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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Wow,” she gasped, her attention shifting to the state of Roasters’ resurrection. “It looks…

  “Empty?” I offered with a small laugh.

  “I was going to say whole,” she replied, underscoring our different personalities. I was perpetually skeptical while she had an unwavering candle of hope. “I can’t believe it looks like this… after what happened, I wasn’t sure it was going to make it.” Her eyes snapped to mine. “Do you know anything? Do they know who was responsible?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve reached out to the police several times, but all they’ve done is ask if anything was taken, and when I tell them no, they tell me the investigation can’t be a priority until then.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “So strange,” she muttered, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

  I nodded. It was.

  Who broke in somewhere just to destroy the place?

  “Eli’s been on the phone with Covington Security a few times this week,” I went on, trying to give her some measure of hope. And myself. “They’re looking into a few leads, but nothing concrete has turned up.”

  Eli promised he’d tell me as soon as they found something solid. Until then, speculation was just one more uncertainty to unsteady my life.

  “I’m sure they’ll find something.” Her brave smile was similar to my own—weighing heavy with perseverance rather than blind courage. “I’m just glad to see it like this,” she returned to a more hopeful topic.

  “It’s not done. We’re painting next week and then redoing the counter area. I have to get furniture and the pictures back up. Oh, and the coffee. Can’t forget about that.”

  “It’s going to be amazing, Laurel,” she murmured with genuine admiration. “Pap would be so happy… so proud.”

  My eyes averted, still hesitant to believe that. Clearing my throat, I rambled for the next few minutes to tell her all the things that had been ripped apart, repaired, and restored. Meanwhile, she devoured the apple pastry with a satisfied sigh.

  As I spoke, the diffuse despair tattooed in her eyes lightened. And what started as a casual conversation, a small thing, turned into something larger when I saw how it eased the troubles she’d come here with.

  I went through the paints I’d chosen, the fabric for the bench and the curtains, and my ideas for the new furniture. And for that half an hour, time reversed. We chatted about the future of Roasters like we hadn’t lost over a decade in our relationship… our friendship…

  Like we both hadn’t lost at all.

  “I think the blue and lavender is the best; lavender was Gram’s favorite color,” Jules said with a gentle smile, pointing to the soft plaid I’d picked out for the bench cushion and the window treatments.

  “Yeah.” I smiled back. “She would love it.”

  “Remember when we were little, how on Sundays, she let us use soapy cloths like skates to skate around the floor in here to clean it?” Her eyes lit with the memory and we both laughed, recalling how it turned the room into a giant skating rink of suds.

  And then her laughter broke off, sadness crashing on to her features.

  “Laurel… I called because I needed to tell you the truth.” She drew a staggered breath before she continued and leveled the conversation with an unexpected bomb, “I never got your letters.”

  My head shook in confusion and shock. “What? How? Did I send them—”

  “No.” She waved a hand, brushing away any suggestion that it was my fault.

  “My parents…” Her head fell for a second and then returned with a strange mix of emotions in her eyes. “I just never got them. Even if I had, I doubt they would have let me…” She shuddered. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t get them. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you at your parents’ funeral; mine thought it would be too traumatic.”

  My skin crawled. Her parents had been the roadblock in our relationship.

  I wished I could say I was surprised by her revelation, but I wasn’t. I’d never liked my aunt Jackie or my uncle Rich. Not their character. Not their priorities. But mostly, I hated how they treated Jules—like she was only there to serve whatever purpose they deemed important.

  “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.” I reached across the table to squeeze her hand; she shouldn’t have to apologize. “I mean, it’s not okay…what they did. But it’s not your fault.”

  “I should’ve done something. I should’ve spoken up.” Her lip quivered as she shook her head in strained self-loathing. “They’ve always made my choices. They’ve always spoken for me. And now…”

  “Jules, what’s going on?” I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out. “You can tell me…”

  Her expression shuttered and she pulled her hand back from mine, clasping hers in front of her.

  “I’m sorry for my outburst the other day. I just… life isn’t how I thought it would be, you know?”

  Oh, did I know…

  “I miss him,” she admitted quietly. “I miss Pap. He always had answers.”

  “Why don’t I make us some coffee?” I offered suddenly, feeling like that was what the moment needed. Something warm and familiar and safe.

  I’d had coffee several times since the cup Eli had made, but this was the first time I was making it on this machine—the first time in a long time.

  As the trusty electronics rumbled to life, I asked over my shoulder, “What answers did he have?”

  She stayed silent for long moments, her thoughts brewing just as strong as the espresso grounds before they finally began to drip out. “Pap was helping me… figure out a different path for my life.”

  My brow furrowed. “But I thought you said…”

  She’d seemed so confident at the resort the other day that Rock Beach was her life and her future and she looked like she was ready to play the part in its continued growth.

  “I know.” Her eyes were sharp as they shot up to meet mine. “I said that because I didn’t know who was listening.”

  My hands froze on the knobs as I turned to her with wide eyes. I’d thought our conversation the other day held a strange vibe, but now, that vibe was a blaring siren.

  “Jules… what is going on? What do you mean who was listening?” I pushed gently.

  She ignored my question, staring past me like she was talking to someone invisible over my shoulder. “For the longest time, I couldn’t go see him. My mom, well, you know how they don’t… get along. It was clear that visiting him would be a betrayal against her… against them.” She shuddered as her arms crossed in front of her. “And if I wanted to do something else with my life, something different than work at the resort, that would be a betrayal, too.”

  The turmoil she felt reverberated in each word. Her parents made it impossible for her to love herself and them at the same time. They’d given her everything she never wanted and to turn from it, I was sure, they would take as nothing short of complete betrayal.

  “I don’t want to disappoint them, Laurel,” she said softly. “They’re my parents and I love them. I just don’t… love this.”

  I searched for words, realizing I hadn’t even been paying attention to what I was doing, my hands working the machine from a very old habit I thought was long lost.

  “It’s not a betrayal to do what makes you happy, Jules.” My voice wavered with emotion, the memory of that night out on the cliff assaulting me like a wave crashing on the shore. “You aren’t obligated to them. Those who support you, should support whatever decision you make, not guilt you into doing what seems right. There are a million and one ways to do good in this world, Jules. Following in your parent’s footsteps isn’t the only one.”

  And I believed them. Not just for her. But for me.

  “You sound just like him. That’s exactly what Pap told me,” she murmured with a soft smile that was both wistful and sad, taking the cappuccino from my hand. “And, I guess, leaving is what made you happy?”

  Dark
liquid pooled in the bottom of my mug. Like the espresso, most of my life had been pressured and scalded by the hot water of loss forced on me. But who I was, was still there. The grinds of what remained of my life still able to produce something strong, something good, something better because of what I’d been put through.

  I took a moment before I answered, pouring the steamed milk into the coffee. “Leaving is what made me less sad.” Back then…

  “And what about now?”

  I took a sip, thinking it would give me a reprieve to decide how to answer.

  I couldn’t admit to being happier living in L.A. with the new life I’d built. It had been good. I was proud of what I accomplished. I was grateful for the space and strength it had given me to be able to move forward but also to come back.

  But I could no longer tell myself that leaving Carmel Cove again would make me less sad.

  “I was going to leave again,” I confessed. “But now, I’m worried that I’d be happier if I stayed…”

  I inhaled the warm, roasted aroma and looked around the space that held so many good memories. I didn’t want to leave it.

  “Why does that worry you?”

  I looked at her, wondering how a conversation I’d tried to focus on her had backfired on to me. “What if it’s not enough?” I asked, motioning to the space. “What if what I do here isn’t enough to make it whole? To bring Roasters back to what it was?”

  And that was only skimming the surface.

  There was a whole other part of me that wanted to stay because of a man who refused to leave. Leave my side. Leave my house. Leave my heart.

  She rested her hand on all the pictures and samples we’d been looking at, sprawled out along the counter.

  “What if you do?” she returned. “What if you make it better?”

  I swallowed hard. “Touché.”

  The foundation of this building was still strong, it had withstood trials and structural damages just like I had, but here it was, still standing, transforming, rising back up to become better than it was before.

  And that could be me. No, that was me.

  I might not be whole yet. But to get better, involved taking steps. Sometimes there were twelve steps. Sometimes twenty. Sometimes one hundred. But no matter how many there were, they were all in the same direction: forward.

  And forward for me this time around didn’t mean going back to Los Angeles.

  Forward was here. In Carmel Cove. At Roasters.

  With Eli.

  “Thank you.”

  Her head tipped to the side. “For what?”

  “For asking.” A smile flickered over my face as more weight began to rise from my shoulders like dense clouds off the sea. “You know, I think our last conversation all those years ago was about what I was going to do with my life…”

  “And look at where we ended up.”

  “I came here counting the days until I could leave but now…” I paused and swirled the last bit of coffee in the bottom of my mug. “I never expected I’d want to stay.”

  “I never expected I’d want to leave,” she countered so quietly I almost didn’t hear her.

  I knew she was talking about the resort as her smile faded and she set her empty cup on the counter.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “I want to go back to school. For nursing.” Her eyes dropped. “Pap was going to help me pay for it. He was helping me go through applications… but maybe this is all a sign that I shouldn’t pursue it. You’re staying for this family business; I should stay to help mine.”

  No, I was staying to follow my heart. She was staying because they’d left her no choice.

  She shuddered and I never realize how such a slight movement could seem so scary. Like a baby doll in a horror movie—something so innocent should never be so terrifying.

  “Why can’t you leave?” I pressed, my heart thudding in my chest.

  “Where would I go?” she replied simply. Brokenly. “I have no money of my own, no college education, obviously, no friends, no family—” I grunted and she sheepishly conceded that the last was no longer true. “They want me there. It’s what they’ve groomed me for.”

  There was that shudder again.

  “Even if I did leave, what would I do? Where would I go?” she asked with a broken, bitter laugh.

  She’d said enough for me to realize what her life was like now. My beautiful, vibrant cousin had become a prisoner in her own home. Maybe not quite with a cell and locks and keys. Maybe not with shackles and guards. But with lack of knowledge, lack of friends or family as a support system, and most importantly, lack of belief in herself.

  And I’d never seen chains so imprisoning.

  Disbelief stunned my speech and rage thundered through my body.

  “How did this happen?”

  It was so painful to see how someone who’d always been so determined had ended up in a life like this.

  “Slowly,” she said carefully, her hands turning to ice in mine. “Like most horrors that happen in the world, it starts with small, palatable infringements—like going to private school, like being kept from your parents’ funeral. A prison isn’t built overnight. It’s built brick by brick until one day, you decide to go for a walk outside and realize there are bars on every horizon and there’s no way out.”

  “Jules…” My chest tightened as all the air drained from it.

  “Pap had been my way out.” His death hadn’t just been a loss of her past, but also a loss of her future.

  “Well, I’m here now,” I said forcefully, demanding that my voice be steady. “And I’m not going anywhere. We can figure something out. You could stay with me. Maybe you could work here—” I broke off before I got lost in profuse suggestions. “We’ll figure this out. Both of us. Together.”

  When she looked back at me, her mask of China-doll-like composure was back. Pained and pristine.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just emotional with him gone.” She shook her head, defeated. “Pap was the only person I had left… the only one who would know what to do.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed. “I might not know what to do, but Pap wasn’t… isn’t the only person you have anymore.”

  What else could I do?

  What else could I say except let her know that I was here to help?

  “It’s not for you to worry about. Not right now.” Her hands disentangled from mine. Her whole body protested the truth she’d just admitted. “It’s been this way for a long time and maybe now that Pap’s gone I’m making everything worse than it is.”

  “Jules—”

  “Please, Laurel,” she insisted tightly, clearly rattled by our discussion. “I’m really fine. I’m just still processing it all.” Her eyes dropped down to her wrist where her smartwatch lit up with the time. “I have to go. I can’t be late for dinner.”

  “I’m not leaving,” I repeated as I followed her to the door. The words sounded far more comfortable on my tongue than the opposite. “I’m going to be here and you know my door is always open, just like his was.” I reached for her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug whether she was prepared for it or not. “Whatever you need, Jules, you never have to ask. That’s what family is for.”

  I wanted to do more for her as I watched her walk out of the building, but it was nearly impossible to help someone who didn’t want to be helped. All I could do is let her know that whatever she decided, I would be here for her.

  Josie was right. Sometimes, the most important thing you can give is your presence… your time. Your unfailing effort.

  And for now, being there would have to be enough until Jules was ready to ask for more.

  Eli

  “You want some help with those, sweetheart?” My hands came to rest gently on Laurel’s hips as she leveled one of the picture frames on the wall.

  “I think…” Her eyes scrunched, eyeing it up and tipping it this way, then that until she was satisfied. “I’m good.”

 
She stepped back into me, her ass pressing against my cock that was already uncomfortable in my jeans—a common occurrence around her, especially when she was in those yoga pants.

  “Looks great.” We both took in the sight of the wall holding a single photograph. A wall that had seen every stage of dismantlement and repair in the last month was finally back together, painted, and held the very first frame.

  I wasn’t sure we’d get this far this week, but something changed for Laurel after we’d gone to the opening of Ash’s restaurant, Larry’s Lookout. Not changed. Something that was already there, grew stronger.

  When Ash honored Larry by dedicating the business to him, the determination Laurel had to set this place to rights magnified tenfold, and she’d worked tirelessly to get everything cleaned and sanded and painted so that the very first frame could be replaced on the walls which had sat empty for too long.

  Roasters was slowly coming back together—slowly coming back to life. Just like Laurel.

  “I left the level in the back,” she said, turning out of my arms. “I’ll be right back.”

  I nodded and tried to keep my smile from cracking. “Want a coffee?”

  She shook her head. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

  Something else had changed for Laurel. Something that made my heart thump a little harder with fear when she pulled away from me like this.

  It was subtle, the way she held herself back. As though she’d reached the end of her rope, flinching back as the tether reminded her not to get too attached. But only to me.

  “I’ll take one, if you’re offering,” Mick added from the other side of the room, putting the finishing touches on the new countertop that had been installed yesterday.

  With a sigh, I walked over to the espresso machine that had been fueling us all week.

  “You alright?” he asked with a low voice, pausing from his work.

  I hesitated before murmuring over the low hum of the machine. “Just worried about her.”

  “She’s doing better, Eli,” he replied sincerely. “We all see it. Sad, of course. But who the hell still isn’t?”