The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  “That’s quite the comparison.” I struggle to keep my voice steady.

  “I guess it is.” He frowns. “I’d never really thought about it until now.”

  My stomach twists and a bad taste fills my mouth. Is Wes really saying that the girl he’s about to get back together with reminds him of my worst enemy? And if he is, what on earth does he think of me?

  I survey his face. He looks thoughtful again, slightly pained. He opens his mouth to go on, but I can’t bear to hear the rest.

  I scramble to a stand. “I’d better go.”

  “Anaya, wait!” He calls. Against my better judgment, I stop and turn. He looks concerned, panicked. “What’s wrong?”

  I wish I could tell him. Instead, I swallow the lump in my throat and force a bright smile. “Nothing. Actually, I think that things are going really well. You and Brooklyn will be back together soon, don’t you think? Next weekend’s garden party might be enough to finish this.”

  Before he can say another word, I hightail it out of there. I run to my cabin, slipping and stumbling on the wet ground. The rain begins to pour again, drowning out the world around me. But it can’t stop my racing thoughts.

  When Brooklyn cornered me and said that Wes would’ve preferred to be with her at the Fourth of July party, it hurt. But, I held onto hope that it wasn’t true. A part of me foolishly believed that Wes might want to be with me — that character and personality trumped looks and popularity.

  But Wes has confirmed my worst fears. There’s only one type of girl Wes Adams wants to date: blonde and popular cheerleaders with a mean streak.

  Girls that look, talk and act nothing like me.

  34

  Wes

  Anaya’s hand is stiff in mine as we walk through the garden party. For the first time, holding her hand feels forced, uncomfortable. Her hand usually fits naturally in mine — like it was made to be there.

  “Have I told you how good you look tonight?” I attempt a smile to lighten the moment. It’s the truth — Anaya is beautiful in her black, lacy dress.

  “Thank you.” Her words are robotic.

  My stomach plummets and I sigh. Something is definitely wrong. For the past few days, Anaya has been avoiding me. Or, that’s what it feels like. She’s with me in person, teaching lessons by the beach and swimming in her spare time. We still spend all day together, as usual.

  But the real Anaya is gone from her eyes. Her smiles are forced, her laughs hollow.

  Ever since our swim last week, she’s shut down. I’ve played the conversation in my mind on repeat, kicking myself for not being more eloquent. Realizing that Chloe and Isabella remind me of Brooklyn was a wake-up call for me. I was trying to tell Anaya that I don’t like the way Isabella and Chloe behave, and I can’t imagine being with someone who treats her that way. Like Brooklyn treated her.

  Anaya may not have romantic feelings for me, but she’s my friend, and I need her to know that I care about her. That I can’t be with someone who acts like Isabella and Chloe do.

  But, she won’t hear me out. Anytime I try to explain myself, to elaborate on what I was trying to say, Anaya cuts me off and changes the subject. Now, we’re walking through the garden party in a terribly awkward silence and I want to try again. “About the other morning—”

  “Oh hey!” She cuts me off. “I see Brooklyn. Shall we act a bit more coupley for the contract?”

  I feel a pang at the mention of the contract. Of course, that’s why Anaya is here, after all. I don’t even glance towards Brooklyn, I can’t be bothered to look over.

  “Honestly, I’d rather talk. I want you to know—”

  “Come on, she’s looking over here!” Anaya whispers, her eyes urgent. “Maybe you should ask me to dance or something?”

  Deflated, I hold out my hand. “May I have this dance?”

  Anaya smiles warmly, looking like herself again. “Absolutely.”

  She steps towards me, and I wrap my arms around her. I put my hands on the small of her back and hold her body close to mine as we sway to the music. She lays one cheek against my chest and I’m reminded again of how perfectly we fit together. For a moment, all of the frostiness between us melts away and is replaced with soaring warmth.

  Without thinking, I press my lips to the top of her head. It’s strange that dutifully acting the part of “fake boyfriend” feels more real than anything else. I wish she could know that I’m holding her close because she means a lot to me, and not because Brooklyn might be watching. I never want to let her go.

  A sharp finger taps me on the shoulder. “Wes!”

  Brooklyn is clad in a tight, bright pink dress that matches her lipstick. “Hey, Brooklyn.”

  “Want to dance?” she asks, not even glancing at Anaya.

  I press my lips together, irritated by her behavior. Has she always been this rude? I shoot Anaya a look, hoping that we can divert Brooklyn elsewhere. Anywhere.

  But, Anaya steps away and nods curtly. “Go for it, Wes.”

  My heart stings at her words. I guess this is the plan, after all.

  “Sure.” I shrug, feeling numb.

  Brooklyn steps towards me and I place my hands on her waist, avoiding her eyes. She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me close — too close. “So, you’re still dating Anya?”

  “Anaya. And yes.”

  “You guys are… cute together.” Vitriol drips from Brooklyn’s seemingly innocent words.

  I smile wanly. “Thanks.”

  “But you love me more. Right?”

  I raise my eyebrows as a sense of clarity hits me. I look into her eyes — the same green eyes that, not long ago, used to drive me crazy. “Is that all that matters to you? That I love you more?”

  Brooklyn looks surprised, and I wait for her to deny it. She doesn’t.

  Instead, she rolls her eyes, annoyed. “Oh please, you’re being so dramatic.”

  “But it’s important that I love you more, right?” My eyes bore into hers. It’s like I can see her — truly see her — for the first time. “More than I loved anyone else, more than you loved me.”

  Brooklyn’s perfect eyebrows are furrowed. “Don’t be stupid. Look, I’ve given it some thought and I’ve decided that I will get back together with you.”

  She says it like she’s doing work for charity. They’re the words I’ve wanted to hear for so long.

  So why do I feel sick to my stomach?

  “Is that what you want?” I ask, searching her face.

  Her face relaxes into a satisfied and serene — if not slightly patronizing — smile. “Of course it is. You’re the star quarterback, the hottest guy at Billings High. So, break up with Anya and I’m all yours.”

  “It’s Anaya!” I say, exasperated.

  Brooklyn’s eyebrows shoot up but she looks nonplussed.

  “Look.” I step away from her. “The truth is, I don’t think I want this anymore... And I don’t think it’s what you want either. We were right to break up.”

  Brooklyn’s mouth pops open. But, she recovers and a confident smile plays on her lips. “Don’t be silly, Wes. Go sort out whatever is going on with her, and then we’ll get back together.”

  Before I can object, she turns on her heel and fades into the night like a sour memory. I sigh, frustrated, and turn around.

  Anaya is a few feet away, her eyes wide.

  I’m frozen, my heart pounding in my ears. Anaya’s face is unreadable. Did she hear that I tried to end things? That I don’t want to be with Brooklyn anymore?

  I walk over to her slowly, my eyes never leaving hers. She must’ve heard everything, she knows that Brooklyn and I broke up. Maybe I can finally tell her how I feel. I grab her hand shyly, and her face breaks into a wide smile. My heart sings — this is it!

  Then, she waves her phone in front of my face. “Perfect timing. We need to break up anyway, fake boyfriend.”

  My breath is knocked out of me. “What?”

  “Isabella just texted me. She’s
going to be at the Inn next week for a wedding. We can stage our break up in front of her, and once that happens, Brooklyn is all yours.”

  “I…” I choke on my words, confused. Didn’t Anaya hear that I don’t want to be with Brooklyn anymore? She was standing right there, she must’ve heard.

  Anaya’s smile wavers a touch. “Congratulations, Wes. Our plan worked. For both of us.”

  My heart slams in my chest as realization sets in. Anaya doesn’t care about whether I want to be with Brooklyn anymore or not. She’s here for the plan, the contract. This is what she wants and I need to fulfill my end of our agreement. I owe her that.

  I flash her a smile and hold up a limp hand for a high-five. “We did it.”

  Anaya’s hand slaps mine. The hollow sound echoes through the night like a gun firing a shot through my heart.

  35

  Anaya

  I take a bite of my banana muffin and chew for what feels like an eternity. The banana muffins at the Inn are usually my favorite, but I’ve been nauseous for days now. It’s like hearing that Brooklyn wants to get back together with Wes has made me physically ill.

  The garden party last week was a nightmare. When I walked up and heard Brooklyn say that she and Wes were getting back together, it felt like I’d been stabbed. I have never fought so hard to put a smile on my face, to try and look happy for him. And then, to add insult to injury, he actually high-fived me.

  High-fived me.

  High-fives are for acquaintances. It’s what teammates do when they win a game. But, somewhere in the process, this stopped being a game to me. And watching Wes win Brooklyn back feels like a loss, game or no game.

  I take another bite of my muffin. I can’t taste anything, I may as well be chewing on sawdust. Beside me, Kiara is sparkling, barely able to keep the grin off her face between spoonfuls of yogurt.

  Bree laughs at her. “Ki, you look like a woman in love.”

  Kiara pulls a face, but doesn’t deny it. Her friendship with Jonathan seems to have blossomed into something more this summer. I’m happy for my new friend. I truly am.

  “Jonathan looks happy, too.” Bree continues to prod.

  I shoot a surreptitious glance across the dining hall. Jonathan does, indeed, look happy. He’s chatting animatedly to Wes, sitting across from him.

  Wes, however, looks terrible. Grey circles underline his eyes, and he looks pale and drawn. I wonder if he’s tired from sneaking off to spend late nights with Brooklyn? It would make sense — Wes hasn’t been joining me on my early morning swims lately, and though we aren’t yet officially broken up, it’s likely that he’s spending time with Brooklyn in secret.

  I taste bile in my throat at the thought of them together.

  “What’s going on with you and Wes these days?” Kiara asks.

  I swat her arm playfully. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  My tone is light and teasing, a poor attempt to disguise my pain. Wes and I haven’t spoken of anything outside of work since Brooklyn announced that she wants to get back with him. We still spend every day together at the beach, but things have changed. There’s a wedge between us, and I can barely stand to look at him.

  I bet he can’t wait to be done with our fake relationship so he can focus on being with Brooklyn again. Isabella will be here in a few days, and then, it will all be over for real.

  But, Kiara’s question did, effectively, change the subject. Bree gazes at me intently, leaning forward on her elbows. “Too late, now we want to hear about you. Spill!”

  I grasp at straws. “Stefi, what about this mysterious guy you’ve been texting?”

  Stefi crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Oh, no you don’t. I want Wes gossip.”

  I shrug, defeated. Seeing as we’ll be breaking up soon, it’s probably best that I start alluding to the fact that things aren’t going well. Besides, I feel too exhausted and emotionally wrung-out to lie anymore.

  “Honestly, things haven’t been good lately.” Tears sting my eyes, the perfect touch. Too bad I’m not acting.

  But it works. The girls’ faces drop.

  “Anaya, I’m sorry.” Stefi looks aghast. “We wouldn't have teased you if we knew.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not your fault.”

  I crumble my muffin in my hands and let it fall on my plate in crumbs. My appetite is gone.

  “What happened?” Bree murmurs softly.

  I rack my brain, trying to keep the lies in order. I decide to tell them a part of the truth. “I think he’s still in love with his ex. I feel like he’s going to break up with me to get back with her or something.”

  “What?” Stefi explodes, uncharacteristically loud. “That fake girl from the beach?”

  Bree shoots Wes a death glare. “How dare he!”

  Kiara tuts. “I can talk to Jonathan about it, get him to talk some sense into Wes—-”

  “No!” I cut her off, flustered. “Uh, I mean, no thank you. Honestly, we’re very different people. I’m on the swim team, he’s the new quarterback. It was never going to work in the real world.”

  “How do you mean?” Kiara wrinkles her brow.

  “He belongs with Brooklyn. She’s part of his real life. Wes and I, we’re—” I grasp for words. “Temporary. A blip.”

  Stefi looks like she wants to say something, but bites her lip.

  “Honestly, guys, I’m okay.” I plaster on a fake smile. “It’s not like it was real love or anything. It was just a summer fling. I’m fine.”

  Bree looks at me suspiciously, but before she can comment, I smile at her confidently.

  “Bree, now it’s your turn to tell us about Noah,” I say. “He seems amazing, you guys are so cute together.”

  She smiles tentatively. “Only if you’re sure.” I give her a nod and she leans forward conspiratorially. “Well, I…”

  Bree launches into an adorable story of her storm chasing adventures with Noah. I try to stay focused, to pay attention, but my head is full of static. I move the crumbs of my muffin around on my plate, lost in thought.

  A nudge on my shoulder rockets me back to the present. Wes and Jonathan are standing at our table.

  “Ready to go to work?” Wes smiles thinly.

  “Oh, uh, sure.” I scramble to my feet and throw my whistle over my head before waving to my friends. “See you guys later.”

  Wes and I walk stiffly towards the exit, an awkward distance apart. He checks back over his shoulder often, looking deeply confused.

  “What’s with the death glares from your friends?” he asks. “If looks could kill…”

  A wave of nausea turns my stomach. “Thought I’d plant the seed that we’re not doing well. Just so it’s not too surprising when we break up.”

  “Oh.” Wes pauses with his hand on the door. A shadow passes over his face. “Makes sense. I can see how that might make me look like a jerk.”

  “Sorry.” I say feebly.

  Wes shakes his head. “Not your fault.”

  His voice is soft, which somehow makes everything more painful.

  “Anyway, let’s get to it.” Wes opens the door. “Lives to save, people to teach.”

  Right before we leave the building, I hear the opening notes of a song playing in the kitchen. It’s a song by Taylor Swift, which would usually make me smile.

  But today, it takes everything in me not to cry when I recognize the vocals of We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together.

  36

  Wes

  Isabella arrives tomorrow. Meet me at my cabin, 8pm, to plan the break up?

  I read Anaya’s text again as I shut my door behind me. It’s five minutes to 8pm, but I wish time would stop. Ever since receiving the message earlier today, I’ve felt sick to my stomach, uneasy.

  Not that this is new. Things with Anaya have only gotten worse since the garden party last week. We’re friendly and we talk at work, but things have changed. There’s this unshakable distance between us, like we’re strangers instead o
f people who’ve shared intimate parts of our lives with each other. For the first time, keeping up the pretense of a relationship feels forced and difficult. I find myself missing her, even though she’s next to me.

  And, to make matters more complicated, I’m still unsure whether Anaya overheard my conversation with Brooklyn. Does she know that I don’t want to get back together with Brooklyn? Or does she simply not care?

  With a sigh, I leave my cabin to walk to Anaya’s. The night sky is dark and ominous, without a single star. Heavy clouds knit together above Legacy Inn and the air is thick with humidity. The wind howls through the trees, and I draw up the hood of my hoodie.

  A storm is rolling in. How fitting.

  My heart pounds as I drag my feet to her door. I tap three times and then step back to wait.

  Please don’t be home. Please don’t be home.

  But, the door opens and Anaya smiles at me hesitantly. Her eyes are huge and frightened. I have to fight an instinctual urge to take her in my arms and tell her that it’s going to be okay.

  “Hi.” My voice is a croak.

  “Wes.” She says formally. For a moment, I could swear that she looks as sad as I feel. But then, her features rearrange into a happy expression and I find myself wondering if it was just a trick of the light. “Please come in.”

  I step inside and hover awkwardly by the door. Anaya seems calm and casual as she sits cross-legged on her bed. She’s wearing plaid pajama pants and a white tank top, and her hair hangs in two long braids. I want to tell her how beautiful she looks — that she’s as pretty in pajamas with no makeup as she is when she’s all done up in a fancy dress.

  Instead, I grin. The action is so forced, I grind my teeth. “So, tomorrow’s D-Day, huh?”