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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  And there was the end of that discussion.

  A good thing, I assured myself.

  It trod too close to my fault lines.

  My gaze followed Eli. The man who was the center of everything, who seemed to be attached to every piece of this town. The man with a past as secret as mine was tragic.

  He was an enigma.

  Something I knew but didn’t know. Like gravity. I knew it existed and it was the reason my feet were on the ground, but I didn’t know the science and all the little facts that made it so.

  In the same way, I knew what was essential about Eli, the kind of person he was, the kind of good person my grandfather had taken a chance on. But I didn’t know every detail of his past.

  He swore as the larger man pointed to the neighboring wall with the bench attached to it, and the pit in my stomach grew larger. I felt like I was watching some hospital show where the doctor went in to do surgery and realized the cancer had spread farther than he realized.

  Eli’s body tensed up before he nodded, and I knew where the hammer was going to fall even before he turned back to me.

  “There’s water damage on the framing beams in this wall all the way over to that one,” he apprised me with a frustrated sigh, pointing to the bench. “I have a feeling the ones behind the bench are going to be the same, but we’ve got to take it down to see.”

  “I see,” I replied thickly. More walls meant more time. “Do you think that’s it?”

  Like that wasn’t half of the building already.

  “I hope so,” he rasped. “Anything more and we might not be able to fix it.”

  The statement hit me in the chest with the same force as Mick as he began smashing into the next wall.

  Irreparable.

  Unsalvageable.

  Lost.

  “Eli,” he yelled over to us with a huff. “Can you see where the hell Miles is? Tell him I’ve seen mules move faster than his ass.”

  Eli nodded, heading outside with his phone to make the call. Taking the moment for myself, I pulled my cell from my pocket and saw I had a voicemail from an unknown Carmel number.

  Tapping on the button, I recognized Mr. Ross’ voice right away. I’d planned on calling his office today about signing those papers, but according to the voicemail, they wouldn’t be ready until Wednesday, and the other parties involved weren’t available until Friday. He asked if I could call him back and let him know if that would work.

  Other parties. Like my aunt Jackie.

  I sighed and stuck my phone back in my pocket.

  What was one more delay?

  It didn’t look like I was going to make it out of here before Friday anyway.

  I jumped as Mick smashed another hole through the wall.

  As the partial demolition continued, my focus shifted to the stack of photos next to me. I shouldn’t touch them, but my hand had a mind of its own, drifting to them as though carried by a deeper tide.

  Sitting on top was the same photo from the bathroom at the bar: both of my grandparents with my dad and aunt when they were really young. Beneath that was an old, sepia image of my great-grandfather hanging the Ocean Roasters sign in front of the building. They used this one in the paper… in magazines… every time Ocean Roasters or the family-run businesses of Carmel Cove were mentioned, this old, worn photograph was displayed.

  I’d seen it so many times, I almost had the sense that I’d been there, watching him hang the wooden plaque, rather than a second-hand observer decades later.

  I gulped, sliding it to the side to reveal a more recent picture, one that burned a little more to look at.

  It was a picture of Jules and me. We couldn’t have been more than five or six at the time, and we were sitting with my mom between us on the bench Mick was currently pulling from the wall, the ripped and worn fabric torn in even more places. My mother was reading Little Women to us—our Friday night tradition. Jules’ parents always had an event to go to or a party they were hosting, and it was easier to grow their reputation without a daughter in tow. So, Jules and I had a standing sleepover almost every week which started with dinner at my grandparents and then story time here… at Roasters… until my parents closed up for the night.

  My chest squeezed with the urge to cry as my fingers shakily brushed over my mom’s hair. She had the softest hair and the kindest voice that warmed you from the inside out, like a long sip of hot cocoa that radiates soul-soothing heat when it settles in your stomach.

  In the corner of the picture, my dad stood behind the counter, looking over at us but from the look on his face, only seeing my mom.

  I noticed that look a lot when I was younger, but I didn’t understand it until I was older; it was the look that said life didn’t have meaning without her. It was probably a horrible thought to have, but I took comfort in the fact my parents had died together. I didn’t know how one would’ve survived without the other.

  My heart skipped a beat, wanting someone to look at me that way, and at the same time, with my track record, hoping no one ever did.

  “Laurel?” My head darted up at Eli’s voice.

  What if he looked at me that way? The thought assaulted me like a wave, cold and unexpected as it crashed into my chest and took me under.

  Not happening, Laurel. Don’t go there.

  Shoving it into the farthest recesses of impossibilities, I quickly rearranged the photos, giving myself a few moments without having to look at him.

  “So.” I cleared my throat and asked, “If you have to fix or replace the stuff in both walls, how long will that take?”

  I turned to face him, air vacuuming into my lungs when he was standing right in front of me.

  His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the hammering of my pulse on the side of my neck. “If it’s just those two walls? At least a week. But, depending on how many of the pipes are damaged or leaking, it could take longer. And, we’ll only know if that’s the extent of it once we get the rest of that wall down. We also need to check the back portion of the roof and add better ventilation for the stove.”

  I shuddered. At least was starting to sound a whole lot like a lot more than a week. I made a mental note to pick up more clothes.

  More than a week around Eli… I rubbed my thighs together and made sure that mental note included more underwear.

  “Okay,” I replied, hopping down from the counter and trying not to betray the weight that was getting harder to bear and the desire that was growing harder to suppress.

  “Laurel.” He reached for me, and I stepped back.

  I didn’t want his comfort now. Not after that conversation. Not after the photos. And not after this news.

  I couldn’t start relying on him now, even though it was exactly what I wanted to do.

  “I’m going to go take a look around in the back and see if Eve needs any help,” I said, ignoring the way his jaw ticked with frustration.

  Shoving my hands into my pockets, I turned before he could say anything more—before he could make me want anything more.

  Once I was safe in the back of the building, I ambled around the storeroom for a few minutes, running my fingers down the half-filled stacks of to-go cups and lids my grandmother would always let Jules and I help stock.

  I unclipped the tops of the remaining containers, sniffing the various raw and roasted beans inside; the different yet equally potent scents of grassy-green coffee beans and nutty roasted ones burned the scent of plaster dust from my nostrils.

  Finally, I wandered back to Eve, noticing the stacks of dirt-covered pots and pans sitting on the counter by the stove; some of them I recognized as what my grandfather would use when he roasted the beans. Chewing my bottom lip, I debated for a moment before I reached for a clean cloth and grabbed the skillet sitting on top.

  Maybe since I couldn’t seem to mourn him, I could at least give him this. Clean and oiled cast-iron, just the way he taught me all those years ago while I’d tried to avoid studying for biology.

  Ni
ce and slow, Laurel. No point in rushin’. These pans have been used for a long time, you hear? Not every batch I’ve made with ‘em has turned out good, but sure enough, underneath it all, they’ve got sturdy souls that don’t give up and are ready to try again.

  Like most things he taught me about coffee making, I would only realize later how the lesson wasn’t really about the coffee or the pan…

  I’ve made too many mistakes, I wanted to tell him as my hand moved in measured circles.

  I’d made too many choices to preserve a soul that wasn’t sturdy, and I was afraid to try again.

  The more I rubbed oil into the pans, the more it felt like I was rubbing away the sadness and hurt from inside me. And, for the first time since I came back to town… since I’d seen or held anything so etched with memories of my pap, I finally felt something strikingly close to peace.

  Like floating in the middle of the ocean, it was calm and serene, but it lacked the hopefulness of having the shore in sight.

  Maybe it was a sign I needed to hang on for just a little bit longer before I could finally let this place go.

  Eli

  “Did you bring food to the house?” I felt her before I heard her, my body tuned to the finest awareness when Laurel was near.

  Though I hadn’t expected to see her today.

  Yesterday, I’d caught the way her shaking hand had risen over her mouth as Mick first ripped into the wall. So reactional, so instinctive, I didn’t think she realized her own momentary devastation. Her pained stare as she looked through the photographs stopped me in my tracks; I’d stood outside the door, watching her examine them, wishing there was something I could do to ease the pain she refused to share.

  But there was nothing.

  She didn’t want to need me.

  Even as we worked, I kept my eye on her, noticing how she moved around the back of the building, unable to remain in one place for long. Until the pans. The way she cleaned and seasoned them, it was like I could see Larry standing right beside her.

  And that made the way my body was reacting to her right now all the more unacceptable.

  “What food?” I asked, tugging my work gloves off and turning to her.

  Laurel’s red-gold hair was pulled on top of her head, soft tendrils framing her freckled cheeks that were dusted with the hint of pink. From exertion, not because of me. Those bright blue eyes were sharp and demanding, like the morning she’d found me on the couch, ready to caution me rather than accept any show of concern.

  “The food at my grand—my house last night.” Her pink lips pressed together, eyes narrowing into blue blades. “I came home yesterday, and the fridge and freezer were stocked with containers of food. Salad. Lasagna. Chicken Marsala. Chicken Piccata. And there was a huge basket of bread and pastries on the counter.”

  “Ahh.” I nodded, slapping my gloves on my thigh to shake some of the dust off.

  We both looked to the door as Mick and Miles walked in, their twin widened stares fading as they murmured a greeting before disappearing into the back so Laurel and I could finish our conversation in privacy.

  “So, it was you?”

  “No.” I flashed a grin. “It wasn’t. But I know who it was.”

  She folded her arms and I winced as my comfortable work jeans grew not-so-comfortable in the front.

  “It was everyone, Laurel.” I sighed. “The pastries and baked stuff were from Josie. The salad and lasagna were from Mrs. Covington; she always loved your grandmother’s recipes for those.”

  The color faded from her face and she shifted her weight.

  “The Marsala was probably Diane, and the Chicken Piccata was from Eve and her sister, Addison,” I told her, adding, “But those two I’m not one-hundred percent certain.”

  She hesitated for a second before replying with a smaller voice, “Why?”

  “Why?” I gaped. “Because you’re here, Laurel. You’re here and you’re staying—at least for the moment while we deal with this place.” My eyes scanned over her and a vise tightened over my chest with what I saw.

  Jesus Christ. It had been so long since anyone had taken care of her, had done something for her without expecting anything in return, she couldn’t even recognize it. She’d been the only one to take care of herself for a long time. Too long.

  “They know this isn’t easy for you, Laurel. They just wanted to try and take something off your plate—no pun intended,” I said with a low voice, unable to stop myself from reaching out and resting my hand on her shoulder.

  Her beautiful face softened as she processed and replied, “But why, Eli?” she repeated with a small shake of her head. “Why would they do that for me when I’m the one…” She trailed off and swallowed hard, her shoulders tightening under my grasp. “Why would they want to help me when they know I’m going to sell this place? When they know I’m planning on leaving?”

  I didn’t know what was worse: the hurt she felt returning home, or the hate she expected to meet being here.

  My exhale was long and forceful. “Whatever you decide to do, Laurel, it doesn’t change that you’re still family here,” I told her. “And they’re going to do whatever they can to help.”

  She looked at me as though I’d grown another head, and it took a minute for it to really sink in and for her to believe me.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you alright?”

  Fire flashed in her eyes. “Yeah,” she clipped. “I’m fine. So, what can I do to help?”

  “Well, Eve isn’t here—”

  “No, I want to help out here,” she broke in boldly. “I want to help get rid of whatever needs to go.”

  My jaw tightened as her words reverberated through my body.

  After what happened yesterday, I didn’t expect her to show up today. I wouldn’t expect anyone to show up who’d gone through what she had.

  Yet, here she was, the woman who possessed a strength to carry ten times her weight, standing in front of me, wanting to help tear this place—and a part of her past—apart.

  But Laurel was equal parts fragile and strong. Like carbon fiber. Stronger than steel under certain conditions, but easily fractured under others.

  And I refused to be a reason she fractured.

  “Okay.” I nodded, reluctantly releasing my hold on her shoulder and handing her my pair of gloves. “I don’t think we have anything smaller.”

  She nodded and I watched her hands drown into the black fabric.

  “You’re going to get dirty,” I told her, flinching when her eyes shot to mine. “I just mean, your jeans look like they—”

  “Will survive,” she finished for me, though I was going to say they looked too nice for this kind of work.

  “Okay.” I wasn’t going to argue with that look. “Have you ever torn down a wall before?”

  “No, but it can’t be that hard.” Her weight sunk onto one leg as she reached behind me and grabbed one of the mallets resting against the wall. “Hit and pull.”

  I chuckled. “Alright there, Laurel the Riveter.” I put my hands up. “Let me talk to these guys for one minute, and then I’ll show you how. It’s not hard, but I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

  I grunted, turning away in pain as she licked over her bottom lip, and yelled for the twins.

  Miles’ face broke into a huge grin as soon as he appeared. “You gave her a weapon?”

  “She wants to help,” I retorted, sharing a stare with Mick.

  “You know that’s goin’ to hurt a helluva lot more than a whisk if she turns on you.” Miles laughed, and I caught Laurel’s eyes popping wide.

  I shrugged an apology; this was a small town, and these were my friends.

  “I’d put a helmet on if I were you… and maybe a cup,” Miles continued as his brother smacked him on the back of his head.

  “Don’t be a jerk, Miles,” Mick chided and then, turning to Laurel, apologized, “Don’t mind him. I got all the looks and manners while we were in the womb—”

&
nbsp; Miles’ bark of laughter cut his brother off. “That’s a good one, little brother. And here I thought I was the one who’d gotten the sense of humor.”

  “Well, lookin’ at your face, I’d have to agree,” Mick jaunted right back.

  I relaxed when I saw a flash of white brighten Laurel’s face. It was hard not to be entertained by these two.

  “Alright, alright.” I shook my head and laughed. “You two, start over there.” I indicated the wall where the majority of the piping ran through; I needed to see if the ceiling was compromised in that area. “I’m going to let Laurel finish this wall.”

  While those two continued to taunt each other as they set to work, Laurel and I moved to the other side of the room Mick had just opened up yesterday.

  “There aren’t too many pipes running through this wall,” I told her, placing my palm on the stained wallpaper. “I think most of the damage came from the roof leak which I’ll take a look at next week, but for right now, we need to get all of this down and make sure that’s the source.”

  “Okay.” She raised her arms and the mallet, about to let loose.

  “Whoa.” I grabbed over her hands on the handle, a shot of lust sinking straight to my groin at the simple touch.

  Her shiver ran through her as her gaze snapped to mine.

  “Just let me show you one time,” I told her quietly. “Then you can do it all on your own.”

  That seemed to appease her and she replied, “Okay, what do I do?”

  My jaw ticked. I’d wanted to take the mallet from her and show her, but it didn’t look like she was relinquishing her grip any time soon.

  Holding back my tortured groan, I stepped behind her, reaching one arm around her front so I was grasping the handle over both of her hands.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, my body going haywire as it pressed against the back of hers, all warm and soft in ways I shouldn’t be thinking about. Not here. Not now. Not with her.

  But she fit right into me. And not because she was small. The way her form tucked snugly into mine seemed like it should’ve come with an audible click to indicate a perfect match.