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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  He’d left it to me.

  The house.

  Roasters.

  My head shook like I was trying to come up for air against a current that kept dragging me down.

  “Why me?” I blurted out, having nothing left to mask my dismay. “Why not my Aunt Jackie? She’s his daughter. She lives here,” I rambled unreasonably. “She should have it. She should be next.”

  I felt Diane tense, and I understood her reaction.

  My aunt had never wanted nor would ever want anything to do with Roasters—part of me knew that. But she was still his daughter. And when I left… when I told him I couldn’t stay here and I couldn’t come back, I thought he understood… I thought my grandfather knew she would be the one to inherit it.

  “Well,” he drawled slowly, “I can’t say why he didn’t leave it to her. Unfortunately, he never mentioned his reasoning to me. I only know what the document says.”

  “Does she know?” I found myself asking.

  “Not yet,” he told me. “I needed to be able to tell you first since you are the primary beneficiary. I will be reaching out to your aunt this coming week.”

  I exhaled through tight lips. “Of course.” I nodded. “I’m sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this.”

  Unbidden, Taylor’s words came back to me. ‘I didn’t expect anything from this place, and here I am, just a few months later, with more than anything I could’ve asked for.’

  “I can imagine.” He appeared to relax a little. “I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I wanted to give you as much notice as possible,” he informed me. “What I need won’t take long, but there is some paperwork and such that will need to be handled before you go.”

  Before I go…

  How could I go now?

  Two buildings.

  One business.

  And nothing of what I wanted.

  “And after I sign them?” I asked.

  He blinked at me, taken aback by the question for a moment. “Then they’re yours.”

  Words bubbled up inside me, a product of the reaction between fear and necessity, as I asked calmly, “And if I’d like to sell them?”

  Diane froze next to me—the kind of freeze that could start an ice age. I didn’t look at her though. This was my decision, my choice.

  It was Mr. Ross’ turn to stare. “Of course, that would be your prerogative, Laurel—”

  With a skid of her chair pushing back from the table, Diane interrupted him as she stood, “I’m s-sorry. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” I tried to ignore the way she wiped her eyes and walked away from our table and straight toward Eli.

  What the hell…

  Anger immediately lit inside me. It was none of his business whether I sold my grandfather’s house and business or not—and he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do anything about it, let alone change my mind.

  “You were saying, Mr. Ross?” I encouraged him to continue.

  “Gavin, please. But yes, of course, once the deeds to everything are in your name, you are free to do what you wish, and I’d be more than happy to recommend a realtor to handle the sales if you don’t already have someone in mind,” he continued with hesitant helpfulness.

  “Thank you. I would just like to get everything settled so that I can get back to Los Angeles as soon as possible for my job and everything.” I winced at how cold that sounded.

  I didn’t even know why I mentioned my job. My boss told me to take all the time I needed to handle my family’s affairs.

  “Miss Ocean… Laurel,” he corrected himself again. “If I may… I know that you just arrived back in town after being away for some time. I understand that you’ve made a new life elsewhere, however, you must see how much your grandfather and his business has affected the lives of those here in Carmel Cove.”

  I bristled, feeling like I was about to be scolded. He didn’t know. No one could know what this town had cost me. And they all expected me to just come back here and give it more pieces of myself to destroy.

  “I just ask that you proceed with caution. Perhaps, you could talk to Eli before you make any decisions. He’s a good man and was very close with your grandfather…” He made a move to look over his shoulder at the subject of his statement but then, thinking the better of it, refocused on me. “He’s been doing a lot at Roasters over the past few months, and especially after the break-in a few weeks ago—”

  My small astonished gasp brought his statement to an abrupt halt.

  His face reddened almost to the color of my hair. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did no one… has no one mentioned what happened?”

  “No.” My head jerked side to side, my eyes still wide in surprise. A break-in? At Roasters?

  The sharp pang in my chest couldn’t mean anything; I refused to let it.

  It was just a business. Just a building with my name on it.

  He let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry to put this on you. I thought you would have seen… or heard by now…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “There was a break-in a few weeks ago.”

  “What happened? Did they find… did they arrest who did it?” I demanded with a slight tremble I tried to hide.

  The way his expression soured told me that they hadn’t.

  “Not yet, unfortunately. I don’t think the authorities have put much time into it since, in spite of the destruction, nothing of value was really taken.”

  “Destruction?” I squeaked out.

  In my mind, Carmel Cove had frozen in time the moment I’d crossed the town line. People. Places. Things. All snapshotted in my memory and preserved.

  I’d been back all of three days and it was becoming impossible to ignore how so much of what I knew had changed… had been destroyed.

  Gavin’s strained look told me that destruction wasn’t an exaggeration. “A few weeks ago, one of the baristas, Eve, went into work and found the place in complete shambles. The cases, tables, chairs… the photos on the wall…”

  My stomach rolled with nausea.

  Roasters had been the same for the eighteen years that I’d known it and I had no doubt that my grandfather preserved every square inch of the building even after I was gone. All of those pieces… it was more than just furniture and equipment and photographs… it was a life—it was his life—that had been nailed into every beam, painted on every wall, placed in every frame, and brewed into every cup.

  It was his life though, not mine. As much as it hurt to think about who would have done such a thing and how much it must have killed him to see it, I wasn’t going to change my mind about selling; there was no life for me here.

  “It was a bad enough sight that Eli had to keep your grandfather away; they were worried what seeing it like that would do to him.”

  And now he was gone. Maybe they hadn’t kept him away long enough…

  “And they don’t know who did it?”

  “Covington Security has been trying to track down leads since the police let their investigation fizzle, but your grandfather’s death put a pause on their progress,” he replied.

  “Covington… like the plumber?”

  “Yes, well, the two older sons. Not the father,” he explained. “They have a private security firm in town.”

  Recalling their stature and demeanor, this information was the least shocking of what the lawyer had to say.

  “Don’t worry. It’s much… much better now,” he reassured me quickly with a wave of his hand. “But there was a lot of damage on top of all the renovations Larry really should have done on the place years ago.”

  “So, what are you saying?” I asked, my voice a little weaker while trying to process what repercussions this loss was going to have on me. “I can’t sell it?”

  “No, no.” He waved his hand. “You certainly can, it just might be difficult. And you’ll probably be able to get more if you repair it first,” he tacked on for good measure. “But I would talk to Eli first and see what he has to say. I don’t know all the details of the damage or w
hat needs to be done.”

  Of course. Ask Eli.

  Meet Eli.

  Talk to Eli.

  Let Eli take you home.

  Ask Eli to kiss you.

  I groaned.

  Eli Downing was becoming just as inescapable as the coffee shop I’d inherited.

  “I see,” I replied hollowly.

  “I’m sorry to be the one to lay all this on you, Laurel,” he apologized sincerely.

  “It’s your job,” I replied, reaching for one last brave smile. “I appreciate your help. I guess I will be in touch with you this week then to get everything squared away.”

  His mouth all but disappeared as he nodded and stuck out his hand for me to shake before rising from the chair and leaving me to the first tumultuous moment of the ‘after.’

  My grandfather was gone and buried. Now began the battle to pick up all the pieces he’d left for me, pieces that were little weights tied to my heart with steel thread, tethering it to a place that would only break it. Again.

  Did no one understand?

  I expected loss from Carmel like I expected night after day. The problem was while everyone else withered under darkness, they looked to me like I was responsible for bringing back the dawn.

  But I didn’t know how to do that; I only knew how to run from the night.

  And now, there was one more thing to hold me here. My heart beat painfully with fear and anger and longing… emotions that I didn’t want to have—that I shouldn’t have after all this time trying to escape them.

  As everyone faded away, I whispered a silent apology to the man who’d snuck me my first cup of coffee, the man who brought me sweet treats when he picked me up after school, and the man who’d held me the day my parents died—the day I cried so hard it made me throw up, the day I threw up so violently blood vessels in and around my eyes burst, the day it felt like the world was ripped from underneath my feet.

  I apologized to the man who’d only ever shown me stoic strength that I wasn’t able to mourn him, and then I prayed for his forgiveness because I was going to be the one to ruin our legacy.

  But I couldn’t stay here.

  I couldn’t keep the coffee shop or the house.

  I couldn’t live in this legacy of loss.

  Of course, when I looked up it was to immediately find Eli’s inescapable gaze with concern spitting from the embers in his eyes.

  How I felt around him was one more complication I didn’t need—and one more desire that would leave my reckless heart broken even more.

  Laurel

  It was a new day, but my problems had nothing new about them.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to wait until Monday?” Diane asked as we pulled away from my grandfather’s house.

  My second night sleeping with ghosts had been just as fitful as the first, only there hadn’t been a half-naked handsome stranger on my couch nor a painful hangover when I woke.

  “No, I need to do this now,” I replied as we approached downtown Carmel.

  Diane still had a shadow of tears in her eyes and gnawed on her lower lip to stop herself from bombarding me with questions about why I was going to sell Roasters. It didn’t matter, I still heard them all.

  My heart picked up speed as we turned onto Ocean Avenue. It had been so long…

  Break-in.

  Destruction.

  I winced.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t the one to tell you, Laurel,” she said with a nervous pitch. “I wanted to prepare you, and I was just trying to find the right time. I didn’t realize Mr. Ross would bring it up.”

  I propped my elbow on the edge of the window and rested my cheek on my hand.

  “It’s okay,” I told her, the irony of this town not lost on me.

  On one hand, I was so fragile that information was being doled out in small pieces to help me process. On the other, they believed I was strong enough to blindly remain in a place where the air physically hurt to breathe, and put back together what was broken, just so this town wouldn’t have to lose its beloved coffee shop along with the owner.

  “I do want to prepare you,” she repeated, hazarding a glance at me. “It’s pretty bad… what happened…”

  “He already told me there was a break-in—”

  “Well, yes, there was a break-in. I mean, not really a break-in, of course, because your grandfather, stubborn old goat, didn’t have a doggone lock on the door—” she broke off with a shake of her head, like there was no point revising that train of thought. “I just want you to be prepared because it’s still… a little bit of a mess. The investigation took a backseat with Larry’s passing.”

  “It’s fine,” I reassured her with a thick voice, watching the unassuming Ocean Roasters sign, with its decorative swirls carved into the deep wood, loom closer and closer.

  My stomach lurched forward like the car had run into a brick wall as we pulled into a spot right out front. But no airbags deployed. No safety measures. Nothing to protect me from what happened next.

  Diane began to talk again as soon as the car was in park, but I couldn’t pay attention. I was still focused on the sign hanging out above the door and over the sidewalk. The wood looked more weathered, and the words that had always been painted gold now looked the color of muddy driftwood.

  Again, the lawyer’s words reminded me that my grandfather hadn’t kept up the maintenance on the building for some time; and I’d bet he hadn’t painted the sign since I left for college… over a decade ago.

  I didn’t wait for Diane, whose heels clonked somewhere behind me, as I reached for the doorknob and pulled it open.

  Coffee beans.

  Their aroma washed over me with bold colors. Rich and sweet strokes with a dash of invigorating alertness painted a picture of the past so vivid it stopped me in my tracks. The shop filled with customers cozying up at tables, chatting at the counter with my grandmother. My grandfather standing behind it, working the espresso machine, a perfect smile lighting up his face when he saw me and exclaimed, ‘Ishkey.’ A scene of community and family so alive, I forgot, for a singular split-second, when and where I really was.

  I took another deep breath of the coffee-flavored nostalgia—lifetimes of memories brewed into a single building—a single business. Rich and aromatic, it soaked into your veins and, like caffeine, made your heart beat a little quicker, your thoughts come a little faster, the warm familiarity making it seem like anything could be possible.

  Anything was possible with coffee.

  But with love? With family? I wasn’t so sure about those anymore though…

  And then I blinked and it was gone. He was gone.

  And the hole in my chest grew.

  Everything was gone. Along with some of the chairs, the clear bakery case, and the pristine espresso machine. Everything about the memory faded into reality as I stepped through the doorway.

  Shock tore through my chest. My heart pounded like I was in the middle of a race—a race to escape the sight in front of me—a race to escape my fate.

  Only about two tables were upright, making the space seem even emptier. The cushion on the bench that was built in along the wall on the left was completely ripped up and taped back down with duct tape. The bakery case that sat on the long portion of the L-shaped counter on the right was gone—destroyed if the small pile of glass that had yet to be cleaned was any indication.

  The wall-papered walls were dented and torn, the paper hanging every couple of feet to make the room look savagely striped.

  I couldn’t stop a small whimper when I saw all the frames of family photos extending back four generations sitting stacked on the counter instead of where they used to hang on the wall above the bench. The glass broken. The frames marred.

  My throat swelled and burned. I brought a hand to my face, but still no tears came. I felt just as broken and hollow as this place. Beaten and bruised from loss. And what tattered remains were left weren’t enough to make this—me—whole again.

&nbs
p; A few more steps brought me in front of the short length of the L-counter where the register was. My fingers gripped on to the end of the counter for support when I finally got a good look at the dual La Pavoni espresso machine behind it.

  If the Oceans were the heart of this business, that machine that we’d always called ‘Pavi’ was the soul—and the soul looked scuffed and scratched and dented. It looked like it had been put through the wringer—and maybe it had, losing the last Ocean who would ever work it.

  “He still works.”

  I jumped with a small screech as a slender woman with long, black hair and pouty lips stared at me through giant, thick tortoiseshell glasses that made her bloodshot brown eyes big. After a quick scan, I saw that she was wearing a long-sleeve tee, pushed up to her elbows, underneath a set of worn denim overalls that were stained with various brown spots.

  “Sorry, you scared me,” I said with a strangled voice.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought you saw me come through,” she explained, looking over her shoulder at the hallway to the back of the shop where she’d come from. “I’m Eve… I met you earlier… I’m not sure if you remember.”

  As soon as she said it, an image flashed of those same watery eyes, magnified behind large lenses, red from crying as she offered me her condolences.

  “Yes, yes I do.” I nodded. “Sorry. Just a long day. Just a lot…”

  “Of course.” She gave me an understanding smile. “Don’t apologize. I’m just… I’m glad you’re here. I’ve been working for—” she broke off as her head ducked and she sucked in a steadying breath. “I mean I was working for your grandfather here as a barista when this…”

  I relaxed a little further and realized that the brown stains on her clothes made sense if she was working with the coffee machines all day. Before I could say something more, she pressed on.

  “He was a good man—a good friend to this whole town. Family, really. He just knew everyone, you know. Always knew what to ask about, what to talk to them about. I mean, there were days people would come in and talk to him and completely forget to order their coffee; it was like it wasn’t Monday morning if they didn’t stop in and say hi to Larry—” She broke off with a stifled sob.