Samara: A Kilenya Romance

by Andrea Pearson

  Samara

  A Kilenya Romance

  Andrea Pearson

  Copyright 2011 Andrea Pearson

  Book design and layout copyright 2011 Andrea Pearson

  Cover design copyright 2011 Andrea Pearson

  Smashwords Edition

  The Kilenya Series by Andrea Pearson:

  The Key of Kilenya

  The Ember Gods, Kilenya Series Book Two

  Kilenya Romances by Andrea Pearson:

  Samara: A Kilenya Romance

  Paperback Versions Available through Amazon:

  The Key of Kilenya

  The Ember Gods

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction, and the views expressed herein are the sole responsibility of the author. Likewise, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are represented fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Summary: Samara Oldroyd takes a break from her somewhat insane family to browse a music store, and while there, meets the funniest, most attractive and awesome guy ever. A phone call interrupts their conversation, and she has to leave before she can find out anything about him—what his name is, where he's from, and why his smile is so familiar.

  Her wishes that they'll run into each other again come true, but not how she expects. When her older sister finally lets the family meet her new boyfriend, Samara is shocked to see it's the guy from the music store!

  Awkward and hilarious scenes abound as Samara tries—in vain—to undo the crush she'd formed earlier. Inspired by the film Dan in Real Life, this novella will tickle you pink!

  To my husband

  For his unwavering affection and patience.

  I love you!

  Table of Contents

  Samara

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Back to Top

  Out of several strong candidates, I, Samara Oldroyd, was selected to manage a car full of siblings on a four-hour road trip.

  Okay, I’m kidding. I say the stupidest things sometimes, for a sixteen year old. I was the only candidate, since I’m the only kid in my family who mostly does smart things.

  Crunch.

  I could taste the cheese dust in the air. It was making me sick.

  Crunch.

  I put my book down when Molly, my older sister, growled loudly, clenching her fists around the wheel. “C’mon, Cale!” she shrieked, starting the umpteenth mini battle. “Knock it off!”

  Cale, sitting behind her, kicked her seat. “I’m not doing anything—just eating my Cheetos!”

  Maybe it’s his fault the war started. He was only six, but he certainly helped Molly shriek a lot. And Molly’s screams could shatter glass.

  “Yeah—you’re crunching way too loud. And stop kicking my seat!” She reached behind her, grabbing his leg, and the car swerved.

  I frantically lunged for the wheel. “Eyes on the road, Molly.”

  “We’re going to die!” ten-year-old Grayden yelled from the seat next to Cale. “Mom! Save us!”

  “No we’re not,” Molly said, hands finally at ten and two. “Argh! I’m so sick of little brothers!” She glanced at me. “Samara, please, control them.”

  Like that was possible. I rolled my eyes.

  I couldn’t wait to get to the cabin for our annual family reunion. We usually drove together in the SUV, but it was in the shop for a week, and Dad decided to drive his car with Mom, having Molly follow behind. Bad choice. With how hyper the boys were, even if I’d been driving, things wouldn’t have gone any better.

  Crunch.

  Cale started eating his Cheetos again, and Molly’s knuckles on the wheel turned white.

  “I swear, I’m going to kill him,” she said.

  “No, you’re not.”

  I slumped in my seat and looked out the window, watching the trees speed past. There was only one thing I could think of to use as a distraction. I braced myself because this topic was so shockingly boring I’d probably nod off and fall out of the car or something. I sighed and turned to Molly. “Tell me more about this guy you’re having come.”

  Molly perked up and she started gushing. “Oh, he’s so hot! And Samara, he’s not like any of the other guys I’ve dated. I mean, he’s really hot and smart! He’s always top of the class, he’s athletic, he’s nice . . .”

  I tuned her out—she’d started repeating information I already knew, and I hadn’t really wanted to learn more about this “mystery man” she started dating a week ago. Molly went through guys like a bee goes through flowers—flitting from one to the other and back again. The only reason I didn’t already know this boyfriend was because she’d just moved out to go to college and had met him over there.

  “And I can’t believe I’m actually dating someone younger than me, you know? I mean, he’s in high school!”

  “Yeah, it’s not a crime,” I said. “You’re still seventeen.”

  “But in college already. It’s just weird!”

  “Attraction doesn’t always pay attention to age.”

  She looked at me with a huge grin on her face. “And man, is he attractive! You know, the other day . . .”

  I tuned her out again.

  ***

  Ten years later, we arrived at the cabin. Okay, so not that long, but it might as well have been. Hours and hours of driving with my insane sister and crazy brothers was enough to make my blonde hair turn gray.

  We dragged ourselves out of the car. Mom came to help unbuckle Cale—who insisted he didn’t need help—and Dad pulled the trunk open.

  “How was the ride?” Mom asked. “We sure passed some beautiful country, didn’t we?”

  “I wouldn’t have noticed,” I grumbled. “You get the boys on the way home.”

  She smiled. Was that an evil glint in her eye? “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse.”

  I picked up my guitar and bag and hauled them up the stairs to the cabin. The boys, now released from their imprisonment, started running around, wreaking havoc. I rushed through the front door, shutting it firmly behind me.

  Molly barged in. “Why’d you shut the door on me?” She flipped her long brown hair. “I get the big room.”

  “You always do,” I said, not wanting an argument. The girls cousins slept in the upstairs bedrooms, the adults in the master-bedroom styled rooms on the main floor, the boys in the basement rooms. I heaved my stuff up the stairs and down the hall to my usual place. After flinging my shoes off, I sprawled across the bed. The silence surrounding me was heavenly—I could barely hear Cale and Grayden running around like mad-men outside.

  Every June our entire family—my dad’s side—came for a week-long reunion which involved swimming, hiking, browsing local shops, and roasting marshmallows and other yummy stuff. It qualified as the best vacation ever, and I’d been looking forward to it for a very long time.

  Molly walked in, brushing her hair. “He’s gonna be here in a couple of hours. Oh, Sam, I can’t wait for you to meet him!”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’m sure I’ll like him.”

  “But not too much, okay? Cause he’s all mine. My hunk of man.”

  “How long do you
plan to date this one?”

  “A while.” She grinned wickedly then plopped down on the bed next to me. “We’re going swimming tomorrow after the hike. I can’t wait for him to see me in my new bikini. He’s going to drool!”

  “Molly, come on.”

  Just then I realized I couldn’t hear the boys outside anymore. Where had they gone? My question was answered quickly—they dashed into my room, excitedly blabbering about the public swimming pool and squirrels and deer poop. I rolled over on the bed, putting my pillow over my face.

  Someone laughed from the hallway—Dad. “Okay, everyone, give Samara a break. Out, now.”

  I put the pillow aside.

  “You too, Molly,” Dad said. “And go see if your mother needs help.”

  Molly left, dragging her feet, and Dad turned to me. “Thanks for taking care of the boys on the ride. Your mother really needed that break.”

  “Yeah, no problem,” I said. “Though, I’m serious—they’re going home in your car.”

  He laughed, pulling his wallet out. “We’ll see. Anyway, it’s your turn for some time away. Take this,” he held out a twenty dollar bill, “and go find me a piano book at the music store. Pick something good. Oh, and you might want to consider finding a vocal guitar piece for yourself. For the talent show, you know.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Dad.” He knew me best. Honestly, I have the most awesome family ever—even my younger brothers were usually cool. But today was one of those rare days when they drove me completely nuts. Dad gave me the keys to his car, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

  I jumped off the bed and grabbed my suitcase. If I was going into town, I wanted to look cute. Pulling out my makeup and new bright pink top, I squealed in excitement. This would be great! There was almost always someone attractive hanging around the store, which specialized in unique, original and rare music.

  After touching up my makeup and changing clothes, I grabbed my purse, making sure my book was in it, then dashed downstairs.

  The ride into town was nice—I was better able to appreciate the pine trees and green forests this time. Main street was quiet and the parking lot at the music store empty. With a twinkling of bells, I entered and took a deep breath. Ah! The smell of old paper!

  “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen you here,” Mark, the owner of the store, said from behind the counter. “How’s your father? Is he looking forward to his concert next month?”

  “Definitely—he’s always talking about his performances here.”

  Dad had put on several live concerts in the store before—both with local musicians, and on his own. He was hilarious at the piano, so no one seemed to mind when there weren’t guitarists or vocalists accompanying him. Sometimes, he was even better alone. Once a year, he made a special trip here just to put on a live, free concert for the locals. It was his favorite performance of the year.

  “Wonderful. Though it may be ‘substandard,’ as your dad likes to say, our piano will be in perfect condition. I’m going to make sure he’ll have nothing to complain about this time.”

  Mark laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. Dad’s beloved Steinway was his pride and joy. In Dad’s eyes, no matter how hard Mark tried, nothing could ever obtain the level of perfection Dad’s piano set.

  “Oh,” Mark continued, “and maybe we’ll get the opportunity to hear you as well? With such talented parents, I’m sure you’re a musical genius, just waiting to be discovered.” A glint of light entered the owner’s eyes, and I could imagine him stooping slightly, an evil grin on his face, rubbing his hands as if he were about to receive a large amount of money.

  I felt a blush cross my cheeks. “Uh . . . someday, I’m sure.” I’d always wanted to be on stage, but didn’t have the courage to play alone, and hadn’t found anyone with a style similar enough to mine yet.

  I crossed to the piano section and browsed for a while before picking a Jon Schmidt book. Dad hadn’t played something by him for a long time, and I was positive the audience would love his take on All of Me. I sifted through more music, finally making my way to the guitar area.

  The bells on the front door jangled, indicating someone had entered, but I was too absorbed to look up. I’d always loved music from the 80’s and was going back and forth between Journey and Phil Collins. Why did this decision have to be such a difficult one? And why didn’t I bring enough money to buy both books?

  I felt his presence before he said anything. It was like a magnetic current—a pull to the side. I held my ground firmly, keeping my eyes down.

  “That’s a hard choice.” His voice had a gorgeous timbre. “Which are you leaning toward?”

  I glanced up and nearly dropped the books. The most beautiful set of gray-blue eyes gazed at me from a tan, somewhat freckled face. A familiar, dimpled smile flashed. I’d seen that smile before. Where?

  “Sorry—did I scare you? I wasn’t trying to.” He looked at the books in my hands. “Seriously, though. These are great choices. Phil Collins or Journey. You must like the 80’s.”

  “Just the music,” I said a little too quickly. “I mean, I’m not a fan of the hair. Or the cheesy acting in a lot of the movies.” I kept glancing back to him. Stop it, eyes! Control yourselves! Sheesh.

  He laughed. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  I nodded. “I need a song for a talent show this weekend.” I felt an urge to keep him talking. “Uh . . . do you have any suggestions?”

  “Well, let’s see what we’ve got here.” He started browsing next to me. “Michael Jackson?”

  “Nah.”

  “Madonna?”

  I giggled. Yes—I actually did. I still can’t believe it. “No, thanks.”

  We didn’t say anything again for a moment, and I vowed to keep my eyes on the books in front of me. I wasn’t successful. I couldn’t help peeking at him—he was so dang cute. His sandy blond hair was perfectly messy and just the right length—only two, maybe three inches long. He had broad shoulders and nice—I mean really nice—biceps. The right amount of muscle. My face flushed and I turned to look at the music behind us.

  He asked me about several more popular bands, and I said no to all of them.

  “Well, what are you looking for?”

  I groaned. “You’re going to laugh at me.”

  And he did. Before I’d even said anything! Rude! I almost whacked him, but he put his hands up in self-defense, a huge smile on his face. “I’m not making fun of you—just getting a kick at how embarrassed you are.”

  Was he flirting with me? Did he find me attractive? Oh, I hoped so! “Okay, I want something tender and familiar. Something heart-felt. And it has to be from the 80’s.”

  “Tender, familiar, and heart-felt. Girls are all the same.”

  I glared at him, and he chuckled. “Kidding.” He looked back at the music. “Journey may be your only bet.”

  We’d wandered to the guitar sheet music section by then. I couldn’t believe my luck. This totally amazing, funny, and cute guy had walked in off the street, approached me—making the first move—and he was still talking to me. How’d I get so lucky today? Please, oh, please ask me out!

  “Yeah, I know, but everyone else is probably doing one of their songs.” I picked up two pieces with which I was familiar. “How about Foreigner? Or The Bangles?”

  “Both excellent groups. It’s up to you, of course. Here are a couple more to choose from.” He handed me the sheet music for songs by Starship and Wilson Phillips.

  “Oh, I love them! These are perfect!” I looked at the four songs in front of me, trying to decide. Actually, I was mostly wondering if there was any chance he’d ask me for my number. “I don’t know which to get.”

  “Why not all four?”

  I glanced at him. “With what money?”

  He pointed at a sign. “They’re on sale.”

  My eyes must’ve lit up like a Christmas Tree. “Yay!” I held the music to my chest, a
long with all the books I’d collected as we’d walked around the store, then turned to him. Maybe I should say something . . .?

  “How long have you been tinkering around on the guitar?” he asked.

  “For as long as I can remember. And it’s not tinkering—I’m serious about it. My parents bought me a little one when I was four, I think, and I’ve played it since then. I sing too—have taken years of lessons for both.”

  “Do you plan to do anything with these mad skills?”

  I hesitated, looking down. “Yeah . . .”

  “Like what?”

  The strength of his gaze brought my eyes back up to him. I think he must’ve sensed my hesitation, because he didn’t press me or tease me this time to get information. I looked around the store, making sure no one was listening before answering him with a whisper. “I want to go to Julliard. On full scholarship.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Why are you whispering? It’s not like other people don’t dream of doing that too.”

  “Yeah, I know, but for me, it’s getting closer and closer to becoming a reality. I’ve completed all of the application requirements except for the live audition. Everything has gone really well so far. And my guitar teacher has been talking to the woman in charge of the guitar department—they’re friends—and they’re positive I’ll make it in.”

  He whistled. “Wow. That’s freakin’ amazing.”

  I nodded. “I’ve been saving up for my trip for a year now. This week’s paycheck is the last of the money I need, and when we get home, I’ll buy the plane ticket. My audition is in August, and a friend of mine, her mom, and I are flying out then. We’re going to see as many Broadway Musicals as we can, and we’ll do a ton of shopping. I haven’t done anything fun this whole year because when I get to New York, I don’t want to have to worry about money.”

  “I’m super impressed. That’s such a great opportunity—I hope things work out for you.” He looked at the big clock on the wall, then back to me. Was that a bit of regret on his face? “It’s been fun talking to you. I have to go now.”