The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  Riley passes me in the hallway, walking with all the confidence of her new sophomore status.

  “Hey, captain!” She grins. “Nice hoodie.”

  I smile wide and blush. I’ll take some time to get used to the new designation. “Thanks, Riley. I hope you had a great summer! I’m looking forward to having you on the team this year.”

  “Same,” she says with a big smile. I pat her arm gently before continuing on my way.

  After the swim meet last week, Coach officially made me captain of the school swim team and I couldn’t be more excited. Wes also asked me to be his girlfriend — for real. I’ve never said yes to anything as quickly as I did to that magical question.

  Our last week at Legacy Inn was a blur of early morning swims, hammock swings, stolen kisses and road trip adventures. Wes’s dad was released from the hospital and is recovering well with Rian and the kids in Billings. And, we discovered through social media that Brooklyn has a new boyfriend: the starting quarterback at Billings High School.

  Everything is perfect.

  Well, almost everything. There’s one thing I have to do to make things right.

  The hallways are packed with kids but I scan their faces until I zero in on the people I want to see.

  “Isabella!” I call, approaching the trio.

  Isabella glances at me, annoyance in her eyes and her face in a tight little frown. She’s clearly in the middle of a heated argument with Lucas. His face is slightly pink and he’s half-turned away from her. Chloe hovers near the lockers awkwardly, and seems somewhat grateful for my interruption.

  “What do you want?” Isabella spits.

  “I need to tell you something.” My eyes move from Isabella, to Lucas, to Chloe. “All of you.”

  “This better be good.” Lucas folds his arms across his chest with an arrogant smile.

  Isabella arches a perfect brow, her mouth in a sneer. “Still sad about your boyfriend breaking up with you?”

  I ignore her comment and take a deep breath. “I need to confess something to all of you... I lied.”

  “What are you talking about?” Isabella crosses her arms.

  “I lied. I was a coward and I cared way too much about what you thought of me. When you said I’d never had a boyfriend, you were correct, but I was embarrassed to tell you the truth. So, I pretended that Wes was my boyfriend so you would leave me alone.”

  “I knew it,” Chloe hisses triumphantly.

  Isabella’s mouth turns into a snarky grimace. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re pathetic.”

  “Maybe I am.” I shrug. “But at least I’m honest. I made a mistake, I shouldn’t have lied. I’d rather be true to myself and risk being pathetic than lie to everyone to uphold a reputation.”

  Isabella snickers. “This is the final nail in the coffin of your social life, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Chloe pipes in, stepping forward. “I knew Wes would never date a girl like you.”

  A strong arm encircles my waist and my heart sings, as it always does in his presence. “A girl like who?”

  Isabella frowns and her mouth pops open. She looks almost unrecognizable. Lucas’s face turns beet red and Chloe immediately takes a step back.

  Isabella’s glare flits from me to Wes. “What is this?”

  I smile at Wes. “I was just explaining to Isabella, Lucas and Chloe how we faked our entire relationship. And how that was very wrong.”

  Wes’s expression is solemn. “Oh yes, so wrong. We are very sorry for lying.”

  He squeezes me tighter and drops a kiss on my head.

  Chloe's face is practically purple. “If your relationship was fake, what are you doing now?”

  Wes looks at her innocently. “What, this?”

  He tilts my chin up and kisses me softly, and I almost forget where we are. He pulls away and I smile at him dreamily as my stomach flutters with a million butterflies.

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” Isabella demands, losing her cool.

  “Oh no.” Wes widens his eyes. “It’s very, very serious.”

  “UGH, you guys are so weird!” She shrieks, her face in a deep grimace. “I don’t have time for this. Come on, Lucas. Let’s go!”

  “Yeah, no.” Lucas rolls his eyes. “I’m going this way.”

  He turns on his heel and stalks off in the other direction. Isabella stares after him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. There’s a moment of awkward silence when Chloe looks like she might follow Lucas.

  “Well, ladies, it’s been a pleasure.” Wes breaks the silence and reaches for my hand. “But, my girlfriend and I had better be going.”

  We set off down the hallway, leaving Isabella and Chloe staring after us. I no longer care if they think I’m a loser, or pathetic, or whatever else they wish to say. But I’ll admit it feels pretty amazing to leave them shocked and open-mouthed.

  I glance up at Wes with a massive smile on my face. He looks so happy, so peaceful and carefree. Speaking to his dad has done wonders for the scar his family situation left on him. It’s finally beginning to heal, like a wound on your skin.

  “Hey.” Wes turns towards me and clasps his hands around my waist. I instinctively reach my arms around his neck and get lost in his turquoise blue eyes. “I was thinking that, after school, we could pick up Daniel from elementary school so your dad doesn’t have to get him. Maybe we could take him to the park before going to my place for dinner? I’m dying for you to meet my mom.”

  My heart might explode with happiness. “Yes, yes and yes!”

  “Perfect. Apparently there’s a new sushi restaurant in town that does really good veggie rolls.”

  “It’s a date,” I say shyly. No matter how much time we spend together, I can never get enough of Wes. The butterflies never disappear.

  The bell rings loudly and Wes and I break apart. He takes my hand again and we continue down the hallway.

  “What’s your first class?” I ask.

  Wes fumbles in his pocket and produces a crumpled sheet of paper. “First period, English. Room 71A.”

  “Perfect, I have Bio. It’s in the same direction.”

  Wes doesn’t respond, he’s still staring at his schedule. His face breaks into an amused smirk. “You’ll never guess what we’re studying this semester. Hamlet.”

  I burst out laughing. “For real?”

  “I look forward to reading the play that inspired our pet whale’s name.” Wes looks at me seriously. “Though I’m warning you in advance, I’ll likely only read the CliffNotes.”

  “Though this be madness, yet there is method in’t.” I quip.

  “Man, I love it when you talk nerdy to me.” Wes knocks me gently with his shoulder.

  “Good, because you’re going to have to get used to it.”

  Wes laughs and gathers me to him. He pulls me close and tenderly runs his fingers along my cheek. When he kisses me, I see fireworks. “I love you, Anaya Dewan.”

  My heart swells as I look into his eyes. “I love you too, Wes Adams. Scars and all.”

  The Summer I Fell for a Billionaire

  Legacy Inn #3

  1

  Stefi

  If I had to choose one word to describe myself, it’d be “efficient.” And, as I sit in the Edendale High career counseling office, my dreams crashing around me, all I can think about is how inefficient this meeting is.

  “Lifeless.”

  “Two dimensional.”

  “Lacking color and vitality.”

  “Technically perfect but devoid of heart.”

  I fold my hands in my lap. Refold them. Adjust my ponytail. Clean my glasses with the hem of my shirt. Shuffle my feet. But no amount of fidgeting can detract from this excruciating conversation.

  Across the desk, Mrs. Higgins, my career counselor, is saying a lot of things that don’t make sense to me. My mind swims and I force myself to focus exclusively on the mole on her cheek, noticing it move with the words coming from her mouth.
/>   On the tabletop between us sits my college admissions essay. Six-hundred and fifty carefully chosen words on how volunteering with the elderly has affected my life.

  I invested so many precious hours into perfecting it. But, apparently, it’s not good enough.

  There’s a beat of silence and I know that it’s my turn to talk. I frown at Mrs. Higgins and clear my throat. “I considered my topic carefully. I settled on an extracurricular that showcases philanthropy, and I demonstrated the ways in which I was educated by this experience. Like the books recommended.”

  “I understand that, Stefi.” Mrs. Higgins smiles kindly. The mole almost disappears into the smile wrinkle on her cheek. “Your essay is excellent, don’t get me wrong — but it doesn’t tell me anything about you, as a person.”

  I tap the sheets of paper on the desk. “I talk about how volunteering has enriched me in paragraph four.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly it. In this essay, I see that you’re clever, dedicated, capable, and generous with your time. Just like every other applicant. I need to see Stefi — the real Stefi. What makes you tick, what makes you smile? What do you wake up thinking about every morning?”

  I run the pad of my thumb over the tip of my index fingernail. My mind simply refuses to process what Mrs. Higgins is telling me. I’m not used to teachers saying that my schoolwork isn’t up to standard.

  “I’m sorry,” I finally say, my words blurred.

  “Don’t be sorry.” Mrs. Higgins shakes her head, her gray curls bouncing. “College admissions essays are highly demanding and stressful, but they also offer fabulous opportunities to find out exactly who we are.”

  Find out who I am? I know who I am.

  I’m Stefi — straight-A student in all my classes, daughter of two exceptionally hard-working parents, future valedictorian of the Edendale High senior class. What more could there possibly be?

  “How can I make it better?” I ask.

  “It’s not about ‘better.’ You’re exceptional, Stefanie.” Mrs. Higgins pats me on the arm, a maternal gesture. “Any college would be lucky to have you. And you can easily write an essay that shows them that. Instead, I recommend that you take this summer and put yourself outside of your comfort zone. Try some new experiences, get a taste of a different flavor of life. And then, after that, try again.”

  I blink twice, my fingers twisted into a knot. “Trying new experiences” and “getting out of my comfort zone” are not on my list this summer. I planned to study for the SATs between my housekeeping shifts at Legacy Inn. Work hard, then work harder.

  I simply don’t understand what Mrs. Higgins wants from me. Get a different flavor of life? What does that even mean? But, if getting a scholarship to a good college means adding another item to my summer to-do list, then so be it.

  I give Mrs. Higgins the sweetest smile I can muster. The winning smile of a future Harvard student. “Sure. I can do that.”

  Mrs. Higgins bows her head, the gray curls bouncing. Then, she indicates towards the clock behind her. “And speaking of summer, your summer vacation started 20 minutes ago.”

  She looks at me expectantly, and I realize that she’s waiting for me to react. To get excited that summer is finally here, to run off to some place I’d rather be. I scramble to my feet, my mind still tripping over my essay draft. “Thank you, Mrs. Higgins. Have a great summer.”

  “Same to you.” Her dark eyes twinkle, like she knows something that I don’t. “And remember, colleges don’t just want to see perfect grades, they want to see you — the real Stefanie Clark.”

  2

  Stefi

  The real Stefanie Clark.

  I turn the words over in my head the entire walk home from school, letting them jangle in my brain like loose change. I’m used to tough questions, philosophical questions. I’m not one to shy away from discussions about the nature of reality and personality. And yet, I feel fully and completely stumped by Mrs. Higgins’s request.

  I turn the key in the lock of our front door and every thought centered on myself disappears. I can hear the arguing from outside the door.

  I tiptoe into the house and shut the door quietly behind me. To the left, Mom, Dad and Sophie are locked in Dad’s office. The grand door is closed, but the thick wood does little to stifle the string of expletives pouring out of Sophie’s mouth.

  I flinch involuntarily. I hate swearing — always have and always will. Maybe that is a suitable topic for my college essay: the reason I hate swearing. Though I’d imagine the college admissions staff wouldn’t care to read about the fact that my sister always swears when she’s angry. And when she and my parents are angry, it usually means that she’s relapsed.

  I scurry down the hall to the kitchen, and swipe a can of ginger ale from the fridge. It’s a staple in our house, the one thing I always make sure is well-stocked. I started drinking ginger ale in my sophomore year after someone recommended it for a stomach ache. It doesn’t fix the consistent, gnawing pain in my belly, but it certainly takes the edge off.

  My room is upstairs and I shut the door quietly behind me. I dump my backpack and books on my desk and lean against the white metal frame for a moment, my hands splayed on the cool surface. My mom’s an interior designer and my bedroom looks like the incarnation of a Pinterest board titled “What Teenagers Want.” It's all soft, boho fabrics and pastel throw pillows, complemented by pristine white furniture and framed quotes on the wall telling me to “Believe in Myself” and “Follow My Dreams.”

  I wander to the gilded, full-length mirror in the corner. My reflection is the same as always. Long, straight black hair pulled into a neat ponytail. Slender frame devoid of any hint of feminine curves. Hazel eyes shielded by trendy glasses. Jeans and sandals and one of the cute, floaty tops that my mom keeps my closet stocked with.

  The girl in the mirror looks perfectly put-together, down to her immaculately French-tipped nails and subtle makeup.

  But who is she, really?

  I’ve been chasing perfection for so long, I have no idea. It’s been my coping mechanism since Sophie got sick. Got addicted. Got worse.

  Back then, my parents were so stressed, so overwhelmed. The best way — the only way — I could help was to stay out of trouble. Stay out of sight and mind. I began to fill my free time with things that I could do perfectly so that my parents would never have to worry about me. I resolved to never be the cause of their stress.

  And so far, it’s worked.

  They never worry about me, they don’t have to. I’m morbidly proud of my self-sufficiency now. I developed a tight routine for my life that makes everything feel safe and orderly. There was no risk of something suddenly derailing.

  Until now.

  It’s the last day of my Junior Year and Mrs. Higgins is essentially telling me to change all of the instincts I’ve carefully and painstakingly cultivated. This is the only way I know to keep my world turning in a way that makes sense. And now? I’m thrown.

  I run my thumb over my index fingernail and I’m aware of silence from downstairs. Has it stopped?

  There’s a sudden and distant roar of four-letter words.

  No. If anything, they’re getting louder.

  A familiar sting aches in my stomach. I pop the top of my ginger ale and take a long swig before putting on my headphones. I turn up the volume on a playlist of Robbie Cohen songs — he’s my favorite artist — and I sing along until the four-letter words are drowned out and the world around me fades.

  Tomorrow, I’ll escape to Legacy Inn for the summer. I’ll have three months of blissful peace and quiet — working alone, living alone, with plenty of time to focus.

  Maybe then, I’ll figure out what, exactly, Mrs. Higgins wants from me.

  3

  Cooper

  It’s one of those hazy, hot late spring days. When the heavy air slicks your skin and hints at storms to come.

  I’m sitting at the edge of the pool, dangling my legs into the cool water. A red solo cup fu
ll of something I don’t plan on drinking sits beside me. There’s probably a hundred people in the backyard — splashing in the pool, playing ridiculous drinking games, making out in the hot tub and spilling out of the traditional Korean bathhouse that Mom had specially designed.

  Throbbing bass pulses deafeningly from the state-of-the-art sound system. But it’s hardly able to compete with the sound of a hundred screaming teenagers celebrating the end of the school year with underage drinking and bad decisions.

  It may be my house, but I feel a million miles away from this party. I feel like an outsider, spectating someone else’s life.

  “Hey, Coop.” Lila loops her arms around me and kisses the top of my head clumsily. There’s an unmistakable smell on her breath — strong and bitter. She stumbles slightly, and I gently help her sit down.

  “Thanks.” She giggles, a little breathless. Despite her slightly red face and half-shut eyes, Lila is unmistakably beautiful. Standing at 5’10” with long, dark hair, big brown eyes, and a bikini model body, it’s no wonder that she already has two Teen Vogue covers under her belt.

  But, as she sways in her seated position, I eye her cautiously. “I should get you some water.”

  “No, no, noooo,” she squeals, lurching forward like she’s going in for a kiss. I move back, out of range, and catch her as she almost topples onto me.

  “Whoa, easy there.” I keep my voice calm and gentle.

  She pouts and then picks up my cup, taking a big swig. She daintily wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Don’t you wanna kiss me?”