Beholden: A Small-Town Standalone Romance (Carmel Cove Book 1)

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  A pre-sex, prenuptial agreement that when everything was sorted, we would part ways.

  I would leave and he would stay.

  I waited for it—the chastising regret that should have come. When it didn’t, I even searched it out. Going through all of the thoughts that should have sprung unbidden in my mind and crippled my heart.

  What were you thinking, Laurel?

  You’re too emotional to be sleeping with anyone.

  You’re leaving this town, you shouldn’t get involved with anyone, especially the man who is captain of the community that wants you to stay.

  “Good morning,” the sexy rasp was only outdone by the sight of the bare muscled chest it came from. The sheet slipped down over my chest as I sucked in an appreciative breath.

  My mouth dried watching his eyes drop to my breasts where my nipples poked against the sheet, awoken by his attention and eager for his touch.

  “Morning.” My voice was unintentionally low and sultry.

  I scooted to the side of the bed, carefully leaning over to grab my tee from off the floor. Giving him a generous view of side boob, I tugged it over my head.

  “How’d you sleep?” He had one shoulder propped on the doorframe, watching me intently while I finished dressing. Only then did I stop and drink in the sight of him. Stacked muscles ornamented with strands of veins, culminating in a pair of boxer briefs, pulled tight over his thick erection trapped against his thigh.

  My mouth parted, the hunger in my stomach fading for a much lower, more ravenous ache. “Good,” I choked out, rising from the bed. “How about you?”

  “Don’t think I’ve ever slept so good.” There was a lightness to his tone but the headiness in his eyes sent a shiver down my spine. I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from agreeing with him. “It was nice to wake up next to you, rather than being attacked by you.”

  I huffed but couldn’t stop my smile, any lingering awkwardness after last night completely fading away. “It was only a whisk.” I let my eyes drag over him to make a point. “It would take a lot more to damage you.”

  He smirked. “I made coffee and French toast is in the oven.”

  “French toast?” My stomach rumbled with excitement.

  “My mom’s favorite,” he confessed. “I made it a lot.”

  My throat tightened. Always a steady support.

  “Coffee and breakfast on top of incredible sex,” I drawled lightly, arching my eyebrow, and teased, “You wouldn’t be trying to convince me to stay, would you?”

  It was a joke—and I hoped that my smile said as much as I went to scoot around him, but I didn’t make it very far. One arm shot out and hooked around my waist, pulling me to the side until I was pinned between the wall and his body.

  “Coffee and breakfast because you had an exhausting night,” he growled, his eyes warming me right down to my toes. “If I wanted to convince you to stay, I’d haul your sweet ass right back to that bed where the only thing you’ll want to say to me is yes.” He pushed his hard length against my stomach, and I felt a rush of moisture seep between my thighs.

  “You think I’m easily swayed by sex?” I taunted, ignoring the truth. It was hard to think about leaving the bed, let alone this town, when he had me in his arms.

  He chuckled and leaned in close to my ear. “I think it’s much simpler than that, sweetheart. Hard for you to go anywhere when my cock is buried nice and deep inside you.”

  I choked on my desire as he stepped away from me with a confident grin, leaving only the wall to support my shaking legs.

  It wasn’t simpler. It was far more complex, and we both knew it.

  “I’m on the pill.”

  He acknowledged me with a small nod. “I’ve never been with someone without using protection before.”

  I gulped, comforted with confirmation of what my brain already believed. “I haven’t either,” I confessed softly, averting my eyes as I added, “But somehow all my walls seem to crumble around you.”

  Last night was more than sex. Last night, I’d let him in, not only in my body, but into the parts of my heart and soul I’d kept private for so long. And this morning, I’d woken sore and sated and in the safe haven of his arms. A place where nothing could hurt me. And it felt good.

  Too good.

  And I’d realized too late what I’d done. I’d opened the door to feeling. But that door wasn’t discriminatory. I couldn’t pick and choose which emotions to let in. Now that it was open, I couldn’t stop them from piling in and stretching the poorly-patched seams of my battered heart.

  I followed him into the kitchen a few seconds later, watching as he filled our mugs.

  “If I didn’t know him… if I didn’t see him roast them… I’d swear Larry roasted his beans with some sort of drug to make them so damn good.” He stared at the coffee as he spoke.

  “Did he…” I trailed off.

  The shake of his head stayed my heart. “I did this batch.”

  I didn’t hesitate when he handed me the mug. I knew the risks… how a small thing like a sip of coffee could trigger such a response. Especially now, when I felt more vulnerable than before. But this morning, I wasn’t afraid of whatever memories came. Because he was here. Because he’d stayed. Because I wasn’t alone.

  I took a sip and it was bittersweet in every sense of the word.

  “How do I move on?” I asked with a small voice, staring into the dark abyss. “I don’t know how to move on.”

  And I needed to move on. I needed to move on if I was going to be able to let go.

  Eli stared at me for a long, strained second before setting his mug down and flattening his palms on the counter.

  “Do you trust me?”

  He’d asked the question before in different scenarios. But no matter what changed about the circumstances, I found my answer never changed.

  “Yes.”

  “Spend the day with me,” he demanded.

  My pulse stuttered. We’d just slept together, but somehow this request felt more intimate.

  “There’s nothing for us to do at Roasters. There’s nothing left for you to clean here.” He extended an arm in show, but I didn’t need to look to know I’d scrubbed every inch of this house to the point where we could lick our coffee off the floor without concern. “Spend the day with me, Laurel.”

  “Doing what?” I held my breath, knowing it somehow held the answer to my original question.

  How did I move on?

  “Remembering.”

  I drew in a long breath, heat flooding my body.

  He wanted to help me even if it meant making it easier for me to walk away. Protective and selfless. And I trusted him, though my heart hammered that it was something more.

  “Okay…” I agreed, but then added, “As long as you promise you won’t spend it convincing me to stay.”

  Old habits, like heartaches, died hard…

  “Why fashion?” Eli drew my attention away from the water as we walked along the beach, trying to burn off some of the calories we’d just devoured in the form of two Mediterranean sandwiches we’d grabbed for lunch.

  I’d expected our morning to take a somber stroll down memory lane, but the last few hours had been anything but.

  Our first stop after leaving the house this morning was to pick up donuts to take over to the Blooms’ house—a non-profit rehabilitation center for women escaping domestic violence. It was run by Eve’s older siblings and all the women were so grateful for the donut delivery—even if there had been one or two missing from the box.

  Apparently, that was a common occurrence since my grandfather used to do the same thing.

  From there, we’d picked up flowers for Ash’s new restaurant from the flower shop on Ocean Avenue, Fleurations. The owner, Isla, gave me a bouquet of purple tulips for Roasters. I wanted to tell her the place first needed walls before it could use flowers, but she insisted.

  Apparently, my grandfather bought purple tulips every week to put in the front w
indow.

  Purple tulips were my grandmother’s favorite… and mine.

  When we arrived at the unopened restaurant, Ash gave us the grand tour, though Eli was already familiar with the place, revealing the details of his struggle with addiction and how my grandfather helped him. Guilt niggled at my stomach, reminding me that it was going to be dedicated to my grandfather when it opened this coming weekend.

  And that I was still in town if I wanted to go.

  But not even Taylor mentioned it, keeping our conversation casual and warmly gushing about how her pregnancy was going.

  From there, Eli made a stop at Roasters just to appease me, seeing how I’d stared at it the several times we’d driven by.

  George had finished with the one set of pipes, so Mick and Miles were back on task getting the drywall into place. It was the first time something was being put back together rather than taken apart.

  A small thing, but a big thing.

  Eli took my hand when we left, clasping it tight in his as we walked down the main street toward the ocean. He pointed out the new shops, the new businesses, things that had changed over the years. Over the time I’d been gone.

  It felt… normal.

  Being here. With him.

  And feeling normal in Carmel Cove was not normal; it hadn’t been for a long time.

  “It was by accident. I never knew what I wanted to do,” I admitted. “Jules… she was always set on being a nurse, but me…” I shrugged, recalling the young, determined version of my cousin. “I was always drifting. And without anything tying me here, I went to school for business management and then drifted to fashion. Guess that just goes to show how much life can change. I ended up in fashion and she ended up at Rock Beach…”

  Neither of us where we belonged.

  I shouldn’t have continued, but somewhere along the way Eli had steadily and stubbornly worked his way inside my defenses to the point where it hurt more to hold it back, than it did to let go.

  “That’s a lie,” I confessed, feeling his eyes lock on me. “I wasn’t always drifting.” I stared out at the water; we were close enough to where the waves reached my bare toes. “I made my parents coffee that night because I wanted to tell them I’d decided to stay. That I wanted to be a part of Roasters even though I knew I didn’t have to be. And then…”

  I didn’t have to finish. We both knew how that night had ended.

  “It was because of him,” I went on.

  “Your grandfather?”

  I nodded. “He’d told me to follow my heart, no matter where it took me. And when I told him my heart led me back there… to take over the business.” I paused and let out a rueful but strained laugh. “He shook his head and said he thought I was going to be the first one to escape the crazy coffee gene.”

  I felt his small chuckle next and realized he’d moved closer to me.

  “How do I move on, Eli?” I turned to him, pleading.

  The breeze that had been a constant companion for the entire walk settled suddenly.

  He reached up and brushed a finger over my cheek, and that was when I realized I was crying.

  Grief, like life—like love—affected everyone differently. For some, it was as sudden and as loud as a clap of lightning. For others, it was a steady symphony of sadness, the notes building to a crescendo and tapering off.

  But for me, as tears began to leak down my cheeks one after another, Eli catching each and every one along the way, grief was like the sea. It ebbed and flowed patiently at my shore, unabashed about its enormous depths, promising in its calm, and simply waited for me to be ready to step in.

  To sink into it.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, shaking my head.

  “Don’t,” he swore. “Don’t ever apologize for this. For you. Don’t ever apologize for giving me more of you.”

  My chest caved. He made it sound like ‘all of me’ was the equivalent of the greatest treasure in the world.

  My voice trembled. “I don’t know how to move on.”

  The crushing sorrow might have broken me if not for him.

  Eli.

  My lighthouse in the middle of the storm. He was still here. He was always here. I watched his heartbeat thudding against his throat, a constant reminder that I wasn’t alone right now. It was a subtle and steady, I’m here, I’m here.

  And I clung to it.

  Eli’s lips pulled tight as he scanned my face. “This isn’t about moving on,” he finally replied. “Do people move on from having a baby? At a first birthday or a fifth birthday, do people ask a parent when they are going to ‘move on’ from the birth of a loved one?”

  My head shook.

  “So, why do we have to move on when we lose a loved one?” he rasped, his fingers gentle as they continued to sweep over my cheeks. “Laurel, who you are today holds so many pieces of your grandfather. I don’t think grief is ever about moving on from those pieces. It’s about moving forward.”

  I shivered and stepped closer to him.

  “It’s about moving forward and carrying him with you with each step. His memories. His advice. His legacy. His love.”

  My shoulders began to shake as I waded in deeper.

  ‘Our legacy isn’t coffee, Laurel. Our legacy is love.’

  “And that love is never lost. It just sometimes changes form.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair back behind my ear, the simplest expression of care making my knees weak. “And I learned that when I came here and stole from a cranky old man who made me take a good hard look at the man I was becoming.”

  “Yeah?” I matched his small smile.

  “When my mom died, I lost the only family I had. I’d taken care of her… of us… for years and suddenly, I was alone. I was homeless. I had no purpose. I thought my love died with her.”

  My chest lurched. I had no trouble imagining the good man standing beside me having to be a good man before he was done being a boy.

  “And then, being here, I realized I could still love her every time I helped someone—every time I used those parts of me shaped by my time with her. It was the same love, just in a different form.”

  Reaching up, I curled my fists into his shirt. The world around us fell away. It was only him and me. Loss and love. Heartache and hope.

  “How was he?” I asked, needing to know. Needing to hear it from the man who’d known my pap best. “After I left…”

  His eyes flashed with concern, hesitation making his jaw tick.

  “You can tell me, Eli,” I begged. “I can handle it. I need to handle it.”

  There was a shift in the tide, and it seemed like even the ocean stilled, waiting with bated breath until the rumble of that warm, smoky voice spilled out over the world.

  “He was broken, Laurel.” There was a break where my heart matched the tempoed tic of his jaw. “I don’t know if there are degrees of broken when it comes to loss like that. His wife. His son. You. I think Larry Ocean was the kind of man who wasn’t broken until he was. But he was also the kind of man, from a generation, who wouldn’t break no matter how broken he was on the inside.”

  Even the ocean wouldn’t break as he spoke. Just like my pap, it remained perfectly still, unwavering with unmatched fortitude and a darkness buried leagues below the surface.

  “He still did all the same things. The gym. The donuts. Everything at Roasters. But after you left, he threw everything he had into helping others heal… because that was the only way for him to still love you. But behind the selfless smoke and mirrors was still a man with a broken heart—a man who wouldn’t lean on any of us for help.”

  My throat felt swollen shut with the guilt and grief.

  “Leaving was what you had to do to be okay. He knew that.” He forced my gaze to his. He forced me to listen to this part, too. “He knew if you had stayed, it would’ve destroyed you. And to be there, watching as it destroyed you… that would’ve killed him long before now.”

  And then, I was over the edge—an edge I’d clu
ng to with everything I had because there was no one at the bottom to catch me. Until now.

  Until Eli.

  Suddenly. Unexpectedly. At the edge of the ocean. I crumpled against the wave of sorrow.

  “I didn’t want to hurt him.” I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to hold myself together. I was lost. Completely and utterly adrift. Tears blinded my eyes and my sobs choked my throat.

  “I was so hurt, so stubborn,” I rambled as my head turned weakly against his hands, my eyes squeezing shut in pain. “I was so wrong… so wrong. I never told him, Eli. I never told him…”

  “Never told him what?” he whispered against my hair as his warmth soaked right through the cold that grief wrought over my body.

  “I just…” I sucked in air like it was my last breath. If it was, I was okay with that. I was okay with nothing else after this as long as one person knew the truth before I was gone. “That I loved him. That I never should have left. Now, he’ll never know.”

  And with that, the last of my shields fell. The last of my protection, the final vestiges of my walls were gone. My heart was open and raw, all the missing pieces of it finally exposed.

  “Oh, Laurel… he knows, sweetheart. He knows.”

  The next few minutes, or maybe longer, was a blur. Like standing outside in the middle of a hurricane and trying to see the path fifty feet in front of you, only I was the hurricane and Eli was the only part of the path I could feel underneath me, against me.

  He held me as sob after sob tore out of my chest. I bled my grief onto him. All the hurt and sadness that I’d held in, all the pain and hollowness I’d buried, everything I’d run from so it wouldn’t break me—it all broke over me now.

  I laid it all on him and he never let go.

  I didn’t know how long it took, how long it should take, for a decade of sadness and regret to bleed from one’s soul. But by the time I stopped crying, his shirt was wetter than my cheeks and my stomach hurt from how forcefully I’d been crying.

  It took even longer before I was finally breathing rather than choking in air. Too much sadness for such a small person, it seemed. Truthfully, I wasn’t even sure it was all out or if my body just ran out of tears to continue.