“It’s a start.” His voice carries a smile.
I meet his gaze and his eyes are kind. I’m flooded with a sense of relief. Admitting to Noah this most terrifying fact — that I have no plans for my future — feels good. I take a breath and stare at the glow cast by the headlights.
For the first time in a very long time, I want to believe that everything will be okay.
28
Bree
And everything does seem to be okay… almost suspiciously so. A couple of weeks later, I wake up excited to get to work. I hop out of bed and throw on a sundress, whipping my hair into a messy bun. I do a twirl in front of the antique mirror I found in storage and then assess my home.
I’ve made the loft my own in recent days. The creaky double bed is as comfortable as ever with my pillows and blankets, and fairy lights hang along the ceiling for the evenings. My clothes are folded in the dresser drawers, except for one drawer that I can’t unstick for the life of me. All of my books and movies are stacked on the bookshelf. And just like when I was a kid, the loft is my favorite place to hang out — aside from the kitchen.
I bound down the stairs and into the kitchen, saying good morning to Fernando and Carrie — Noah isn’t scheduled to work until later. I swipe a blueberry muffin and proceed to the staff room for breakfast. I grab two coffees before spinning into reception.
“Morning, Delia!” I holler.
“Is it?” Delia asks from my desk. She’s got her face in her hands, staring at the computer screen blankly.
“Did you not sleep last night?”
“I did. Here.”
I hand her one of the coffees. “What can I do?”
“The Jordan wedding is this weekend and the weather is looking terrible. I asked them to have a back-up plan for bad weather, but they never responded. I was too swamped to follow-up with them and now the worst has happened.” Delia sits back in the chair, defeated.
I frown and come around the desk. “Let me see if I can help.”
Delia chugs her coffee and I study the screen, puzzling things together. My stomach flips in nervous anticipation. This is the first real wedding/event issue I’ve had to deal with since I’ve been training with Delia. While I think I have the concepts down, I haven’t had to confront a problem. The pressure to get it right is overwhelming.
Here goes nothing.
“Okay,” I say slowly, trying to overcome my nerves. “The Jordans were specific about having the ceremony outside. What if we have it in the gazebo, with a tent set up just beyond for the attendees? It’s a small ceremony and I think we could fit the guests in there. And, for the reception, we can have it in the events room, as we do with indoor weddings.”
Delia stares at the screen and pushes her glasses further up her face. “We’ve never done that before.”
I wait with bated breath, my heart racing. It’s a stupid idea.
She abruptly stands up from my desk and the chair almost falls over. “That’s fantastic! Thank you, my dear. I spent hours working on that. I wanted to set something up in the garden or near the docks like we normally do, but this is much better.”
She grabs my face and kisses both cheeks. “Well done, Bree.”
A blush spreads across my face and I clear my throat as an answer. I’m not used to being fawned over.
“Anytime,” I say, hiding my smile with the rim of my coffee cup.
29
Noah
“Noah! Let’s go!” Bree’s melodic voice carries over the song on the radio. She pops her head into the kitchen and stares at me impatiently.
Carrie and Fernando look up from the closing checklist, taking in Bree’s disembodied head.
“Well, go on!” Fernando booms. “Bree is waiting for you. It’s time for your date!”
Bree and I roll our eyes in tandem. He will never let this go. “It’s not a date!”
“Oh, excuse my English,” Fernando says unconvincingly. He thinks he’s so funny. “It’s time for your ‘hang out.’” He adds the air quotes with his fingers.
I sigh. “Don’t you guys need help closing up?”
Carrie peers at me over her glasses, her hands on her hips. “Noah, your shift is over. Don’t make me grab a dishcloth and swat at you.”
Bree sticks her hand around the door and taps at an imaginary watch. She’s been hanging around the kitchen so often lately, it’s hard to believe she doesn’t officially work with us. On her breaks, she often chops vegetables, helps prepare dessert for the guests, or cleans the counters — all the while singing loudly with Fernando. There’ve been a couple more dance parties in the kitchen and Carrie’s even joined in, but I’m happier spectating.
It’s hard to believe it’s been three weeks that we’ve been at Legacy Inn. Bree has totally stepped up her game — she shows up on time, troubleshoots guest issues, and actually seems to care about her job. The extra help is very much appreciated around the kitchen and Fernando and Carrie are completely enamored with her.
On top of that, Delia has been training Bree and I on the events for the summer, and it’s clear that Bree is a natural. She’s full of new and creative ideas for decorating and planning, while I’m happy to take the catering side of things. I can’t say I know much about furniture placement and lace and frilly stuff — to the disappointment of my sisters.
“So, where are we headed now?” I ask as we cross the staff parking lot. It’s a warm, calm evening, but it won’t be that way for long.
“I could tell you. Or I could let the suspense build.” Bree grins. “Guess which option I’m going to pick?”
“Fine. But I’m still driving.”
She rolls her eyes and tosses the keys.
I click into the driver’s seat and start the car. I’m excited. There's electricity in the air, and it isn’t just from the upcoming storm.
Bree bounces in her seat and bites her lip while adjusting the dial on her portable radio.
She might be my favorite person on the entire planet.
30
Bree
“Okay, this is serious.” Noah frowns towards the dark horizon, his voice stern. We’re parked on the side of the road, waiting for the storm to hit. “Power of flight or invisibility?”
I furrow my brows like I’m thinking hard and then relax into a smile. “Flight. Obviously.”
“Obviously?”
“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people obsessed with invisibility?”
“Do you know me at all?” He laughs. “I’m pretty much invisible already.”
“You’re a lot of things, but I’d never call you invisible,” I say. The girls at Edendale High linger by the parking lot to see him drive up on his motorcycle, wearing his cool leather jacket. He might be a loner, but people take notice.
“Why not? I’m pretty proud of my most distinguishing characteristic.” He winks at me.
Does he really not know?
“You’re gorgeous,” I blurt. Oops. My face turns bright red and I stare out the window. Ohmygosh. “Not like… you know. Like the girls at school fall over themselves for you. How can you not notice that?”
Noah looks genuinely confused. “I never paid much attention. None of the girls at school really interested me.”
“No?” I ask, and my heart speeds up for some reason. “Not even Isabella Hall?”
Noah bursts into laughter. “Wow, you’ve got my type pegged.”
“She’s hot!”
“Sure.” He shrugs. “But, I never had... chemistry with her. Don’t get me wrong, I can see why guys fall for her. But she never made me feel anything real. You know?”
Noah looks at me and his piercing blue eyes carry an indecipherable message.
My heart picks up speed again and my breath catches. I clear my throat, looking at the horizon. “Yeah. Of course.”
I must be catching a cold or something. My face feels warm and my heart is racing. I’m acutely aware of Noah’s arm, resting next to mine on the console. He’s Noa
h Sawyer, Edendale High’s mystery dreamboat. He’s practically famous and he doesn’t even realize it.
And what was I expecting — that he would say something about me being special? I’m not. I’m just Bree, his childhood friend.
“So, if you had the power of flight,” Noah asks with a smile, “you’d fly straight to Paris?”
“I’m not sure Paris is first on my list,” I say, happy for the subject change. “I want to go places with epic storms, like the midwest, Florida, the Carolinas. And then, someday, Venezuela, the Congo. Maybe I’d do it for a year. Travel to the most insane storm locations.”
Noah has a cryptic smile on his face. “A year of storm chasing.”
A thrill passes through me. Something about it feels so right. “Exactly.”
I’ve never considered storm chasing as a possibility in my future. Though I’m not sure I could do it forever — there’s far too much driving involved — I never would’ve thought to follow this hobby of mine for a year. My options have always seemed very cut and dry — either go to school or get lost in the world. Speaking to Noah, I feel for the first time that there might be a third option.
As though the sky applauds my choice, the first flash of lightning appears in the distance. I stow away the map on my lap and the portable radio. Within moments, the flashes double, triple above our heads. The thunder booms and the sound of rain on the roof energizes me.
I watch, captivated by the show. For every storm I’ve chased, there’s always something different — the sound of the rain, the pattern of the lightning, the boom of the thunder. Each storm is individual, like a snowflake or a fingerprint.
Imagine. Following storms for a whole year. Eating greasy cheeseburgers at truckstop diners. Staying in cheap motels and checking maps by lamplight. Tracking lightning, and hail, and maybe even tornados. That’s a future I can look forward to.
“You owe me something,” I say quietly.
“What’s that?” Noah’s leaning over the steering wheel, watching the storm.
“A scary story.”
Noah grins. He places his arm on the center console so it’s almost touching mine again. Before I can think about it, I link my arm through his — like when we were kids. His eyes meet mine for a second and I can’t keep the smile off my face. Everything about this moment is perfect. Noah has to be one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.
Then, with his body warm next to mine and the storm raging all around us, he takes a breath to tell a story.
31
Noah
By the time I finish the scary story, Bree is wrapped around my arm, her fingernails digging into my skin. As I spoke, the story took on a life of its own — a haunting tale about a ghost and a secret tomb.
Silence fills the car. Goosebumps creep over my skin and the nerves take over. Did she like it? Was the story good?
“That was,” she says, her voice low. My stomach drops as I wait for the verdict. “Incredible!
I laugh, my cheeks burning.
“Haunting,” she says. “Like scary but not gory. Thrilling but not horrifying. How did you come up with that?”
"Thanks," I say. "It was loosely based on real life events."
"WHAT?" Bree looks appalled.
"Yeah. You know the ghost that hides in the tomb?"
"Yeah..."
"I based it off this girl who hid in the fridge and pretended she was a raccoon."
Bree shoots back in her seat and punches me lightly in the arm. Part of me wishes she hadn’t let go. The storm is passing now, the rain pattering lightly on the windshield.
Bree stares out the window, her mind clearly elsewhere. Hearing her say that she enjoyed the story feels like the highest praise.
I turn the key in the ignition and start the car.
“Have you thought of writing mysteries or thrillers?” Bree asks as we turn onto the highway. “That improvised story was miles ahead of many thrillers I’ve read or listened to.”
“Not really, I’ve been so focused on writing about Mom.” Then, a half-smile crosses my face. “Someday, though, I’d like to write thrillers.”
“I would buy every one of your books,” Bree says, her voice sincere. “As long as they’re not all based on me.”
Too soon, I’m parking Garth in the staff lot. Self-conscious, I place my hands in my lap.. I can’t stop thinking about when Bree was wrapped around my arm when I was telling the scary story.
Just like when we were kids. Right?
She stares out the windshield, looking troubled.
Before I get the chance to ask her what she’s thinking, she opens the passenger door and jumps out.
Time to move on.
“Night, Noah.” She gives me a salute and a wink. She stops in the parking lot and I stand in front of her.
I have an overwhelming urge to stay with her, to take her hand, to do something. Her eyes meet mine and I get the briefest sense that she might not want to leave either.
No, don’t be crazy, Noah. Don’t forget where you come from.
“Night, Bree,” I say instead, forcing a bright tone.
She punches me lightly on the arm and then walks to the Inn.
I stare after her, making sure she gets in okay. When the door shuts behind her, I head down the gravel path.
Then, something strange happens.
With every step, it’s like I’m walking through a barrier. A yellow light appears in my mind, like a weak, flickering candle. I pick up speed, walking quickly through whatever is standing in my way. The candle grows brighter and brighter.
I break into a run.
I reach my cabin, drop my bag and rip the notebook and pen from the top drawer of my dresser. I sit down at the desk and I put pen to paper. The words flow like water. A weight lifts with every scratch of the pen.
I write about Bree, mostly. I write about our childhood, our adventures, the excitement I felt to see her every summer. And, like a tap left open, I write about my family — my sisters, Dad, what it was like growing up in a loving home.
And finally, I write about Mom, her sickness, her space in the world. Our world.
I write until my hand hurts and my eyes sting from exhaustion. When my words run out, my face hits the paper and sleep carries me into a peaceful dream.
32
Bree
“Well, dear,” Delia stands in the doorway to her office. “I think it’s time we call it a night!”
I put down the portable radio I’m currently frowning at. It stopped working today — must be out of batteries. “You sure?”
“Absolutely. You’ve been doing great work lately.” She smiles, then heads back into her office.
Is this how it feels to be respected? To be taken seriously? I grin. It’s hard to believe that I’ve been at Legacy for a month now. I’ve enjoyed my time more than I could’ve imagined. The Legacy staff feel like family and planning the events has been one of the best parts of my days. Every issue that pops up is a puzzle to solve, and there’s a never ending series of challenges for me to work out.
I glance at the portable radio and sigh. No storm chasing tonight, though it’s probably for the best. Noah and I have been chasing storms at every opportunity. At first, we only hung out for that reason, but now, we find any excuse to spend a couple of hours together after our shifts. We’ve taken to watching scary movies in the staff room and listening to audiobooks together.
It’s a bit unnerving how much I enjoy talking to him. I feel like I can tell him everything about myself and he just listens. He never forces me to speak, nor does he sit uncomfortably in silence. He offers advice when I ask for it, and otherwise, he asks intelligent questions that encourage me to think deeply. Unlike many people in my life, he never assumes that I’m up to no good.
The most surprising thing about him, though, is that I never tire of him. Sometimes, I feel like we could spend days together and I’d be happy every minute. Must have something to do with how close we were as kids.
<
br /> “Why don’t you wrap up and head to bed?” I call after checking the computer one last time. “I’ll finish up a few things and shut the reception right afterwards.”
“Whatever you’d prefer,” Delia says gratefully from her office. Moments later, she emerges with bundles of red and polka dot fabric in her arms. “Good night, Bree. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I finish the last of the to-do’s for the evening and lock the reception, taking note of the time. It’s probably too late to hang out with Noah, but before I climb the stairs to the loft, I pop my head into the kitchen to say good night anyway. The kitchen is bright, but empty, and the radio is off. I guess everyone left.
Feeling strangely disappointed, I head up to the loft and change into my PJs. I’ve got a scary movie loaded up — something about a ghost in the attic — and, with my snacks at the ready, I press play.
I’ll admit, the movie makes me nervous, given that I’m alone... In an attic. Part of me really misses Isla.
The ghost is materializing into physical form, about to attack an unsuspecting woman, when a massive strike of lightning flashes through the room.
I shriek and instinctively dive under the blanket. A moment passes and I laugh and inch the blanket back off my face.
A storm? This is fantastic!
The thunder claps overhead and rain explodes onto the roof.
Then, another crack of lightning. Everything goes black.
The lights along the ceiling are out, the fan whirs to a stop, my computer battery light is extinguished. Goosebumps erupt over my skin. I suddenly don’t love this.
But minutes go by and the power is still out. I sit in the darkness, unable to shut my eyes. Should I do something? Should I flip the breaker — or whatever it is that dads always talk about in movies and TV shows?
The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances Page 9
