Translation: She didn’t trust her parents not to destroy everything Roasters stood for in this community and all for a profit.
Her expression fell. “I’m sorry.” Embarrassment flooded her cheeks, realizing she’d said too much. “I have to get going.” She tipped her wrist, quickly glancing at the time on her watch. “Thanks, Eli. For everything.” Her expression faltered. “For everything you did for him.”
Everything and not enough.
“Of course,” I replied, wishing there was more I could do for her. “Are you sure you don’t want me to let Laurel know—”
“No. Please.” Her eyes flashed with such fierce determination I swayed back, seeing for the first time the fight that lay buried underneath all her finery. “I’ll… reach out to my cousin. Thank you,” she assured me and then, with a nod of goodbye to me and Mick—who’d remained suspiciously quiet and in the shadows this entire time—she turned to the door.
“Jules?”
She looked back to me.
“If you need anything…” I leveled her with the same hard stare Larry had been known to have—the one that left no room for argument.
“Thank you,” she murmured, the bell chiming once more as she let herself out.
My head tipped to the side, watching as she got into the driver’s side of a Rock Beach maintenance truck parked outside.
Had she always driven that?
More intriguing though, was why a woman whose family showed up in a black Rolls Royce to the funeral—one of their many expensive cars they flaunted when they came into town—had chosen to borrow a maintenance truck to come down here?
“You alright?” I turned back to Mick, folding my arms across my chest.
“Yeah.” He smiled though it felt as though his gaze lingered on a sight behind me rather than looking at me. “Why?”
I eyed him. “Almost forgot you were there for a minute,” I told him and then teased, “Not something that commonly happens.”
“Didn’t seem like it was any of my business.” He turned back toward the wall, lifting the table the espresso machine had been sitting on and moving it to the side.
I hummed but didn’t pry, instead asking as I approached him, “How’s it looking?”
“Like we’ve got a lot of work to do.”
Laurel
It was impossible to ignore the stares as I drove through town in my pap’s old Nissan truck on Monday morning. I saw the way their expressions turned from confusion and wonder, like maybe him dying had been a bad dream, to recognition and disappointment when they realized it was me inside the cab.
After my announcement at Roasters and the stony silent treatment I received on the drive home, I wasn’t about to ask Diane for a ride again.
And I definitely wasn’t going to bum a ride from Eli. Not after what happened on Saturday.
Digging through the junk drawer in my grandfather’s kitchen, I came across the spare keys to his truck, only to realize once in the driver’s seat, that they weren’t necessary when I saw the main set resting in the cup-holder of the unlocked vehicle.
Oh, Pap.
Of course, it didn’t start on the first attempt, and the only thing I knew about fixing cars was that I shouldn’t be the one doing it. After banging on the steering wheel a few times, I swore at the rust-covered pile of bolts, and then kept turning the key until the engine finally started from my sheer determination.
It wasn’t a miracle that the truck started. It was just God wanting to see what fate—or my pap—could possibly have in store for me next.
My shoulders sagged when I finally turned into the small drive next to Roasters and parked in the back.
I’d debated whether I was going to come this morning, knowing it meant another interaction with a man my body didn’t know how to handle. But the way I saw it, if I was here, the process would move faster.
Pulling down the visor, I checked my appearance again in the mirror. I did the best I could to tame the unruly waves into a ponytail, but I hadn’t brought much with me, and without even a hairdryer at the house, any kind of cooperation was a miracle.
And as far as clothes, the selection aside from my two black suits was sadly slim. But then again, I thought I’d be back in L.A. and at work this morning. Instead, I was heading to a broken-down business I somehow owned.
So, I opted for denim overalls that loosely covered a more form-fitting white tee underneath, and my gray sneakers—the only other shoes I had. I figured I could get a solid three outfits out of these and another three with the regular pair of jeans I brought.
A week should be enough to get this place up to code.
With a sigh, I hopped down out of the truck and walked in the back door to the shop to be greeted by Eve’s surprised eyes.
“Hey.” I stepped cautiously into the storeroom at the back of the building. I remembered how she looked when I said I was going to sell the place yesterday and I wasn’t sure what response I was going to be in for now that it was just the two of us.
“Morning, Laurel,” she said with a shy smile that completely surprised me. Adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose, she pointed over her shoulder to the front of the shop. “They’re up front, about to start demo.”
I heard the faint rumble of male voices coming from that direction.
My eyes came back to Eve as she began to wipe down the large stove that sat back here opposite the shelves of storage on the other side. “What are you doing?”
She jumped a little and looked at me like I was telling her to stop.
“I just wanted to clean it. Not that anyone is going to be using it to roast the beans now…” Her explanation trailed off sadly. “I don’t have to, if you don’t want.” She looked at me, pushing a strand of hair back behind her eyes that escaped the long braid down her back.
It wasn’t worth it. It was just going to be sold.
But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her to stop. She looked like she needed to clean it, even if it was all for naught.
“No,” I declared with a steadying hand. “You can clean it. I just… I guess I didn’t know it was still being used.”
She nodded enthusiastically, rubbing the streaked cloth along the front edge of the stove again. “Oh yeah. Larry was back here at least once a week roasting beans; those were the days the lines out front were the longest,” she said with a small grin.
“Really?” I found myself asking. “Not the days when he made apple fritters?”
She sucked in a harsh breath and I knew I’d said something wrong. Crap.
“He hasn’t made those in a long time. I actually don’t know how long it’s been… I just know a lot of people ask for them but we only sell what we get from Josie over at the bakery.”
I shifted uncomfortably, delving my hands into my pockets as my gaze dropped to the floor. I didn’t know why I just assumed that nothing had changed around here since I left—like the town, the coffee shop stayed frozen in time without me here.
The silence stretched my heart muscles uncomfortably.
“I’m going to go see what the damage is,” I offered weakly and turned down the narrow hall toward the front room, lost in thought.
“Laurel—”
My sneakers squeaked to a stop when I almost ran into Eli again at the threshold of the cafe.
I sucked in a breath, feeling my breasts tingle at his closeness and the memory of our kiss. I licked over my lips, as though a memory could contain a taste.
“Hi,” I breathed out.
That kiss wasn’t as much of a memory as it was a haunting. It followed me everywhere like a shadow in my thoughts, reminding me of all the things I wanted to feel but was too afraid—too smart to.
Neither of us moved as lust charged the air, drawing me to him like a magnet, the emotion barraging against the invisible wall I’d tried to restore around my heart.
He was just a means to an end.
A new piece in the puzzle of my past.
And
wanting him wouldn’t solve any problems.
Still, he was the first to step back, desire dropping like spilled sand between us. A low rumble emitted from his chest as he rubbed a hand over his mouth with a muttered apology.
I guessed I wasn’t the only one trying to cage in what was between us.
Swallowing down the lump of desire in my throat, I noticed he had on the same work jeans as last time I saw him—the ones that fit like they were designer but were made to get down and dirty—along with a muscle-clinging, navy Madison Construction tee.
“Mornin’, Miss Laurel.” Mick’s voice, accompanied by his quirked grin appeared to my right.
I tore my eyes from Eli and greeted the friendly giant softly as he wiped his hands on his pants.
“So, what’s the damage? What’s the plan?” I crossed my arms over my chest, catching Eli’s gaze as it flicked to my pushed-up breasts. I should’ve dropped my arms. Instead, I couldn’t help but tighten them.
“Well, Mick is about to tear out that whole corner and the part of the ceiling where the leak is coming in from and see where we stand.” He gestured to the wall with one hand.
The giant’s grin grew as he picked up a sledgehammer and rested it on his shoulder; this was clearly one of his favorite parts of the job. “‘Bout to get loud and dusty in here for a bit. You may wanna scoot in the back until I’m done,” he suggested thoughtfully.
Eli looked over to me, expecting me to leave. I arched an eyebrow back at him. I just got here, and I wasn’t leaving until I knew just how big of a mess I was dealing with.
Strolling over to the other side of the room, I pushed the pile of picture frames down the counter and hopped on top, watching as Mick ran his fingers over the wall, marking his target before he swung.
The loud bang and subsequent crunch of drywall wasn’t as shocking as the pain that hammered into my chest or the way the air rushed from my lungs like Mick had hit me instead of his target. I shook it off. He wasn’t tearing the place down, for goodness sake; he was just exposing the problems.
“You okay?”
I turned, hearing Eli’s roughened voice beside me. His eyes told me he’d been watching me, rather than his friend and co-worker, and caught my reaction to the first strike of destruction.
“Yeah, fine,” I clipped out with admirable coolness. “Just wasn’t expecting it to be so loud is all.”
He nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. My fingers curled into the edge of the counter, remembering how it felt to curl them into him. And wanting to feel it again.
Warm. Strong. Unbreakable.
Mick began to pry off pieces of the wall, exposing more pipes and beams behind it. Meanwhile, Eli kept his attention on me —making my nipples harden into tight peaks and heat settle between my thighs into a coiled ache. I bit my lip, knowing I couldn’t rub them together without him seeing.
Without him knowing what he did to me.
I didn’t know what was worse—seeing desire or concern in his eyes. Maybe they were equally bad because I shouldn’t want either.
But I did… I ached for them both.
“So, they work for you? Or you work with them?” I asked, desperate for anything to think about other than my body’s reaction to him. “I see your shirt has their business name on it…
“Ahh… Yes. To it all,” he answered slowly. “I have my own business and they had their own construction thing going on down in Texas before they moved here, but that’s really just semantics; we work together for most projects.”
“I see.” I managed to cross my legs, relieving some discomfort. “Mostly restoring old buildings?”
He dragged a hand through his hair, sending a shiver down my spine. “Actually, a lot of new construction lately. New properties going up on the beach between here and Monterey,” he informed me, resting one of his trim hips against the counter only a few inches from my thigh.
“But you were a barista here before that?” I looked over at him with my head tilted to the side. I didn’t miss his little slip and it made me wonder what a contractor was doing brewing coffee for a living.
A nostalgic grin curved handsomely up one side of his face. “Yeah. I worked here for a bunch of years paying off my debt to your grandfather.”
My clammy hand slipped off the counter as I turned to him, recovering quickly and wiping my palm on the top of my thigh. “Debt?”
The racket Mick made faded in favor of my heart thudding in my ears.
He winced, his smile turning bittersweet at the memory.
“I came to Carmel with nothing but the clothes on my back. Hitchhiked down here on a delivery truck,” he drawled slowly and I watched the muscles in his jaw flex and release as he spoke. “If you haven’t noticed, Larry doesn’t lock anything around here. A habit not even the daily news could break him of.”
“Yeah, like his truck,” I grumbled under my breath and we shared a small laugh.
It wasn’t much, and my heart hurt with the effort, but it was the kind of hurt that felt good—like exercising a muscle to make it stronger.
“He wouldn’t even let me install security cameras,” he continued with a rougher tone, his expression pulling taut with regret. “I should’ve just done it anyway. Maybe then we’d have a lead on who broke in and did this…”
My heart flexed even tighter, watching a man I’d only ever seen be sensible and decisive falter under guilt for something that wasn’t his decision; he wasn’t responsible for my pap’s choices.
“It’s not your fault,” I told him, as though my consolation would help.
He sucked in a harsh breath and the turmoil in his eyes grew worse.
See? My brain chided over the protest in my chest. Don’t get involved.
Taking a steadying breath, I retraced my steps back to where the conversation started and asked again, “So, why were you in his debt?”
Eli shifted his weight, giving me an even better view I did not need of his ass flexed against his jeans. His grin didn’t return, but the tension began to drain from his features.
“I came here with nothing and even though I’d applied to a few places for jobs, I was out of money and hungry. So, when I realized nothing in this place was locked, I started taking money from the cash drawer to buy food. I may have also taken a few pastries along the way.”
“You stole from him?” I gasped so loudly even Mick paused from his work.
Eli took one look at the expression on my face and let out an unexpected bark of laughter—for him and me. Maybe it should have insulted me, but instead, my chest swelled seeing his face light up with a smile. He might not be superman, but that smile could certainly save the day.
“Yeah,” he admitted, chuckling. Then, meeting Mick’s curious stare, he hollered, “Get back to work.”
“Sorry.” I cleared my throat. “Did you… did you just admit to stealing? From my grandfather?” I demanded in disbelief. “And then he hired you?”
Maybe my pap was crazy.
“For about three weeks.” He nodded. “I kept a record of everything I took; I was going to pay it back.” I shot him an ‘I’m sure’ smirk. “And he didn’t stop me until the morning I decided to try and make myself a shot of espresso before heading out.”
“What do you mean didn’t stop you?” My whole body was turned toward him now, one knee pulled up on the counter, eager to hear the rest of his story.
“He knew I was stealing the whole time.” Of course, he did. “Caught me staring at Pavi that morning, deep in thought as I was trying to decide which button would turn the damn thing on. He came up behind me and, after doing that disapproving throat-clearing thing he does.” I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. “Said I could take all his money, but when it came to touching his espresso machine, that was where he had to draw the line.”
I looked over my shoulder at that very machine where it sat on the counter, battered and well-used. Pavi had served a lot of coffee over many lifetimes. Forget being a fly on the wa
ll, I wanted to be that machine—to see the things it had, to hear the stories told over the cups of coffee it had made… to have witnessed this story…
“I apologized and showed him my tally of everything I owed him, promising to pay him back as soon as I could find a job,” he continued, turning fully toward me, our faces only inches apart. “It wasn’t much, just enough for food and a few things. So, he told me he could either turn me in to the police or he could show me how to work Pavi properly, and I could make coffee until my debt was paid.”
That was definitely my pap—always giving people chances to do better for themselves. To turn mistakes into something meaningful.
“So, that’s what you did,” I concluded, dragging my tongue over my lip before pulling it into my mouth. “But why would no one hire you?”
His brow furrowed in confusion.
“You said you went on interviews for weeks. Why did no one hire you?” I clarified, wondering how a guy who seemed to be so well-known and revered in this town had stayed jobless.
His face shadowed.
“I didn’t have a resume. I’d worked odd-jobs in construction ever since I was… young. But I was always paid off the books. When I came here, I was an outsider. A homeless nobody. I had dirty clothes and showered at the public showers by the beach.” He cleared his throat. Meanwhile, desperate words lodged in my throat to know more—to know what happened to him.
Why was he homeless?
Where was his family?
Why did he come here?
Questions I had no business asking of a man whose acquaintance was only a temporary fixture in my life.
“I had no records or proof of my experience. There were too many other candidates who did have all that and looked the part. No one took the time on me… until Larry,” he ended quietly.
I couldn’t stop the way my heart swelled against my chest that felt five sizes too small. Because love was our legacy. Air rushed into my lungs and it tasted salty and cool, just like it had the night my pap told me that.
I shuddered. He knew how to be there for everyone except himself.
Love wasn’t my legacy. Not anymore.
A small curse escaped as Eli pushed away from the counter and stalked over to Mick.
Beholden: A Small-Town Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 1) Page 11