The Complete Legacy Inn Collection: Four Sweet YA Romances

by Sara Jane Woodley

  The cabins loom gloomily in the distance as I jog over, ready to grab my hoodie and go straight to the Inn. As I approach, however, I spot Kiara walking towards the cabins.

  “Kiara!” I break into a run, trying to catch her before she can disappear. “Wait. Please.”

  She does. But something is wrong. Her eyes burn and her face twists into a glare. “What now, golden boy?”

  Her voice hits me like a shard of ice and my stomach drops. The way she says ‘golden boy’ is no longer playful. Now, she says it like it leaves an awful taste in her mouth.

  “I just want to talk,” I say. “Did I do something wrong?”

  She rolls her eyes, keeping her distance. Her hair is pulled tight into a bun, her eyes vaguely swollen. I want to give her a hug, but that might set her off more.

  “I had a future before you distracted me,” she says. “A goal. A dream. We don’t all skate through life getting everything we want handed to us. Some of us have to work our entire lives to be a photographer. Not that you’d understand. Not that it’s something you’ll ever do.”

  Her words are a punch to my gut. My heart plummets and I have trouble catching my breath. After everything we did this summer, all the time we spent together, the truth about what she really thinks of me is revealed. Being a professional photographer is not something I’ll ever do unless it gets handed to me.

  How long has she felt like this?

  Are my photos actually good, or am I lying to myself?

  Maybe everyone was trying to appease me. Maybe no one thought my work was any good. Maybe they wanted to fire me but it was too late.

  My biggest fear has always been that, when the game is on the line, I’ll fail to deliver. But now something bigger — my entire future — is on the line, and the person I love doesn’t think I can do it. It’s a worse pain than I could have imagined.

  “I really hope you and Isabella are happy. You’re so perfect together.”

  Her words blur. What does Isabella have to do with this? I open my mouth to ask what she means, but before I can, she closes it with a figurative uppercut.

  “Leave me alone, golden boy. You’ve ruined enough.”

  Kiara storms into her cabin and the lock clicks shut.

  47

  Kiara

  Tears sting my eyes as I slam the door and disappear into the comforting darkness of my cabin.

  Crying over a boy twice in 24 hours is way too much. I sit on my bed, fingering the blanket as my pitiful tears fall. I told myself to be strong, to face Jonathan bravely. I don’t know whether that came across. I ran away before I broke down.

  Every word I said was true. When I came to Legacy Inn, my path was so clear — take photos, build my portfolio, get out of Edendale.

  But now, it might be too late. I can’t imagine a world where this summer was a step back instead of a step forward.

  The thought of having to stay in Edendale past my graduation next year feels like a stab to the gut, especially now. My dream has always been to leave right after senior year. If my portfolio isn’t good enough, can I get a job? Sticking around Edendale to add to my portfolio before I’m able to move to California or Barbados or Brazil is not part of the plan.

  Bitterness fills me as I think of Edendale High’s golden boy. Jonathan has had everything given to him. Including me. I sold out and handed myself to him on a silver platter. I taught him everything he needs to know to create a solid portfolio. All the advice and tips I gave him, that’s all he needed me for. All he wanted me for.

  Because of me, he’ll continue living his golden life without having to lift a finger. I was right about that too — he’ll never have to work hard. His life is easy and his dreams come true, no sweat involved.

  An unwelcome whisper reminds me that my photos improved, too, through our collaboration, but I can’t wrap my mind around that right now. I only know one thing to be true at this moment.

  “I was right. Jonathan Wright can’t be trusted.” My voice breaks along with my heart.

  How could I have thought I loved him? How could I have been so stupid as to think that maybe he loved me?

  My tears dry on my face and my anger fuels determination. I have three weeks left here. I wipe away the memory and reapply some mascara with my goal set in my mind.

  I will win this competition, and I will build a portfolio that secures my future. Jonathan was a detour, a small bump in the road. There’s no time for love if you’re not doing what you love.

  And it’s not too late until I decide it’s too late.

  48

  Kiara

  “Kiara?”

  A distant voice calls, but I can’t register the words. I’m lost in thought and in the distorted image of the world outside.

  The rain falls hard onto the windows of the event room. The droplets gather in rivulets on the glass, creating a magical running image. The fog hangs low over the trees, swallowing the peaks at the far end of the lake.

  I should get outside and take some photos. Back home, I loved this weather. The moody scenery creates the most emotional pictures.

  “Kiara?” The voice is clearer, closer now. It snaps me out of my thoughts. “Earth to Kiara! Can you please take some pictures of Mr. and Mrs. van Nispen?”

  I whirl around to face Bree and the two van Nispens. They’re an elderly couple, very stately and nicely groomed. Well-traveled, probably.

  “It’s their 45th anniversary today. How about some photos to commemorate it?” Bree’s voice is light, but her face is concerned.

  “On it,” I respond, embarrassed. I set up my camera as Bree strides off.

  “Where are you two from?” I ask, a habit left over from my days spent with Jonathan. I paste a smile onto my face as I direct them to the front of the room where the lighting is better.

  “The Netherlands.” Mr. van Nispen answers with a hint of an accent.

  Now, a genuine smile crosses my face as I ask them questions about the Netherlands. It’s one of my top spots to visit when I finally travel the world.

  Mr. and Mrs. van Nispen stand together comfortably, looking peaceful. They’re like the quintessential happy couple, two puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.

  “So, 45 years.” I line up the photo. “That’s awesome, congratulations! What’s your secret?”

  Mr. van Nispen’s rather stern expression softens as he looks at his wife. I quietly capture another photo as they gaze at each other with loving expressions.

  “I can’t leave her now. She knows too many secrets. She’d turn me in.”

  “Don’t worry, dear, your secrets aren’t that interesting.”

  He laughs. “And that’s why I married her — she’s never afraid to tell me the truth. Even when I don’t want to hear it.”

  Mrs. van Nispen blushes, laughing easily.

  “And I would never dare leave him. He makes me laugh. It keeps me young!”

  I laugh along with the couple, capturing every moment of their loving expressions.

  We finish, and my mind wanders back to Jonathan. Something about their answers stuck with me. Jonathan never failed to make me laugh. He showed me a side of myself that could be young and carefree.

  Mr. and Mrs. van Nispen have been together for 45 years. The number seems impossible, so hard to imagine. I wish that Jonathan and I could’ve talked to them together. He’s always got the best questions and the funniest jokes.

  My heart sinks. It’s been six days since we spoke to each other, and we’ve done an outstanding job of separating ourselves.

  At the beginning of the week, my sense of betrayal was raw, my anger potent. I wanted nothing to do with him, so we reached an uncomfortable equilibrium. The games room and gazebo would be his work domain, while I took charge of the event room and other rooms upstairs.

  Since that time, my anger has flared and dissipated while my sadness has only grown. To my surprise, I miss him. A lot. I miss his laugh and his banter and his warm presence. He puts everyone arou
nd him at ease, including me.

  Sometimes, I forget that we’re apart and I turn around to share a funny story with him, only to realize that he’s nowhere to be found.

  This isn’t fun without him.

  But then, why do I care if something is fun or not? Past Kiara from last year, or even last spring, would not have cared. Fun was for people who didn’t have purpose.

  The past week has felt like my old life, before the summer started. I’ve even stayed away from Bree, Anaya and Stefi. I’ve just been so focused on getting the right shot.

  I step onto the balcony. The rain has let up, coming down as soft droplets instead of a torrential downpour. I stroll mindlessly to the edge of the railing and look towards the trees.

  Now, I can see the gazebo through the trees. I spot Jonathan lining up a photo from outside the gazebo, looking in.

  He’s laughing, and a smile comes to my face. The question burning at the back of my mind will no longer be ignored.

  Why do I miss him so much if it was all just a lie?

  49

  Jonathan

  “Okay wait, let me adjust this.” One of the girls tugs the bottom of her dress. “How’s that?”

  She turns to her two friends and they nod and fiddle with their own dresses. I tune them out as they try to figure out the perfect pose for their social media platforms.

  “Hey, what was your name again? Jacob?”

  “Jonathan.”

  “Right.” It’s obvious she didn’t register my name the second time around. “Can you stand over there, outside the gazebo, and we’ll be on the stairs?”

  I shrug and step out of the gazebo, standing under the trees. Thankfully, the rain has stopped for a moment.

  “How’s this?” one girl asks, making a goofy face.

  I laugh and the other girls roll their eyes.

  As I snap photos and follow their abrupt orders to move for better angles, it occurs to me that, last year, Troy and I would’ve been trying to pick up girls like them. They’re smoking hot and they look to be only a year or two older than us.

  But my heart isn’t in it. All I can think about is Kiara. Especially here, at the gazebo, where I caught her and her camera on our first day.

  This week has been an absolute nightmare. And not only because the life-size cutout of Kade Monroe scares the pants off me every time I go in my cabin.

  Sadness and self-doubt gnaw at me. I never got the impression that Kiara was holding me to a standard or that she had these high expectations of me. I never truly believed that she thought I was unfit to be a photographer.

  But I was wrong.

  I disappointed her in the end. When she mentioned that Isabella and I are perfect for each other, it became very clear that nothing has changed. She still sees me as the Edendale golden boy. Thought I was free from that label, but apparently not.

  I have to return to Edendale in just over a week. I know that there’s a ticking clock on Isabella keeping my secret. I need to tell everyone before she does. I can picture my parents’ faces when they find out I came to the Inn instead of going to Momentum this summer.

  And, even worse, that coming here was fruitless. The only thing I learned was that photography is not in my future. It’s heartbreaking, and even more devastating to think of the mess I’ll need to clean up in the aftermath.

  “Thanks, Jacob!”

  The girls flutter towards the Inn as the rain returns. I put my camera into its bag and stand in the gazebo, staring out over the lake.

  What if I’m tired of trying to please everyone?

  I suddenly feel angry, wondering why they’re all dictating the path I follow in my life. Coming to the Inn was perhaps the only true decision that I, myself, made — in the memory of my grandpa who saw the best in me.

  Ironically, the only person I can think of who makes decisions for herself is the very one who broke my heart.

  Kiara made me stronger. She saw me for who I am, or who I thought I was. I miss her headstrong presence and her intelligence. Her stubborn, sometimes annoyingly so, confidence inspired me.

  She told me to leave her alone, and that’s what I’ve been doing. I’ve stayed far away from her at work and I’ve avoided her in the kitchen and staff room.

  I’ve gotten closer with Anaya and Wes over the last few days, choosing to spend my time with them instead. But I see the expressions on their faces when they think I’m not looking. They worry about me and they ask me, in turns, if I’m okay.

  As a seasoned “fake smiler”, I think I’m getting away with it. But I feel a hole in my chest.

  50

  Kiara

  The bright sun shines through my window like an insult.

  I put my pillow over my head, not ready to get up.

  But the world is not accommodating to my moodiness. Birds chirp happily outside and some student workers are laughing. It’s the first sun we’ve seen all week. At this moment, I actually prefer the rain.

  I lay on my back, exasperated. My sleep has been fitful and restless for the past few days. I’m only functioning thanks to the fresh coffee Fernando makes every morning and afternoon.

  Coffee. The thought revives me long enough to get out of bed and into fresh clothes.

  I wander down the gravel path, squinting behind my sunglasses. A flash of color appears in the midst of the grey and I spot the little flower from my first day here, popping stubbornly through the gravel. It’s bent over from the force of the rain and I lift it so it stands straight, adding a few rocks around it as a barrier.

  “Morning Fernando!” I call out when I enter the staff room.

  “Buongiorno, mi bella.” He hands me a fresh cup of coffee.

  “You’re the only thing keeping me going these days.”

  I don’t want to make Ava jealous, but Fernando and I are pretty much best friends.

  I take a seat at the far end of the staff room, clicking open the photos on my camera. I scroll through my recent shots, wanting to see if I captured the moodiness of the weather over the last week. I practiced some black and white photos, and they turned out nice. Not all the photos are winners, but there are a few real, emotional gems.

  I wonder if this is ‘alive’ enough for the Glacier Journal? I’m staring at an emotional photo of the peaks behind the lake appearing over a layer of fog. The white fog implies a lack of something, there’s an air of mystery.

  Thinking of the Glacier Journal fills me with unease. I haven’t checked my emails since I last heard from my mom — I haven’t felt brave enough. And now that Jonathan and I are no longer together, it seems pointless to check my email for the eventual rejection. I can only hope that they’re not as harsh as they were with the last rejection.

  I chug the rest of my coffee and walk into the event room, stationing myself by the windows.

  As I gaze out over the lake, I think back to when I first entered this grand room. Back then, I followed Delia across the space and almost lost my breath trying to keep up. Since being at the Inn, I’m pleasantly surprised to see that my fitness level has increased. I still get horribly out of breath climbing to the Legacy summit, but it’s not as bad as it used to be. All the explorations around the grounds have done more for my cardio than an entire year at the gym.

  Well, I hope that’s still the case. When was the last time I did a sunrise hike? A few weeks ago? It was before everything fell apart. I need to make it back to the Legacy summit before I go home next week.

  “Good morning, dear!” Delia chortles, snapping me out of my thoughts. She’s wearing her trademark black cowboy hat.

  “Morning to you!”

  “You’re still cooped in the event room? It’s not raining anymore. You should be outside! Why don’t you head down to the gazebo and take some photos? Take advantage of the last of summer.”

  “I… I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to be down there.”

  Delia puts her hands on her hips. She’s not used to being brushed off. “And why not?” />
  I fiddle with my camera and shift from foot to foot. I really don’t want to get Delia involved in our drama, but I also don’t want to work near Jonathan. I’m so embarrassed by what I said to him and how I treated him, but I also can’t bear to hear about his relationship with Isabella. Telling Delia is probably the lesser of two evils.

  “Jonathan and I aren’t really working well together.”

  “So that’s what you think, is it?”

  What?

  Delia takes off her cowboy hat and plucks a piece of lint from the brim. “Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, my dear. I’d suggest you two try flipping it again. Maybe it’ll land on a different side.”

  Different side? My coffee hasn’t hit, so I’m too tired to decipher what she means.

  Delia stalks off without giving me an answer, exasperated.

  “She’s right, you know.” Nath appears behind me, carrying a crazy-looking flowerpot towards the garden.

  “About?” I’m still confused. It feels like everyone is talking around me this morning.

  “Jonathan cares a lot about you. And you care a lot about him. You started out as rivals, became something more than friends, and now you’re back to rivals. Who’s to say another conversation won’t change things? Who’s to say you can’t flip the coin again? Feelings don’t just disappear.”

  My heart races and my mouth is dry. “But what about Isabella?”

  “Pretty girl from the wedding? Smile like a shark that smells blood?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Nath bursts into laughter. “Your poor Jonathan made a deal with her. He gave her a dance in exchange for keeping a secret for him. Apparently, he’s not supposed to be here.”

  “But she’s his ex-girlfriend. And to use Delia’s words, couldn’t they just ‘flip that coin’ again?”

  Nath places the flowerpot on the table. Her voice drops to her idle-gossip-about-movie-stars tone. “I don’t think he’s too interested in picking up that coin again. With you, on the other hand, it’s a different story.”