by Chelsea Fine
I blame Ellen. Maybe if she’d given me a heads-up about Pixie moving in, I could have prepared better.
Another breeze blows by and shoves more lavender up my nose.
Or maybe not.
The sky hangs above me, bright blue and free of clouds, and the early sun slants across the earth, casting a long shadow behind me as I walk the length of the building. I squint up at the white siding and notice one of the panels is cracked, which is nothing new.
Willow Inn is nearly one hundred years old, and parts of it are just as broken as they are picturesque. It’s a quaint place, with white cladding and a wraparound porch beneath a blue-shingled roof, and it sits on ten acres of lavender fields and swaying willow trees. It has two wings of upstairs rooms and a main floor with the usual lobby, kitchen, and dining space.
The newly remodeled west wing has seven bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. That’s where all the guests stay.
The east wing has yet to be remodeled, which is why Ellen allows Pixie and me to stay there and why I’m a live-in employee. Along with my other handyman duties, I’m also helping Ellen gut the old east wing so she can have the area remodeled to accommodate private bathrooms in every room.
I reach the fuse box at the edge of the inn and, flipping a breaker I’m far too familiar with, restore electricity to the east wing.
Fortunately, all the gutting and redesigning requires the east wing to run on its own electricity and water supply, so guests are never affected by my hot water usage or Pixie’s electricity tantrums, but damn. We really need to find a less immature way to be around each other.
I turn and follow my shadow back to the door, holding my breath as I pass the purple field. The wooden floors of the lobby are extra shiny as I walk inside, which means Eva, the girl who cleans the main house, probably came in early and left before anyone saw her. She’s tends to work stealthily like that, finishing her work before anyone wakes. Sometimes I envy Eva that. The solitude. The invisibility.
Back inside, I see a figure up ahead, and a string of curse words line themselves up on my tongue.
Daren Ackwood.
I hate this douche bag and he’s headed right for me.
“What’s happening, Andrews?” He gives me the chin nod like we go way back. We went to the same high school and I think we had a class together senior year, but we’re not pals. He looks over my partially shaved face. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Pixie,” I say.
He nods and looks around. “Is Sarah here?”
Sarah is Pixie’s real name. The only people who’ve ever called her Pixie are me and Ellen and…
“Why?” I cross my arms and eye the case of water he’s carrying. “Did she order water?”
Daren is the inn gofer, delivering groceries and linens and anything else the place needs, so unfortunately he’s here twice a week with his preppy-boy jeans and nine coats of cologne. And he’s always looking for Pixie.
“No, but you never know.” He lifts a cocky brow. “She might be thirsty.”
“She’s not thirsty.”
He looks over my facial hair again. “Oh, I think she’s thirsty.”
And I think Daren’s throat needs to be stepped on.
“Morning, Levi.” Ellen walks up with a smile and hands me my To Do list for the day. Her long dark hair slips over her shoulder as she turns and throws a courteous smile to the gofer. “Hey, Daren.”
“Hey, Miss Marshall.”
As Ellen starts talking to me about the fire alarm, I watch Daren’s eyes cruise down her body and linger in places they have no business lingering in.
More than his throat needs to be stepped on.
Ellen Marshall is a very attractive forty-year-old who’s used to guys checking her out. Not me, of course—Ellen’s like family to me and I respect her—but pretty much any other guy who sees her instantly fantasizes about her, which pisses me off.
“… because the system is outdated,” Ellen says.
“Routine check on the fire alarms,” I say, my eyes fixed on Daren, who is still ogling her. “Got it.”
“Can I help you with something?” Ellen smiles sharply at him. “Looks like your eyes are lost.”
He readjusts his gaze. “Uh, no, ma’am. I was just wondering where Sarah was.”
“Sarah is working. And so are you.” Her hazel eyes drop to the case of water. “Why don’t you take that to the dining room? I think Angelo is stocking the bar this morning.”
He gives a single nod and walks off.
Ellen turns back to me and looks over my face. “Nice beard,” she says. “Pixie?”
I rub a hand down the smooth side of my jaw. “Yeah.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh. “Levi—”
“I’ll check out the fire alarms after I finish shaving,” I say, quickly cutting her off. Because I don’t have the time, or the balls, to undergo the conversation she wants to have with me. “Later.” I don’t give her a chance to respond as I turn and head for the stairs.
Back in the bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror and shake my head. Pixie timed it perfectly, I’ll give her that. My facial hair is literally half-gone. I look like a before and after razor ad.
I think back to the irritated expression on her face and a small smile tugs at my lips. She was so frustrated, waiting outside the bathroom door with her flushed cheeks and full lips and indignant green eyes…
Why does she have to be so goddamn pretty?
I turn on the razor and run the blades down my jaw, thinking back to the first time I saw those indignant eyes cut into mine. My smile fades.
Pixie was six. I was seven. And my Transformers were missing.
I remember running around the house, completely panicked that I had lost my favorite toys, until I came upon Pixie sitting cross-legged in the front room with my very manly robots set up alongside her very dumb dolls.
I immediately called in the authorities—“Mom! Pixie took my Transformers!”—and wasted no time rescuing my toys from the clutches of the pink vomit that was Barbie.
“Hey!” She tried to pry them from my hands. “Those are the protectors. They kill all the bad guys. My dolls need them!”
“Your dolls are stupid. Stop taking my things. Mom! Mom!”
Haunted eyes stare back at me in the mirror as I slowly finish shaving.
I wish I would have known back then how significant Pixie was going to be.
I wish I would have known a lot of things.
Also by Chelsea Fine
Best Kind of Broken
PRAISE FOR
BEST KIND OF BROKEN
“By turns humorous and heartbreaking, Best Kind of Broken has become one of my favorites!”
—CORA CARMACK, New York Times bestselling author of Losing It
“You’ll fall for Pixie and Levi, just like I did!”
—JENNIFER L. ARMENTROUT (J. Lynn), #1 New York Times bestselling author of Wait for You
“Tangled with friendship, history, and heartbreak—not to mention a huge dose of humor—Chelsea Fine’s New Adult novel is not to be missed! Beyond an incredibly HOT read, Pixie and Levi’s longing for each other will have you rooting for them till the very end.”
—JAY CROWNOVER, New York Times bestselling author of Rule
“This book destroyed me. Tore me into little tiny pieces. But somehow with lots of laughs and some very steamy times, Chelsea put me back together again! Chelsea Fine’s style is witty, visceral, and fresh. All I wanted to do was crawl inside this book and live with the characters. And now all I want is MORE.”
—CHELSEA M. CAMERON, New York Times bestselling author of My Favorite Mistake
“Sandwiched between laugh-out-loud moments and some serious heat, Best Kind of Broken is an unforgettable story of loss and forgiveness that will leave your heart aching.”
—LISA DESROCHERS, USA Today bestselling author of A Little Too Far
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for more books from Chelsea Fine!
SOMETIMES MOVING ON MEANS MOVING IN
Pixie Marshall wishes every day she could turn back time and fix the past. But she can’t. And the damage is done. She’s hoping that a summer of free room and board working with her aunt at the Willow Inn will help her forget. Except there’s a problem: the resident handyman is none other than Levi Andrews. The handsome quarterback was once her friend—and maybe more—until everything changed in a life-shattering instant. She was hoping to avoid him, possibly forever. Now he’s right down the hall and stirring up feelings Pixie thought she’d long buried…
Levi can’t believe he’s living with the one person who holds all his painful memories. More than anything he wants to make things right, but a simple “sorry” won’t suffice—not when the tragedy that scarred them was his fault. Levi knows Pixie’s better off without him, but every part of him screams to touch her, protect her, wrap her in his arms, and kiss away the pain. Yet even though she’s so close, Pixie’s heart seems more unreachable than ever. Seeing those stunning green eyes again has made one thing perfectly clear—he can’t live without her.
* * *
Coming Fall 2014
Jenna’s grandmother is dying. That’s nothing new. The old woman has been “dying” for over a decade. And people say Jenna is the drama queen in the family. Nevertheless, Jenna’s agreed to make the trip to New Orleans and say her farewells. But when her friend Jack invites himself along for the ride—sexy, infuriating Jack—Jenna realizes there’s a good chance she might die before her feisty grandmother.
Sure, Jack needs a ride to LSU. And sure, he likes driving Jenna insane with questions about her future. But the idea of his beautiful friend trekking across the country by herself actually worries him. So he calls “shotgun” and designates himself her bodyguard. But after a few hot nights on the road and too much exposure to Jenna’s wild side, Jack’s pretty sure the only body that needs guarding on this trip is his.
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Contents
Cover
Title Page
Welcome
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1: Kayla
Chapter 2: Daren
Chapter 3: Kayla
Chapter 4: Daren
Chapter 5: Kayla
Chapter 6: Daren
Chapter 7: Kayla
Chapter 8: Daren
Chapter 9: Kayla
Chapter 10: Daren
Chapter 11: Kayla
Chapter 12: Daren
Chapter 13: Kayla
Chapter 14: Daren
Chapter 15: Kayla
Chapter 16: Daren
Chapter 17: Kayla
Chapter 18: Daren
Chapter 19: Kayla
Chapter 20: Daren
Chapter 21: Kayla
Chapter 22: Daren
Chapter 23: Kayla
Chapter 24: Daren
Chapter 25: Kayla
Chapter 26: Daren
Chapter 27: Kayla
Chapter 28: Daren
Chapter 29: Kayla
Chapter 30: Daren
Chapter 31: Kayla
Chapter 32: Daren
Chapter 33: Kayla
Chapter 34: Daren
Chapter 35: Kayla
Chapter 36: Daren
Chapter 37: Kayla
Chapter 38: Daren
Chapter 39: Kayla
Chapter 40: Daren
Chapter 41: Kayla
Chapter 42: Daren
Chapter 43: Kayla
Chapter 44: Daren
Epilogue: Kayla
About the Author
A Preview of Right Kind of Wrong
An Excerpt from Best Kind of Broken
Also by Chelsea Fine
Praise for Best Kind of Broken
You Might Also Like…
Newsletters
Copyright
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2014 by Chelsea Lauterbach
Excerpt from Right Kind of Wrong copyright © 2014 by Chelsea Lauterbach
Excerpt from Best Kind of Broken copyright © 2014 by Chelsea Lauterbach
Cover design by Elizabeth Turner
Cover photography by Claudio Marinesco
Cover copyright © 2014 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.
All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
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First ebook edition: June 2014
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ISBN 978-1-4555-8314-0
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