“Careful, amico! What are you doing?” Fernando moves my hand out of the way of the boiling water.
I snap to the present moment. “Sorry, I must’ve gotten distracted.”
My mind was on Bree, yet again. Things are worse than ever and I’m analyzing everything that happened in the last couple of weeks for any clue. Sure, we hang out — when she shows up. I visit her at reception on my breaks, but she’s cold and unwelcoming. And I haven’t seen her in the kitchen since the hail storm.
“What were you thinking about?” Fernando takes the pot of water and places it on the counter.
“Nothing much.” I run my fingers through my hair.
Fernando gives me a look. “It’s Bree, isn’t it?”
I take a deep breath and paste a neutral expression on my face. “Maybe we’re not right together. It’s never going to work between us.”
“Why not?”
“She’s a Lewis, I’m a Sawyer. She’s too good for me. It’s always going to be this way.”
“Oh Noah,” Fernando says, using my name for the first time in years. He places a firm hand on my shoulder. “How can my amichetto be so grown up and yet so stupid? You and Bree are meant to be. There’s no way to fight that. Tell me, when did you first know that you loved her?”
I shrug. “I’ve always loved her.”
“Exactly.” Fernando slaps my shoulder. “Because you are meant to be.”
I manage a laugh and roll my eyes. If only it was so simple.
“Get some fresh air.” Fernando smiles. “Your shift is over and you need it.”
I head to the reception, but when I get there, Bree is nowhere to be found. The portable radio is tuned into NWR. She’ll be back soon.
I wander around the room. An unsettled feeling consumes me, trying to think of what I want to say. Since she mentioned Andrew Stewart in the meadow the other day, the question has been in the back of my mind like an annoying mosquito. Did she cancel the date?
A ping. The phone screen on the desk lights up.
It’s Bree’s phone.
Without meaning to look, I catch the subject line of an email.
Re: Your Date with Andrew
My blood goes cold and I’m hit with a pang of jealousy. That confirms it. She didn’t cancel her date. Is that why she’s been so distant — she wants to be with someone else? I have an overwhelming urge to see if there’s any more information in the email, but that would be a massive violation of Bree’s privacy.
Bree Lewis has a bright future and endless opportunities. She can do anything she wants, and be with whoever she wants. Me? I’m an amateur writer who works two jobs on top of my schoolwork to try and make ends meet for my family. It was silly of me to expect that we could be anything more than childhood friends.
I stare absentmindedly at the black phone screen, my mind racing. I take a breath but the action feels like knives in my chest. I’m just a fling, the middleman between “eligible Edendale bachelors.” I’m the guy from the wrong side of the tracks, the perfect pawn to annoy her parents. How did I get it all so wrong?
“What’re you doing here?” Bree’s voice is cold when she walks into reception.
My heart stops. Did she catch me looking at her phone? Should I confront her and ask her about the email? But, how can I do that without her thinking I was snooping?
Instead, I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Meadow?”
My voice is a croak. As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I know that it’s a bad idea. I won’t be able to keep from asking her about the email, and she’ll think that I don’t trust her.
I open my mouth to backtrack and make an excuse, but Bree cuts me off, fixing me with a distant stare. “Sure.”
I wander out of reception like a zombie, a pit of despair in my stomach. The logical part of me knows that I’m overreacting, it was just an email subject line. I’ve heard the way Bree speaks of Andrew Stewart — like a kid awaiting a piece of cold, overcooked broccoli.
But, in my heart, I understand why she’s distancing herself. She belongs with a worldly, rich guy like Andrew Stewart.
I walk into my cabin and grab a few things for the meadow. I open the top drawer of my dresser and pause, staring at the gift I got for Bree. It isn’t much, it isn’t glamorous by any stretch of the imagination, but I thought she’d like it. I’ve been thinking about it since the start of summer — a silly road trip guide.
I debate bringing the booklet with me. If she’s distancing herself, should I bother giving her a gift? Would she even like something like this? Logic wins out. I bought it for her and I should give it to her, regardless of where I stand. I tuck the booklet into my back pocket before walking to Garth.
When Bree finally arrives, twenty minutes later, I’m sitting on the hood staring at Legacy Lake. Her expression is morose. I force a smile and give her a wave.
She frowns. “What about the alternator or whatever?”
She feels so far away. I open the door for her. “I fixed it a couple of days ago.”
Bree nods her thanks and we get on the road. The silence in the car is anything but comfortable. There’s a tension, a sourness, that fills me with dread. Bree must feel it too because she starts talking almost immediately.
“I heard from my parents today.” Her happy tone is false.
“How’re they doing?”
“Good, good.” She stares out the window and we fall into an awkward silence. “They’re loving Portugal, as you can imagine.”
“Sure.”
“But Europe, in general, is amazing. I love it there. I could move there someday, for sure...”
As Bree goes on, my shoulders slump. The gift in my back pocket burns a hole through my jeans. Would she care about a road trip guide if Europe is where she wants to go?
I run my fingers through my hair. Is talking about Europe her way of telling me I’m not like the Stewarts — that I’m not good enough for her?
52
Bree
What am I even talking about? My words tumble out without any semblance of forethought. I wish Noah would stop me. “Legacy Inn has been the best experience. I wanted to be in Lisbon so bad, but Legacy worked well too.”
My desperation rises. Why isn’t this coming out correctly? I’m trying to say that, while Europe and Lisbon sound nice, nothing can compare to my experience working at the Inn this summer. The Legacy family means a lot to me; Noah means a lot to me.
It’s the classic lead-in to a break-up. I’ve seen it in movies and read about it in books. You tell them everything you love and appreciate about them, and then do the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing.
In this case, though, it truly is me.
Noah’s face gets darker.
Panic creeps through me. I need to do this well or I might lose him forever. Maybe we can’t be together, but I don’t want my days to be entirely empty of Noah Sawyer. “This isn’t coming out right. I’m sorry.”
“I think you’ve made your point,” he responds frostily.
I stare out the window and tears sting my eyes. I know what I need to do when we get to the meadow. I don’t have a choice. I need to break up with him. The problem is that I love him with all my heart.
I loved him when we had our late-night conversations when we were kids. I loved him when we built forts and when I cried about my parents. I even loved him when he started pulling away from me. My heart ached for him when his mom passed away.
The years that we spent apart were the hardest of my life. I got used to being an outsider, a floater. I steeled myself against any vulnerability and never let myself imagine a future because it had already been planned for me. My singular goal was to have anything but that future.
Because of Noah, I felt excited about a different future, a future with him. My heart shatters, but my mind is made up. For Noah’s own good, I need to end this.
He stops the car, puts it into park, and I almost keel over from dread. He undoes his seatbelt stiffly and I undo mi
ne. The air is loaded, cold, severely uncomfortable. I open the door to escape, scrambling to think of what to say to get my feelings across.
Noah turns towards the trees and walks without taking my hand. I run after him and the bushes scrape my bare skin. I burst through the trees and Noah is walking towards the cliffs. The wind picks up and I hug my arms around myself. The storm isn’t far.
We sit under the cliff overhang — him at one end and me at the other. My stomach turns over and I think I might throw up. I don’t know what to say. How do I start this conversation? My teeth clack together. Without a word, Noah takes off his jacket and hands it to me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
The rain falls and I wrap myself in his jacket. It smells like him. I want to cry even more.
He’s glacial, staring ahead. He’s mad and maybe that’s for the best. He won’t fight for me if he’s mad.
A flash of lightning cuts across the sky and my heart cracks with it. This is it.
53
Noah
I stare at the horizon while sadness eats at me. Despite the storm, it feels too quiet under the cliff overhang. Like some depressing movie, we’ve reached the final scene. Everything is clear now — Bree wants a different life than what I can give her. I can’t fight something this big. It’s good that she’s found where she belongs, even if that isn’t with me.
I know Bree — she probably thought that the meadow was the perfect place to break up with me. So, I’m waiting. What will be her parting blow? Will she make an excuse, or will she be honest?
I bite my lip and I shake my head. This is what I expected. We’re from different worlds. Our shared pasts don’t mean we need to share a future together. But, for every break-up I’ve sat through — every one that I’ve initiated — never has it felt so meaningless and wrong.
Goosebumps rise on my skin but I barely notice. Bree is warming up with my jacket. I’m happy to give her one final thing before we part ways. The road trip guide feels lame and inconsequential now.
Rain thunders around us and the lightning blares through the sky. I would prefer to be in the mess of the storm right now. In the moments of silence, the weight of the truth presses upon us. We both know why we’re here and what will happen when we leave.
Maybe I should fight for her, I want to fight for her. But, what can I say that will make any sort of a difference? Repeating “I love you” doesn’t seem enough.
Bree opens her mouth and I wait for the words, bracing myself. Then, her jaw snaps shut. I scramble to think of something to say, anything to keep her with me, but nothing comes to mind. We fall into a defeated silence and reality hits. We’re over. We’re done. We’re broken up.
I blink against the pain, feeling hopeless, wordless. Soon, the storm moves on and the world is quiet, too. We haven’t moved, still sitting across the overhang from one another like two statues.
Then, Bree utters the words that shatter my heart, her voice detached. “Take me home.”
54
Bree
The next day, I call in sick for work for the first time all summer. I can barely open my eyes to face the daylight, let alone a dozen guests at reception. Delia is understanding, but I think she knows that I don’t have an ordinary cold.
I spend the day in bed, tossing and turning, moving in and out of sleep. The loft is eerily silent, I can’t bear to play my audiobooks or scary movies. My heart is broken into a million tiny pieces. Losing Noah is unbearable, but it’s the best thing I can do for him. I was being selfish thinking that I could be with him.
Like my mom said — he’s a great kid, responsible and organized. He has a solid future ahead of him, a goal. But me? I’m messy and aimless and I have no idea what I want. If Noah is a lightning strike, I’m a tornado.
The next morning, I force myself out of bed and tumble down to reception, my eyes half open. I knock something off the desk and Delia pops her head out of her office.
She takes in my sad state and her expression is concerned. “Maybe it’s best you take today off as well, dear.”
“What?” I ask groggily.
She leans against the doorframe, fiddling with her ring. “I’ve been working you too hard lately and I’ve noticed some... oversights in your work. I want you to take today off. Maybe explore the grounds, or relax in the loft, or perhaps head back to Edendale.”
She walks over and takes my hand. “Please, don’t take this as a criticism, dear. You’ve done amazing work this summer. Think of this as a thank you from me.”
She smiles warmly, but my heart sinks. I know what she’s implying. I’ve made too many mistakes lately and she wants me to leave. Once again, my carelessness has disappointed someone close to me.
I enter the loft and drop to the floor. I let the tears flow, curling into a ball and crying quietly into my fist. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong. Noah and I are over, I’ve been booted from the Legacy family, and Delia — the person I saw as my mentor — is done with me. It was silly of me to think I had a home here.
In a couple of days, I’ll be back in Edendale with a family I can barely identify as my own. I’ll have to start the charade all over again and I’m tired of this game. I don’t want to be irresponsible, careless Bree anymore. I wish I could start over, I wish I could be anyone but myself.
Familiar words echo in the back of my mind. This time, the voice isn’t my mom’s, my dad’s or Delia’s. The words are Noah’s, but the voice is my own.
“You don’t have to let them define you. You don’t have to let their wishes choose for you.”
The tears calm and my breath turns into hiccups. I repeat the words in my head over and over like some magic spell.
55
Noah
It’s been two days since Bree and I broke up. Therefore, it’s been two days since I slept. I walk through the kitchen on auto-pilot, grabbing this food item and that condiment. Carrie and Fernando’s voices are blurred and unclear, like radio static is interrupting their frequency.
“Amico.” Fernando places a hand on my shoulder, his eyes kind and worried. “Why don’t you call it a day?”
“But my shift isn't over,” I slice a tomato and juice flies everywhere.
“Yes, it is.” Carrie bustles over and unties my apron. “Fer and I can take it from here.”
I drop the knife, which appears, at second glance, to be a potato peeler. I let Carrie take the apron off my head and place it on a hanger. Fernando passes me a cupcake and gives me a warm smile as I’m shoo-ed through the door.
I walk through the event room and, without thinking, I pop my head into reception, unsure whether I want to see her or not. But, no chance. Delia looks up from Bree’s desk.
“Can I help you, dear?” She takes off her half-moon glasses.
“I’m okay.” I turn to walk away.
“She misses you too.”
I pretend I don’t hear her.
I walk along the gravel pathway and the rain pummels my back. A couple of weeks ago, Bree and I would’ve been watching this storm together. I wish I could turn back time. In a few days, we’ll start our Senior year and the hardest thing will be seeing her at school and knowing that I can’t hug her or kiss her. We’ll never chase storms together.
With a sigh, I open my cabin door. I take a seat at my desk and turn on the lamp. I stare at a blank sheet of paper, unable to get her out of my head. Since our breakup, I can’t think of a single thing other than her, and that includes the ending of my novel. I miss her smile, her eyes, her wit, her kindness. I’m kicking myself for not fighting for her, for not saying anything. I should have said something.
Frustrated, I pick up my notebook and skim through. I rip out a couple of pages, crumple them, and throw them across the room. This is why I should never have broken from the recipe. There’s a reason my lifetime motto has been to help others and to put them first.
Bree was my childhood friend, my best friend, and my first love. I can’t imagine my futur
e without her, but she’s better than where I come from.
56
Bree
At some point, I’m aware that the side of my body aches and I stand. I sit on the bed and stare blankly at the wall. The crush of emotions has subsided and I’ve hit rock bottom.
I contemplate my life with a detached curiosity. Old Bree would’ve been thankful for a day off. She would’ve laid in bed for hours, treasuring her free time and snacking on fruit roll-ups. But, Old Bree doesn’t exist anymore. Sometime in the past three months, she disappeared.
Working with Delia, I understood what it meant to have someone count on me. Dancing in the kitchen, I understood what it meant to feel comfortable and free. And chasing storms with Noah… I felt at home.
In the past few days, I’ve pushed away Noah and disappointed Delia. I’ve ousted myself from Legacy Inn. Ironically, I’ve finally succeeded at doing the thing I most wanted at the start of the summer — I’m being sent home. And I couldn’t be more miserable.
Delia suggested I go back to Edendale for the day, but the summer is over anyway and the guests leave tomorrow. My stomach turns over. Tomorrow is also my ‘date’ with Andrew Stewart and my parents are back shortly after. I can’t bear to think about what that means.
I turn my head and realize my back is sore. The afternoon sun is warm on my face. Did I have breakfast or lunch today? I don’t remember, I don’t feel hungry anyway.
The one thing I do feel is resignation. There’s no use in me staying here. In Edendale, I can mope in our big, empty house for a couple of days and put together a story as to why I got kicked out of Legacy — something perfect to piss off my parents.
Yet, where the thought of such planning used to fill me with a morbid thrill, I feel only exhaustion. I don’t want to lie and I don’t want to anger them anymore. The only thing I’ve wanted, for as long as I can remember, is a home.
The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances Page 14