face and her expression closes up.

  I hope I didn’t go too far — her parents have always been a touchy subject. When we were kids, she used to complain about them, and eventually, she flat-out refused to talk about them.

  “Always good,” she says, the words clipped.

  “I’m your oldest friend,” I say with a half-smile, remembering her words to me. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  She chuckles darkly and stares out the window. “Well, they’re in Europe so I should say they’re doing fantastic. Apparently, leaving me behind to teach me to be ‘responsible’ is all they needed to be one big, happy family.”

  Her words are biting but there’s sadness beneath the anger, making me want to reach out and grab her hand.

  “Anyway,” she says quickly, changing the subject. “You owe me a secret now. What is it that you’re writing about?”

  I press my lips together to keep the words in, but my heart softens a little. She did just tell me about her parents, I guess I could offer something in return.

  “Someday, I’d like to write a book about the past,” I say softly, almost hoping she didn’t hear.

  “The past — your past?” Her tone is soft as spring rain.

  “Yeah,” I venture and then add, “about Mom and my childhood.”

  And there it is, the topic I’ve struggled with for years. I’ve been wanting to write about Mom and my childhood since she got sick. I want to write about the love my parents had for each other — that one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime love that’s as rare as ball lightning. And, in some cases, just as fleeting.

  After she died, I had so many words, so much to say, so much I was feeling, but I couldn’t get the words on paper. I couldn’t even think about expressing how I was feeling out loud. Instead, I’ve been carrying it around for three years like a secret shame.

  Until now. Of all people, why did I tell Bree? The words just came out. My heart beats loudly as I wait for her response.

  “That’s amazing.” She reaches through the darkness and rests her hand on my wrist, brushing gently with her thumb. “If anyone can do it, Noah, it’s you.”

  My shoulders relax, but I’m all too aware of the warmth of her hand. It’s a very comfortable, almost intimate gesture.

  “You always knew what you wanted.” There’s a smile in her voice. “There’s no reason to hold back from getting it.”

  Her words fall over me like a warm blanket. The silence in the car feels safe and comforting. She pulls her hand away from my wrist, and I almost want to reach out and take it back. But, this time, not for her. For me.

  A flash of lightning cuts across the sky.

  “Eek!” Bree claps her hands and my stomach twists in excitement. In the distance, a boom of thunder. We’re getting close to the storm.

  Raindrops dot the windshield. The view becomes blurred as the rain falls harder.

  I press on the lever to turn on the windshield wipers. Instead, I accidentally kick the car into cruise control. Panicking, I press on the other lever and the right turn signal comes on.

  Bree laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be best friends with Garth by now? What are you trying to do?”

  “Wipers.” I press another lever. The hazards flash on and off.

  “Need some help?” Bree asks through a fit of laughter.

  “Never.” Come on, Garth. One more try. I twist the lever and the high beams slash through the night.

  Bree just about dies of laughter as the hazards, high beams, and turn signal work in unison. “This your first time driving, Sawyer?” She reaches over to twist the lever on the far right.

  The wipers sweep across the windshield.

  “I don’t think Garth wants to be friends yet,” I say, exasperated.

  “Don’t you blame my baby.” Bree wipes a tear from her eye. “Pull off onto the side road up here.”

  I do, then shift into park and turn off the car.


  A torrential sheet of rain falls down on us. The once-silent space echoes with the sound of rain and thunder. Lightning strikes and Bree’s expression of wonderment matches my own.

  Adrenaline pumps through me. I can’t remember the last time I did something so exciting. Another shock of thunder rumbles the car.

  Bree grabs a camera from the backseat and snaps shots of the lightning streaking across the sky. It’s like we’re kids again, wild and free.

  “Hey.” Bree has to yell over the rain hammering the roof. “Remember the game we used to play?”

  My smile grows wider. Of course I remember.

  “Scary stories during a thunderstorm,” I murmur, watching the sky break open.

  She laughs with excitement, lightning flashing in her eyes. She’s beautiful, her face open, sincere, real. She doesn’t hold anything back.

  My heart thumps hard in my chest, and this time, I’m not sure if the storm is to blame.

  24

  Bree

  The sky is magic and I’m captivated. It’s in the rain falling on the roof, the boom of thunder, the flashes of light. It’s in the loud silence of the car. Usually, I play my audiobooks when sitting in a storm like this. But tonight, with Noah, I don’t need them.

  The rushing wind makes Garth rock on his suspension. The rain pounds the roof and I almost want to sing or dance with it. I don’t know if Noah would find that weird — he never seems to mind my bizarre antics. I wonder whether he’ll tell me a scary story, but the sound of the storm is enough for me.

  Eventually, the time between the beams of lightning and the crashes of thunder begins to lengthen. The storm rolls away, further along the National Park.

  Noah’s leaning forward on the steering wheel, watching the scene. The lightning strikes and his face is lit in a momentary glow. He’s watching with child-like wonderment, his eyes wide open. I’ve never noticed how beautiful his eyelashes are — thick and black. He has the slightest amount of scruff, highlighting his sculpted jawline.