The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  Bree has always been like that — a flash of lightning. She lives for a spark of excitement, bright and colorful, and then moves quickly onto the next thing. It’s the exact behavior that used to drive her parents crazy. But I found her fun, exciting and inspiring. The very definition of an individual.

  I tune out of most of the Edendale High gossip, but I’ve heard a few things about Bree over the years. She’s brilliant, but only on her own terms. She’ll skip a week of classes, and then show up and ace the exam. Usually. It’s amazing this habit hasn’t caught up with her yet. From what I can tell, she keeps to herself and doesn’t have a designated friend group or clique. She floats from group to group, but everyone speaks of her kindness. I’ve heard that she’s gone on dates with a few guys at Edendale High — mostly the rich, upper-class kids — but nothing stuck.

  “Can you get the cake ready for tonight’s wedding?” Fernando asks. “We’re running behind.”

  I’m ripped back to the present moment and my stomach knots up again. Peace never lasts long.

  “Happy to help,” I say automatically, my lifetime motto.

  17

  Bree

  I place the mail on Delia’s desk and return to reception, enjoying the soft notes coming from the radio. Yes, I succumbed to the silence issue and brought in a little portable radio. I’m playing it softly and keeping it within reach so I can turn it up whenever Delia enters the room.

  It’s been a week and, despite mission “slack back to Edendale,” Delia has yet to kick me out. I’m still here, still plotting ways to be a bad worker whenever she’s around. I’m vaguely aware that there are certain aspects of the Inn that I’ll miss when I get sent back to Edendale — like the people and, even, somedays, the work.

  But no good will come out of me staying. I’ll just mess things up for Delia.

  I’m processing the check-ins from the afternoon, humming along with the beat of a song, when a guest flies into the office.

  “Excuse me, excuse me!” She's holding young twin girls by the hands. The girls look bored and annoyed, tugging at their dresses. I get an unnerving flashback to my own childhood, when my parents would stuff me into fancy dresses for the most mundane events.

  “I want to get a photo of the girls to send home to their dad. Where can I find the photographer?” Her tone is clipped and frustrated.

  “We actually have two photographers here at the Inn.” I check the window towards the garden and the lake.

  “Fine, the TWO photographers.” She sneers.

  My hackles go up, but I force myself to speak calmly. “You can find Jonathan and Kiara by the lake.”

  “No,” she snaps, and I see the twins exchange a glance of glee. “I don’t want a photo by the lake.”

  I keep my face composed. “I’m sure you can ask them to take a photo elsewhere, but they do have a good sense of the lighting.”

  One of the girls tugs her hand, her voice excited. “Please, mommy, can we go to the lake?”

  The lady shoots me a mean glare before turning towards her child. “Fine, Charlotte. But under no circumstances will you be going in the lake until after the photo is taken. Understood?”

  Charlotte nods, her expression sour. Oh man, that throws me back.

  The lady nods at me, her face impassive. This is probably as close as she gets to a joyful expression. “Fine, then.”

  She heads out the door, dragging the twins behind her. They look up at me and I give them a wink. When the merry threesome has left the room, I head back to my desk, turning the radio up a couple of notches. I’m grinning. Oh to be a young troublemaker again.

  “Well, what do you know?” A voice by the door surprises me.

  I freeze. Delia.

  “You handled that exceptionally well, dear.” She leans against the doorframe with practiced casualness. “That Mrs. Caron is a real piece of work.”

  My jaw drops. Since I’ve been here, Delia hasn’t said one bad thing about a guest.

  “I spoke to her on the phone before she arrived.” Delia strolls into the reception and turns the volume up on the radio even further. “She asked me if there was any way to make sure all of our deep-fried food was vegan. Fernando created a vegan menu for her, and then, believe it or not, I saw her gorge herself on the — non-vegan — mac and cheese last night!”

  I stifle a laugh, unsure how to play this. Delia caught me… actually being good at my job. Best to backtrack. I need to set low expectations.

  “Yeah.” I yawn. “I hope I wasn’t too rude.”

  Delia chortles and heads into her office.

  I look around while my mind races. How can I save face? I check the time — my break is in five minutes but I’ll take it now.

  “Off to the kitchen,” I shout and then leave without waiting for a reply.

  Over the week, I’ve been sneaking into the kitchen whenever I get the chance, helping Fernando and Noah with odds and ends. Time passes so quickly when I’m hanging out with them, and today, the last kitchen staff member will be arriving — Carrie. I briefly remember her from my childhood as a loud, confident lady.

  I giggle thinking about my attempts to get a rise out of Noah. There’s been no progress made on that front yet, but I’m enjoying our conversations. He talks about his sisters a lot. Last year, in the midst of a prank war, Victoria found an embarrassing photo of Grace, blew it up until it was gigantic, then had it made into a flag. Which she flew outside their house.

  We also talked about his work at Colman’s and Spruce Tree, and about the activities I sampled at Edendale High. I tried my hand at baking, woodworking, volleyball, yearbook... Nothing struck me as particularly interesting, though I’ll admit I got a kick from adding student “labels” to the yearbook. My favorite was for the Edendale High goalie and resident bully, Lucas Therborn — so-labeled “Edenjerk.” I flitted onto the next thing before printing and sadly my labels were removed.

  “Honey, I’m home!” I storm into the kitchen, but my voice can barely be heard over Fernando’s wailing. He’s singing along to a pop song, and not well. Noah’s standing by the griddle, whistling along with Fernando’s off-key vocals. Neither of them heard me come in.

  My hands tingle in anticipation as a thought comes to mind — the perfect way to get a rise out of Noah. I spot the burger buns, the cheese, the cutting boards, the knives. They’ll be needing vegetables soon.

  Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I sneak across the kitchen floor. Monitoring the room, I duck behind counters and shelves to avoid detection. Finally, I hide behind a bowl of tomatoes. It’s almost time.

  Fernando and Noah are distracted by something on the stove.

  Now’s my chance.

  I pop into the walk-in fridge and close the door behind me.

  Darn, I forgot a sweater. But it’s worth it.

  18

  Noah

  “Mi amoreeeeee!” Fernando bellows. His voice has never been topnotch, but what he lacks in pitch he makes up for with enthusiasm. It’s hard not to smile when he’s singing.

  I flip a burger on the grill and my mind travels back over my first week at Legacy Inn. In one week, I've had more fun than I’ve had in years. Fernando is always great to spend time with, but having Bree here restores a balance. I guess that’s what happens when you’re spending time with an old friend.

  I’m smiling down at a burger patty like an insane person when I realize that Fernando has stopped singing. I look up and he’s staring at me with an amused expression on his face.

  “What’re you thinking about, amico?”

  “That you could use a few more singing lessons,” I say quickly. My cheeks are heating up. Am I blushing? No, it’s just hot by the griddle.

  “Even my singing doesn’t make you smile this much, amico.” Fernando grins. “Maybe you’re wondering when your girlfriend will make another appearance.”

  “Very funny.” I stare intently at the burger patty and flip it. To my amusement, on the other side, the burge
r has cooked in such a way that there’s a smiley face.

  “I’ve seen the way you look at her, all secret glances and hidden smiles,” Fernando says. “You two ever date?”

  I laugh loudly, but the blasting radio and the sizzling griddle overshadow my incredulous reaction. “Never. We are, and have always been, just friends.”

  Fernando gives me a look. “Really? In all of your years ‘hanging out,’ you’ve never wanted to date her?”

  I pick up the smiley burger on the spatula. “My one and only true love is Betty. Check her out.”

  Fernando rolls his eyes and I place Betty back on the griddle. When Fernando gets serious like this, no amount of goofing off can steer him off track.

  “Even if I was interested, she’d never go for me. Her family owns Legacy Inn. She’s beautiful and dates the best guys out there. She’s way too good for me. And that’s fine, me and Betty will have a pleasant life together.”

  Now, his face breaks into a little smile. “L’amore vince sempre. Love conquers all.”

  What does he mean by that?

  I brush it off. Bree’s been gunning to annoy me all week and she has succeeded a couple of times, but I’m well-trained to hide any frustration — having two teenage sisters has done wonders for my tolerance. Plus, the odd times she’s not been trying to get a rise out of me, I’ve enjoyed talking to her.

  I feel like I can tell her anything. I never get bored or distracted and I’ve never wondered, anxiously, if we should get back to work. She’s endlessly entertaining with her stories about sneaking out of her house to chase storms, her favorite audiobooks, entering a hot dog eating contest and coming in second. It feels like I know everything about her, but I always want to know more.

  I’m about to flip the smiley patty when a welcome voice echoes throughout the kitchen.

  “How’re my boys doing?” Carrie flies into the kitchen and I could almost shout with relief. She’s back!

  Fernando and I rush over to give her a hug, asking her all about her vacation. After five minutes of chatter, Carrie has already had enough and is looking around the kitchen determinedly. “What needs to be done?”

  The magic words. Fernando fills her in on the busy summer ahead and her face hardens. There’s no easy return after her vacation. But, efficient as ever, she dives in, putting together cupcakes for tonight.

  My heart singing, I head to the fridge to get lettuce for the burgers. I place my hand on the door, and then notice a tomato on the ground. I pick it up and place it back in the bowl.

  The door clicks.

  It opens.

  And out comes Bree, like a fridge yeti.

  I yelp and hold my arms out, trying to catch her as she falls out of the fridge. Behind me, Fernando and Carrie scream.

  “RACCOON!” Bree shouts. And then shivers. Her lips are blue.

  “What the?!” I yell and Fernando turns down the music. “How long were you in there?”

  “L-l-l-ong e-e-enou-gh.” She shivers and her teeth clatter together.

  She’s wearing a crop top and a skirt — not appropriate clothing for 40F. I grab my leather jacket and cover her shoulders. She’s shaking.

  “What were you thinking?” I demand, rubbing her arms.

  “It-it was just.” She shivers again. “Too-too-too good an opp-opportunity.”

  “I hope it was worth it.”

  Her eyes meet mine and her eyelashes are just the slightest bit white from the cold. Nevertheless, there’s a fire in her eyes that could melt the contents of the fridge.

  “Definitely.”

  19

  Bree

  Later that evening, I’m marching into reception to sign out after catching up with Carrie in the kitchen. I forgot how spunky and snappy she is with her dyed red hair, big glasses, and boisterous laugh. It’s crazy to me that these people — these strangers — sometimes feel more like family than the family I do have.

  It’s been a long day in a pleather skirt and I’m excited to change into my pajamas. My form of rebellion today was in my attire. My hair is tied up in crazy-looking braids, and my red skirt and black crop top are more suited to a rock concert than work. Sadly, this outfit did not keep me warm during my sojourn in the fridge.

  I’m whistling Fernando’s favorite song when I stroll into reception. The tornado of movement stops me dead in my tracks.

  Two young boys jump on the couches at the far end of the room. Their parents loom over the reception desk, angry and frustrated. They’re gesturing wildly to Delia, who types furiously at my computer.

  Where I should have been waiting to greet guests.

  Uh oh.

  I rush into the room. “What’s going on?”

  Delia peers at me over her half-moon glasses, her green eyes furious. A pit forms in the base of my stomach. I’ve never seen her mad.

  “That’s what I’m trying to find out, Bree.” Her voice is stern. But worse than that, she sounds disappointed.

  I scramble around the desk and look at the computer screen. The pit sits heavier in my stomach. It’s the double booking. The one I didn’t bother dealing with because I wasn’t going to be at Legacy for the fallout.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Sharp are under the impression that they have a booking for a two bedroom condo, however, they’re currently booked into the same unit as Mr. and Mrs. Brown.” Delia narrows her gaze. “I thought this problem was corrected, but apparently not.”

  The screen swims before my eyes. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “And is sorry going to fix our problem?” Mr. Sharp asks. “We came all the way from Central Florida to be here. Central. Florida. Do you know how many hours we’ve been traveling for — with kids? And now, to discover that some stupid receptionist has given away our room?”

  His words land like a slap to the face.

  Delia immediately stands up. “There is no need to use that language with my staff, Mr. Sharp.”

  Mr. Sharp, very smartly, clamps his mouth shut and Mrs. Sharp shifts from foot to foot, her expression fiery.

  “Bree.” Delia turns to me, her eyes flashing but her face suspiciously calm. “Seeing as you got us into this, do you have any suggestions for Mr. and Mrs. Sharp?”

  My face burns. I’ve never felt this way before, not even when my parents scolded me. This feels much more serious and I’m withering under Delia’s stern look. The reception is eerily silent, like we’ve entered a vacuum. Time is ticking. I need to think of something.

  “The wedding preparation suite,” I sputter.

  Delia’s face relaxes a fraction but she stays silent.

  “It’s a beautiful suite.” I face the Sharps and put on my best “Customer Service” smile. “The bridal party uses the suite to prepare for the wedding. There are two rooms and it’s equipped with a kitchenette.”

  The ghost of a smile appears on Delia’s lips. It’s not much, but it’s enough to give me confidence.

  “There’s a Queen bed in one room and, for the kids, we have a couple of comfortable cots available. We can position them by the door so you all have plenty of space.” To my delight, the Sharps appear to relax a bit. Time for the final sell. “And, the master bath has a jacuzzi tub. No other two bedroom condo at Legacy has one of those.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Sharp look at each other and exchange a smile. I did it!

  “What about the bridal party, Bree?” Delia pops my bubble. “Where do you suggest they get ready?”

  My mind races once again. We only have one wedding tomorrow. I frown, puzzling it together. “They’re staying in a three bedroom suite. Why don’t we offer them additional snacks on the house, and maybe a bottle of champagne?”

  I glance at Delia tentatively and her face widens into a smile. She nods.

  “That’ll be fine.” Mrs. Sharp grabs her children’s bags. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll take you to your suite,” Delia says. “Bree, it’s time you told the bridal party about the change of plans.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Sharp take
their bags and file out of reception with their kids in tow. The call with the bride goes better than expected, and when I hang up the phone, I’m smiling. Judging by the cheers and celebrations in the background, the bottle of champagne will be welcome.

  I wait with bated breath for Delia to return to reception. She isn’t going to be happy with me. But, isn’t this exactly what I wanted? I wanted Delia to be mad and send me back to Edendale. So why is it that I want so desperately to stay?

  Finally, the moment of truth arrives and Delia strides back into reception. Her voice is not stern or angry, but exhausted. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “I am so sorry. Truly, I am. I should’ve paid more attention.”

  “Yes, you should have.” She leans against the doorframe, her green eyes piercing.

  I can’t meet her gaze.

  “Whether you like it or not, you’re here for the summer. And that means that, until August, you’re part of our little family. So it would be best if you put any anger you’re feeling towards your parents behind. For all of our sakes.”

  My face burns with shame and I stare intently at the desk.

  “The truth is, I need your help.” Now, her voice is soft. “I need you to work with me this summer and not against me. Your lackluster attitude may be your way of getting back at your parents, but what you’re doing isn’t hurting them. It’s hurting me and everyone here. It’s time to do better. I know you can.” She goes into her office, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Her words are falling knives. My eyes fill with tears and shame threatens to bring me to my knees. Delia’s seen through me this whole time. She knows exactly what I’ve been up to.

  For the first time, maybe ever, I understand my mom’s warnings — my carelessness led to this. Because of me, Delia is upset, the guests are upset, the staff at Legacy are upset.