The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  Then, a deep, familiar voice from inside the penthouse interrupts our exchange.

  “I thought I heard the door.” Kade Monroe peers over his son’s shoulder. “Oh, hello. Stefanie, wasn’t it?”

  “Hi.” I exhale in a whoosh, strangely relieved to see one of Hollywood’s biggest personalities. “I go by Stefi usually, but whatever you prefer.”

  “Stefi.” Kade smiles. “Please don’t mind Cooper. I’ve asked him not to bother you.”

  “We were just getting acquainted, Dad. Turns out, we’ve already met.” Cooper’s face is deadpan but his eyes dance.

  If Kade’s surprised by Cooper’s comment, he doesn’t show it.

  “This is for you.” I thrust the welcome basket at Kade, avoiding Cooper’s gaze. “I just wanted to come by and see how you’re settling in. Is there anything that I can do for you?”

  Kade looks pensive for a moment, his brows drawn in. I’m suddenly struck by how alike Kade and Cooper look. Cooper is almost a perfect clone of his father, aside from the color of his eyes and the gentler curve of his face. They’re both tall and athletic with a shock of black hair — Kade’s is cut closer to the scalp.

  Before Kade can answer, Cooper looks at me, his expression serious. “Yes. Yes, there is something you can do for us.”

  I summon my best polite and professional smile. “How can I assist you?”

  “I would like a tin of beluga caviar, three dozen oysters on the half shell, and six lobster tails.” Cooper taps his chin. “Hmm, and do you have any foie gras? Or is that illegal now? I can’t remember.”

  “Shut up,” Kade says out of the side of his mouth. He smiles at me apologetically. “We’re good, thank you.”

  “Perfect,” I squeak, avoiding Cooper’s playful eyes. “Well, I have your schedule, so I’ll be back tomorrow for anything you need. And I promise to do my best to keep out of your way.”

  “Thanks, Stefi. You just do what you need to do, we’re pretty relaxed.” Kade sounds so sincere, I almost forget for a moment that he’s one of the most successful people I’ve ever met. He’s super unaffected for someone so famous.

  Not that I’ve met many celebrities.

  “Later, Stef!” Cooper waves overenthusiastically, like we’re the best of friends.

  I nod at Kade and smile feebly at Cooper before turning on my heel and going to the elevator. As the doors close, I meet Cooper’s gaze one final time. His expression is hard to read, but his dark eyes appear to hold the answers to questions I hadn’t even thought of yet.

  I walk back to my cabin in a daze, feeling like I’ve just stepped off a rollercoaster. I can’t wrap my head around the fact that the gorgeous, rude stranger who talks in riddles and makes me blush uncontrollably is Kade Monroe’s son.

  And he’s staying in the penthouse.

  Which means that, for the summer, I’ll be working for him.

  My heart does that same funny thing — like a quick patter, like it’s dancing. I shake my head and resolve to keep it together next time. I can’t get distracted, especially not by a boy like that. Boys like that only mean one thing: trouble.

  I have too much to do this summer to think about a boy, anyway — I’ll be working, sleeping and writing my essay. On repeat.

  But, three hours later, I’m sitting at the desk in my cabin without a single word on the paper. I have no ideas, no inspiration. What I do have are a series of tiny doodles and a million very delayed, very witty retorts to Cooper’s sarcastic comments. That, and an incessantly nagging mental image of him with his shirt off, propped up in the doorway, his eyes laughing.

  My heart jolts just thinking about it. Maybe I should see a doctor.

  How on earth am I going to focus on my college essay with Cooper Monroe around?

  7

  Stefi

  Sleep eludes me that night. I toss and turn for hours, my mind a whirl of thoughts about Mrs. Higgins, and Kade Monroe’s action movies, and Cooper Monroe without a shirt. The images blur together in a mess of anxiety, curiosity and awe as I drift in and out of fitful dreams.

  When I wake early the next morning, any semblance of a smile is gone from my face and my stomach is twisting with guilt. I spent six hours at my desk yesterday, but I didn’t get anywhere with my essay.

  It’s time to focus, to get my head in the game. I have a job to do.

  I sit up straight in bed and stretch my arms. It’s early, but according to Kade Monroe’s schedule, he’ll be hitting the gym between 6am and 8am. And, judging by the look of Cooper yesterday, he never misses a gym session either. I can let myself into the penthouse and clean while they’re gone. That’ll give me the rest of the day to write, and I’ll be able to stay inconspicuous.

  Not to mention it’s the best way to avoid seeing Cooper.

  I scramble out of bed and into my work uniform, consisting of nondescript black slacks and a white Legacy Inn polo shirt. It’s not the most flattering shirt — tight in all the wrong places and loose around the neck and shoulders.

  Not that I care.

  I don’t care.

  I refuse to care.

  And yet, I find myself carefully French braiding my hair in front of the small mirror on the desk of my cabin. I apply a light sheen of cherry lip gloss, telling myself that I’m only doing it for the taste. The touch of mascara, too, is just routine. Just so that I look professional.

  Before I duck out of my small A-frame cabin, I grab a fleece jacket and throw it on top of my uniform. It’s early summer and the morning air is chilly.

  I step outside and take a big, calming breath. Birds sing from perches in the trees, and the heady scent of rain and earth fills the air. In the distance, the morning mist hangs heavily over the surface of the lake. As I walk, I swear that I see the faintest outline of a figure swimming across the cool, blue water. I shiver looking at them.

  The world is blissfully peaceful, and I would love to stay and appreciate the moment. But instead, I beeline to the kitchen, desperate for caffeine after my sleepless night.

  I burst into the kitchen, and a beaming smile spreads across my face. Loud, Italian pop music blares from the kitchen speakers. The delicious smells of freshly-baked bread and bagels, and freshly-roasted coffee, are reminiscent of a cozy Sunday morning.

  “Hey Fernando,” I say cheerily as I help myself to coffee.

  “Good morning, mi bella!” Fernando shouts with equal cheer, his chef’s hat askew. He’s stationed at the grill, flipping sausage patties. “Are you hungry?”

  I shake my head. “Too early to eat.”

  He clicks his tongue, tutting. “Never too early for a full belly.”

  I laugh and give him a high-five. Fernando’s been the head chef at Legacy Inn for years, and he’s a favorite with all of the staff. Though I only met him last year, we became fast friends. I was so touched when I arrived yesterday and found that the staff drinks fridge was stocked with ginger ale. He must’ve remembered how much I like it. But that’s Fernando.

  I swipe a mini croissant and take a bite, earning an affectionate smile from the chef. I’m not much of a breakfast person, but nothing makes Fernando happier than seeing people appreciate his food.

  “Delicious,” I say with my mouth full.

  He beams. “You need to keep your energy. I heard you’ll be looking after Mr. Monroe and his son this summer.”

  At the mere thought of Cooper, my mouthful of food becomes difficult to swallow. Thankfully, I’m saved from having to respond when the door to the walk-in fridge pops open. Noah Sawyer walks out, arms piled high with various Tupperware and bowls covered with plastic wrap. He shoots me a nod and I smile back. Noah’s known around Edendale High for being a bit of a mysterious loner, but he always seemed kind to me.

  “Anyway,” Fernando says, flipping a patty with a flourish. “I have a hamper for our VIP guests. Would you mind bringing it to the penthouse, Stefi?”

  I smile at him and forcibly swallow the bite of croissant. “That’s what I’m here for.
”

  Noah takes over for Fernando at the grill and I follow the chef across the kitchen. He ducks beneath a stainless-steel counter and passes me a picnic basket covered with a checkered blanket. Despite not feeling very hungry, my mouth waters. The basket smells amazing — like freshly-baked scones.

  I take the basket and glance at my watch. “I’d better be off, but my shift ends at 12. Save me some breakfast?”

  Fernando tuts again. “Mi bella, that is what we like to call lunch.”

  8

  Stefi

  Cautiously, I tap my keycard against the reader on the penthouse door, somehow not expecting it to work. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls and my heart is beating irregularly. The keycard works, of course, and I push the door open hesitantly.

  I walk in and my jaw drops to the floor.

  Though I’d come by yesterday, I didn’t get a good view of the penthouse. But the incredible suite is something I could never have even imagined. I step into a grand foyer with marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows that bathe the room with warm morning light. There’s a set of tall, white doors to the side of the foyer, but I’ve been told not to go in that room.

  I stare at the modern, floating staircase in front of me. Delia mentioned that I’ll mostly be working upstairs — where the kitchen and living room are located.

  I slip out of my shoes and climb the stairs, clutching the picnic basket tight to my body. I approach the final stair and the upper floor of the penthouse is even more magnificent than the foyer. The “living area” turns out to be a huge, open-plan space with twenty-foot ceilings. Despite being located in a rustic mountain Inn, the light wood finishing and touches of glass and chrome give the space a modern, contemporary feel. An enormous light leather sectional couch frames the stunning open fireplace.

  I wander into the kitchen next, gazing at the top-of-the-line appliances. Fresh flower arrangements grace every available surface, filling the air with the scent of honeysuckle and rose.

  It’s breathtaking.

  For a moment, I find myself wondering what it would be like to have a life like this. Imagine waking up every day surrounded by sheer beauty and luxury. Does Cooper Monroe realize how lucky he is?

  I sigh and shake my head. What do I care what Cooper Monroe thinks? I’m here to work, not daydream.

  I place the picnic basket gingerly on the kitchen counter and listen for footsteps or noises around the penthouse. But, as I’d hoped, nobody appears to be home. It’s the perfect time to do the floors and a general clean-up.

  I locate the supply closet and pull out a bucket and mop. I get to work, shining up the already pristine floors. It appears to be a fruitless task — though Kade and Cooper moved in yesterday, there are no signs of life. Not a set of keys, or a pack of gum, or an empty pop can.

  Maybe they’re just incredibly neat people. I smile at the thought. If that’s the case, this’ll be an easy summer of work.

  I finish with the floors sooner than expected, and then move onto the counters. I give them a wipe and then dust the mantle before taking out the trash bin — but the bag is empty.

  I raise my eyebrows and peer around the place suspiciously. Am I going crazy? Did I dream that the Monroes were here? It doesn't look like anyone spilled so much as a crumb in this kitchen.

  But, they moved in yesterday… didn’t they?

  I decide that it isn’t any of my concern. I begin to unpack the picnic basket from Fernando. It boasts a wide selection of local cheeses, freshly-squeezed orange juice, smoked salmon and — I guessed correctly — fresh scones. I place the cool items in the fridge, and leave the scones on a platter on the counter, covered with the checkered cloth.

  Perfection.

  I consult the task list on the back of the supply closet door. Next on the list is sweeping the deck.

  I grab a broom and head towards the gorgeous French doors. As soon as I step outside, I’m rendered speechless, once again. I’ve never seen a deck like this. It’s a gigantic rooftop patio, complete with an infinity pool, a hot tub, and a firepit. White-cushioned loungers are spread around the space, and a state-of-the-art BBQ station is tucked to the side. Beyond the patio, the panoramic mountain views are drenched in morning glow.

  How could I have spent all of last summer at Legacy Inn without knowing that this place existed?

  I feel like Cinderella.

  A distant memory tugs at my mind and I smile. Sophie and I used to watch Disney movies together as kids. We’d act them out and sing along as we watched. Sophie was older, so she always got to be the princess. She’d drape herself in Mom’s silky bathrobes and pretend that they were ball gowns, while I held the train. Or, worse — acted the part of the prince.

  I laugh to myself and my heart pangs. Sophie was always the imaginative, creative sister. Back then, before everything happened, I was just happy to be a part of her stories, no matter how small a role she gave me.

  As I sweep, I remember the song from the Cinderella movie, A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes. I find myself absent-mindedly humming along, my mind wandering lazily back to that time. For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine that I’m acting in one of our childhood make-believe games. Only, this time, I’m the princess. I’d go from ugly polo shirts to fancy dresses, swap bus passes for chauffeured limousine rides.

  I twirl in a circle, sweeping my broom across the concrete. My humming slowly turns into singing, the daydream captivating me. Before I know it, I’m belting out the song at the top of my lungs. For the first time in a very long time, I lose myself in the moment. I’m not thinking about college essays, or grades, or getting into Harvard.

  I move my feet in a shuffling dance behind my broom. I’m Cinderella at the ball, surrounded by crowds of beautiful people and plates full of delicious food. I’m swaying, dancing with my prince…

  “Uh, what are you doing?”

  The voice sends me crashing back to planet Earth and my eyes shoot open.

  I whirl around and Cooper is standing there, leaning against one of the doors. His thick, black hair sticks up in every direction, and he’s wearing a pair of pajama pants that hang low on his hips. I avoid looking at his muscular chest — it’s currently quaking with silent laughter.

  My face floods with blood, staining my cheeks scarlet. What was I thinking, losing myself like that? I’m at work.

  Stefanie Clark doesn’t — and can’t — make these mistakes. And now, there’s nowhere to run. Nothing to hide behind.

  So I do what any sane, reasonable human being would do: I pray that the floor will open up and swallow me whole.

  9

  Cooper

  Stefi screws up her eyes and her face turns a particularly lively shade of red. She’s one of those pale-skinned people who blushes with her entire body. Face, neck, bare arms — every inch of exposed skin colors crimson under the morning sun.

  I know I shouldn’t laugh, I know that. But I was so taken off guard. It’s not every morning that I wake up to find our housekeeper waltzing with a broom on the deck and singing at the top of her lungs.

  But, seeing her mortification, I try and swallow back the laughter. I zip my lips together so no sound can escape.

  When she finally opens her eyes, she looks me dead in mine. “Mr. Monroe, I am so sorry for my lack of professionalism.”

  “Cooper, remember?” I lift an eyebrow. “Mr. Monroe is my grandfather.”

  “Cooper,” she says my first name like it tastes foreign. “Yes. Sorry.”

  “No need to be sorry.” I smile, trying to make up for laughing at her. “I needed an alarm clock anyway.”

  This is clearly the wrong thing to say, because her blush immediately deepens. “Again, I am so sorry. I will get out of your way right away.”

  She stares at the ground with her mouth turned down as she picks up the broom and holds it close to her body. She’s cute, this girl, with her work uniform and her braided hair and her wide eyes. But, she’s somehow even cuter when s
he blushes like this. I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her.

  “What were you doing?” I ask, before I can help myself. I’m curious about this sweet, blushing girl with the beautiful singing voice.

  She glances at me and her mortified expression is replaced with confusion. She’s like an open book, every emotion etched over her face as she feels it. “Excuse me?”

  “What were you doing?” I repeat. “Before I came outside, I mean. Are you a singer or something?”

  Her mouth pops open into a little “o” shape. “No, nothing like that. It’s… stupid.”

  I lean forward, intrigued. “I’ll bet I won’t think it’s stupid.”

  “I was… rehearsing for a play I’m in.” Her eyes dart to the left as she speaks. I get the sense she’s lying, but why?

  “What play?” I ask innocently, examining my fingernails to feign casual nonchalance.

  “Uh, um… Death of a Salesman.”

  “I love that one.” I grin. “Funny, I don’t remember that particular musical number being in Death of a Salesman.”

  “Oh yes, it’s a… contemporary version of the play. Death of a Salesman: The Musical. Very Avant-garde.” Stefi’s voice fades into silence as she looks everywhere but at me. If she goes any redder, she’ll be the picture of a human bottle of ketchup.

  Her blushing may be cute, but I can see that I’m making her uncomfortable. I decide to ease up on her.

  “You can tell me the truth, you know.” I smile, my gaze searching her face.

  She looks at me, eyes wide. “You’re messing with me. How did you know that I was—”

  “Lying?” I raise my eyebrows. “How about this? I’ll tell you how I knew you were lying after you tell me the truth.”

  She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes darting around my face. I’ve never met a girl like her. Despite the fact that her every emotion is etched, clear as day, on her face, there’s something about her that draws me in. I can’t quite put my finger on it.