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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  “Thank you.” The unspoken ‘But I’m not ready for your help yet,’ sitting heavy in the air. “We can talk about it later.” When my eyes narrowed, she added, “I promise. Today is about you and Roasters.” She nodded over to where Eli was waiting for me to flip the sign on the front door and open it to the crowd of people waiting outside. “Go, enjoy.”

  “We will talk about it later,” I said, leveling her with a serious stare.

  I hugged the Covington brothers and the Madison twins on my way to the front of the room, reaching Eli with a happy sigh.

  “So proud of you, sweetheart,” he growled before claiming a quick kiss.

  “Thank you for not pushing me… and not giving up on me.”

  “You’re not the only stubborn one around here,” he remarked, wryly.

  I laughed, pulling us toward the front door.

  Pulling his head down to mine for one last kiss, I murmured against his lips, “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” I didn’t just hear his words, I felt them. I felt all of him. His strength and love wrapped around me in a way that I never thought I’d feel safe enough to experience.

  Losing someone that you love can change your world. It can change your perspective about who and what is important in life. But in the same way, falling in love can do the same things. I couldn’t say if it was rose-colored, but when I looked at the world here, I no longer saw possible tragedy, I only saw possible love.

  I flipped the sign that had shown ‘Closed’ for months now to ‘Open’ and pulled the door wide. The rush of people was nothing compared to the rush of love that infused every last inch of the space.

  This was my home.

  How strange that my parents were gone, my grandparents were gone, and yet, I didn’t feel any less like a part of a family. My family.

  Roasters was never about the building. What made it important wasn’t the new pipes or perfect walls. It wasn’t its location or its coffee. It was the people inside it. It was the Oceans. It was Eli. It was Jules and Diane. It was Eve and Mick and Josie. It was Miles and the Covington brothers. It was the people of Carmel who became family when they walked through the door.

  Love is not a thing. Love is an energy. It cannot be destroyed.

  Even if the building had been taken from me… at some point, even if these people were taken from me. Love—their love, my love—could not be taken.

  Love is not beholden to circumstances like loss or death. Love is beholden to the brave. To those who fight to give it and those vulnerable enough to accept it.

  And, as I watched the community file in through the front door that had been closed for months, watched them greet each other with smiles and happy tears, grabbing cups of coffee from the counter where Eve couldn’t replenish them fast enough, I realized I was beholden to love.

  We all were.

  Laurel

  Five months later

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” My head tipped and I squinted at Eli from across the table.

  The post-work rush at Roasters had just cleared through and we were sharing our daily afternoon coffee together before heading home and letting Eve close up.

  “Just waiting for you to finish your coffee.”

  I hummed, glancing down at the few more sips of dark liquid left in the bottom of the mug. “You know I like to savor it.”

  His eyes twinkled as they met mine, spreading warmth through my body.

  I liked to savor everything about these little moments. Quiet moments in my coffee shop in my hometown with the man I loved, surrounded by the people who’d become my family over the last several months.

  Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can.

  Staying wasn’t the easy choice.

  Real loss wasn’t like the movies. It wasn’t one scene of heart-tearing and gut-wrenching breakdown that completely cleansed my sorrow, allowing me to live happily in the next moment. No, I still hurt. I still missed him with every fiber of my being. But I was still moving forward.

  Some days, that sorrow made it hurt. Some days, friendship and family made it flourish. But every day, love made it worth it.

  “Well, I’d like to savor you at some point tonight,” he grumbled and I chuckled even as I felt my cheeks heat.

  “In our new bed?” I arched an eyebrow.

  After fixing up Roasters, Eli and the Madison brothers had been busy with new housing projects all along the coast, but finally, they’d had a break which meant their focus had shifted to our house. My grandfather’s house.

  We didn’t change much—We didn’t change its character. But they fixed up a lot that had been neglected and made some additions, including the extra bedroom. We hadn’t talked much about kids yet, but there was an unspoken understanding that marriage and a family was where we were heading.

  “Absolutely, sweetheart.” He grinned.

  I took another sip of my coffee and the intensity in his eyes grew.

  “Jules said she was going to bring homemade cookies for our double-date on Sunday night,” I told him.

  We’d continued the habit of spaghetti, meatballs, and magic marinara on Sundays—usually with guests. Many times, with my cousin.

  I would always regret not seeing my pap one last time. I would always regret having him gone. But, I would always be grateful to him for giving me this one last gift—of Roasters, of Carmel, and of all the people in it. Because of them, I could move forward without the loss feeling so great.

  “Sounds delicious, but not as delicious as your sweet—”

  “Eli!” I hissed, covering my mouth to stop myself from laughing as I glanced around, making sure Eve was in the back and hadn’t heard him.

  He threw his head back and laughed. “Alright, you finished yet?” He bent forward, propping his elbows on the table.

  I grinned as I pulled my mug to my lips, draining the last long sip as I held his eyes. As I broke his gaze, my attention caught on something on the inside of my mug, and as I held it out to take a good look, my eyes went wide and I squealed into a mouthful of coffee.

  Oh my God.

  On the bottom of the porcelain mug, cleverly concealed by the dark brew until it was finished, was glazed the words: Will you marry me?

  I gulped down the liquid, my hands shaking.

  “Is this—Did you—” Maybe I should’ve left the coffee in my mouth.

  His smile widened into one carved from pure sunshine as he slid from his seat and down onto one knee.

  “Laurel Ocean, from the moment I carried you out of that bar, I knew I never wanted to let you go,” he rasped, emotion grating his voice as he pulled out a box from his pocket. “Months ago, I told you I planned on making you my wife. Today’s the day I’m asking, sweetheart. And this time, I made sure we were a safe distance from any whisks just in case you got any ideas…”

  My hand covered my mouth, tears falling like streamers down my cheeks as I let out the happiest watery laugh.

  Eli popped open the lid to the ring box. A bright, glistening pearl stood out between two purple amethysts.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Between crying and nodding, I managed a garbled, “Yes.” Eli reached for my hand and gently slid the beautiful unique ring on my finger before pulling me into his arms.

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  His mouth closed over mine in a long, soul-searing kiss. A promise of love. Forever.

  And it was only the clapping and cheers that broke us apart, our friends spilling out from the back room of the coffee shop, evidently they’d been waiting there the entire time.

  Life wasn’t about the destination. And it wasn’t about the journey either. It was about the people who were there along the way to support you, to cheer you on, to comfort you, and to love you.

  I don’t know how long it took—how long for all the congratulations and hugs and happiness to burst and then settle, but as soon as we were alone again, Eli holding th
e door as I climbed into the passenger seat of his truck, I stared down at the ring once again.

  “It’s so beautiful.” I swiped away another tear as he began to drive us home.

  “It was the only thing I could think of when I went to look for a ring… the only thing that seemed to fit,” he told me.

  “What do you mean?” I tilted my hand, watching as the light caught on the opalescent and iridescent luster of the natural pearl.

  “They remind me of you,” he answered.

  “Because of my inability to tan?” I teased.

  He shook his head. “Pearls are created when something unwanted invades the oyster, and so it creates this wall around the invasion and then continues to harden over it, layer after layer.”

  “This isn’t sounding very romantic…” I drawled, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze.

  “When I look at a pearl, I see something extraordinary and beautiful that was made from something damaging.” He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “Laurel, loss invaded your life. Unwanted. Unyielding. And you took that and became this strong, beautiful woman that I am completely in love with.”

  My breath caught and built in my lungs, ready to explode right along with my heart.

  “I didn’t want some perfect diamond. I wanted something to show you everything you are. Strength from hardship. Beauty from disaster. Love from loss.”

  Tears streamed anew down my face as I climbed over the console to wrap my arms around him. Thankfully, we were already on the driveway and almost home by that point.

  “I love you.” It wasn’t enough. Those words weren’t enough.

  But they never were for the people who meant the most.

  “I love you, too, sweetheart.” His chest soaked up my tears as he pulled me tight and slowed the truck to a stop.

  “Eli, what—” I broke off with a cry as he pulled me onto his lap before opening the door.

  “I’m carrying you inside.” He gently kissed the wet droplets that lingered on my skin.

  “And then you’re going to take off my clothes?” I giggled. “Should I grab a whisk on the way?”

  He grunted. “I think I’m going to let you strip for me, gorgeous,” he murmured against my hair. “And then I’m going to make love to my fiancée.”

  I tipped my head up and let his lips sink onto mine.

  He was right. I’d taken loss because I’d had no choice. It invaded my life like an unwanted intruder. But it hadn’t destroyed me. I built myself back up layer after layer after layer, until I came back here. Until I felt safe enough to open my heart back up to the idea of family and home and love.

  And now, who I was… what I had… was stronger than the fear of any other loss.

  Because, in the end,

  Love wins.

  Welcome to Carmel Cove

  Open-heartedness. Charity. Perseverance.

  The foundations of this Pacific-coast town.

  I knew from the very start that the setting for this series was going to be a haven—a place where the broken come to heal amongst family and friends (and friends who become family.) A place to find strength and (of course) find love.

  I hope you’ve enjoyed Laurel and Eli’s story, and the beginning of what will be quite a few books set in this quaint small town.

  Speaking of which, I’m thrilled to tell you that the second book, BESPOKEN, will feature Jules and Mick’s friends-to-lovers romance!

  You can order your copy of BESPOKEN here.

  Keep reading to check out the prologue of Bespoken!

  If you prefer to wait, but don’t want to leave Carmel Cove just yet, check out my book, REDEMPTION! A standalone story set in this idyllic town features a few familiar faces! Ash and Taylor’s story is an emotional, surprise pregnancy romance set before the events of Beholden and can be read as a complete standalone.

  To keep up with the latest book news, exclusives, and updates, be sure to sign up for my mailing list!

  Preview of Bespoken

  Jules

  Thirteen years ago

  “Momma?” I called into the Chinese sitting room, glancing around the brightly colored space filled with oriental furniture, the wood ornately carved to look like bamboo shoots, the walls plastered with cherry blossom wallpaper, and almost every surface decorated with tiny Bonsai trees—at least ten of them—meticulously maintained each day.

  Once I was sure there were no guests who’d wandered inside despite the ‘Closed for a Private Event’ sign, I began to worry that maybe she’d said to go to the River Room instead, and I’d made a mistake.

  Crap.

  I’d been on the phone with Laurel, going over some last-minute notes for our science test tomorrow, when my mother came into my room and told me she wanted to speak to me down here after their party.

  No, she definitely said this room.

  She and my dad were probably just running late at their meeting. Yes, she’d said it was a New Year’s party, but I was old enough to know better.

  Rock Beach was the mecca of luxury golf resorts in the state of California. And I believed it even if it hadn’t been the first phrase I was taught to say. And just like any prestigious place that drew in anyone from politicians to princes to pop stars, its purpose was more intricate and important than a few putts out on the green.

  Like a tree, on the surface, it provided shade and a home for wildlife, but working behind the scenes was the process of turning carbon dioxide into oxygen, a process that enabled life to continue. It was the meetings and conversations and deals that happened here that turned potential into reality and changed lives—in a good way, of course.

  I never heard all the details—mostly catching bits and pieces of phrases and whispers behind closed doors as I wandered the back hallways from my room down to the kitchen or into the Violet Library, where I liked to study. Most of my friends from school thought it was so cool that I lived on a resort. I mean, maybe they were right. Maybe it was cool. Rooms upon rooms, butlers, waiters… I had everyone and everything at my chipped pink fingertips.

  Everything except my family.

  I plopped down on the largest sofa in the room and pulled out my anatomy coloring book. My very best friend and cousin, Laurel Ocean, had given it to me for my birthday back in August, knowing how much I wanted to go to college to become a nurse. It wasn’t until the past week or so that I’d made a lot of headway, being out of school for Christmas and ending up alone most days.

  Such a big place. So many people. And still, I was mostly alone when I was here.

  It felt like the wrong answer to a math problem. Two plus two equals one.

  Especially now.

  The resort had over one hundred Christmas trees put up and decorated, some even including fake gifts underneath. A winter wonderland. But none of them belonged to me, to my family.

  I woke up to presents on Christmas morning, but they were unwrapped and stacked neatly in my room for me to look over before breakfast. When I was younger, I asked my mom why we didn’t cut down a tree like Laurel’s family, and why we didn’t wrap presents for each other like all the other kids in my class?

  “Because we are Vandelsens, and we pay people to do that for us, Julia,” my mother had scoffed and then patted my head. “And all that paper… all that mess… and wasted time… It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  She was my mother. So I believed her.

  I loved my parents. I really did. And from how my classmates coveted my life, I knew I should feel really lucky. I lived in luxury and riches with my parents who’d given me anything I’d ever asked for. And that was why I only ever confessed to Laurel how guilty I felt because all I could seem to focus on was all the things that money couldn’t buy. Like warm hot chocolate at my grandparents’ coffeeshop, Ocean Roasters, after a night of Christmas caroling through the town. Or spending Christmas Eve with my grandparents, aunt and uncle, and Laurel, eating spaghetti and meatballs with my grandfather’s magic mar
inara sauce and unwrapping presents; Laurel had even saved a few ornaments for me to hang on the tree.

  There, with them, I felt a glimpse of a different meaning of family, one that I felt guilty for wanting.

  But if money couldn’t buy it, my parents had no use for it.

  “Jules!” I jumped, sending the pencils piled in my lap flying onto the floor as my mom and dad pushed through the door, dressed in shimmering silver and black.

  Jackie Vandelsen was beautiful in that way it seemed only rich people could be. Beautiful because of what was attached to the outside of her rather than from a natural goodness inside. And my dad, Rich, was always dressed in case of an emergency interview or photo-op or any other press or marketable opportunity. I’d never seen him not put-together. Maybe because I couldn’t recall a time I’d seen him do anything that wasn’t for the resort or with the resort in mind.

  I’d learned from an early age about the appropriate attire for every holiday, event, outing, and possible social gathering known to man. The knowledge inspired my firm belief that there were more species of social functions than there were animals in the animal kingdom.

  “Richard.” She turned to my dad. “Perhaps this should wait until morning.”

  I watched their interaction with wide eyes. They frequently talked about me like I wasn’t in the room listening, like it didn’t matter because I wasn’t going to have a say.

  “Jacqueline,” my father said curtly. “We’ve discussed this. It’s final. And we have breakfast with the Herons in the morning. Jim is going to be the next mayor, so I don’t want us running late. Having his support is going to be crucial for the resort’s expansion.”

  If there was one thing I admired about my father, Rich Vandelsen, it was his dedication to his business. Even though his family had come from money and had owned Rock Beach Golf Club, my father had been the one to turn it into a five-star resort. If there was one thing I wished my father was more of, it was just that… my father. He sacrificed a lot to turn this place into what it was, to keep it thriving, and to push toward expansion—and some of those sacrifices were spending time with me. In big ways and small.