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

by Dr. Rebecca Sharp

  How could I be angry when I had left, too?

  “I want to be sad,” I admitted with a toneless voice. “But what right do I have to be sad when I was the one who left him?”

  I was trapped. Trapped with emotions I had no right to have.

  I felt his jaw tense against my scalp, his fingers tightening their hold on the base of my neck. “Laurel, you have every right to be sad. You left because you were hurt. You left because it was what you needed to do in order to heal. That has nothing to do with this. You didn’t leave because you didn’t love him—and he knew that.”

  Warm hands cupped my face and tipped it up to his.

  “He knew that, Laurel,” he repeated, his eyes searching mine to see if his words were getting through.

  “How?” I asked with a subdued tone.

  “Do you know that he loved you?” he demanded.

  I wasn’t expecting the question, but I managed a nod. In spite of anything and everything else, I didn’t doubt my pap loved me.

  He pulled back, sliding one hand to cup my cheek and tip my face up. “That’s how, sweetheart. Just like you know he chose to leave this world because he was hurting, not because he didn’t love you… that’s how he knew you wanting to leave this town had nothing to do with how much you loved him.”

  My chest caved as I buried my face against him.

  It hurt so bad to think of him. To let myself wonder about all the things I should’ve done and should’ve done differently. No matter what Eli said, I couldn’t stop the thoughts—the ‘what-ifs.’ Maybe if I had done one thing… maybe if I just hadn’t left… my pap would still be alive.

  “Laurel. It’s okay to be sad. I’m here.”

  I drew back, my pulse spinning faster.

  I didn’t understand this man standing in front of me, holding me. I was on a sinking ship and he continued to bail water over the sides instead of abandoning what was, I was sure, a lost cause.

  My eyes drifted to his mouth, and the warmth of my breath lodged in my chest as fuel for my fluttering heart. Confusion and loneliness welded together into a surge of yearning. For as much as I heard his words, I also saw the undeniable desire that lingered on his lips, drawn tight to hold himself back from saying more.

  Giving more.

  Taking more.

  His gaze began to smolder, the warmth overwhelming me and drawing me closer.

  My eyelids dipped as I let myself feel all of him, a completely hard and immovably protective male against me.

  And hot.

  So hot. Unfamiliar heat pulsed through me, stoking the pounding thud of my heart I felt beating in sync with his. I didn’t have closeness with people anymore. Not like this. Even if I couldn’t give him all of me, even if I couldn’t open up the well that bubbled inside, maybe I could let him close to me like this. I could let him hold me.

  Touch me.

  Kiss me.

  A shudder ran through me as the ocean breeze blew reality back into my bones, its salty smell a sharp break from the sticky heat woven between us. It was enough to remind me that no closeness was safe. Especially in Carmel Cove. Nothing that happened here was transient. It lingered like moss on a tree, slowly growing over the parts of you that stood tall to show the way north… the way that was true… the way you need to go.

  I couldn’t need him like this. I couldn’t rely on him to fix the brokenness inside.

  And I definitely couldn’t risk kissing him again.

  I pulled out of his arms and took a few uneven steps back.

  “I-I’m sorry.” I rubbed my hair back from my face, my body revolting against the loss of warmth. “Thank you. For doing this.”

  “Laurel—” His gaze implored me not to pull away.

  “I’m fine. Really, Eli. I’m fine,” I assured him with the ‘I’m fine’ every single woman on the planet uses at the moment in time when they are definitely anything but fine. “It’s just been a long few days. Thank you, again. Have a good night.”

  I didn’t wait for a response before turning, grabbing my things from my truck, and disappearing inside the house.

  The knot in my stomach remained for the next hour while the trimmer ran outside.

  He respected my privacy and need for space though he continued to work. And that unmistakable defiance declared he was going to be here for me whether I wanted him to be or not.

  The knot twisted tighter, taunting me that I did.

  I was strong. I’d survived the loss of my parents. I’d had the strength to leave my hometown and everything familiar in order to give myself a fresh start. But whether it was my strength or stubbornness starting to waver, leaning on someone to get through this grew more and more tempting.

  And Eli… I shivered.

  He stood in front of me like a lighthouse—everything hopeful and reassuring—in the middle of this dark and stormy sea. But I was afraid if I relied on him too heavily, I’d get close enough to realize his light was nothing more than a mirage, and too close to something dangerous I wouldn’t be able to avoid.

  Laurel

  After almost two weeks back in Carmel Cove, the amount of uncertainties I was facing seemed to be growing rather than dwindling.

  Some very stubborn ones even taunted me in my sleep long after the hum of the electric trimmer was gone.

  But if there was one thing I knew for certain, it was that repairing Roasters was going to take longer than another week. The water damage had been like a string on a sweater, the more we pulled at the walls, the more damage they unraveled.

  Truth be told, it was probably going to take longer than the three weeks Eli had estimated when I arrived at the coffee shop about fifteen minutes ago. But I wasn’t going to tell him that.

  Better to be prepared than disappointed.

  “Don’t know that there’s much left for you to take out, Little Laurel,” Mick teased, nudging me with his elbow and shooting me a wink.

  The notion of small but mighty had become popular between the brothers after my help earlier in the week. While I’d been so focused on forgetting, the twins had been impressed with how much I’d tackled.

  “What are you talking about?” Miles chimed in with a smirk. “I think Eli could be knocked down a few pegs, don’t you?”

  Eli held up his middle finger, pausing in the middle of scribbling a bunch of notes for George when he came to take a look at the plumbing next week.

  “Behave yourself, Miles,” my Friendly Giant ordered, ever the responsible and respectful brother.

  “Yeah? Or what?” He tugged on his gloves like they were boxing gloves and then pretended to punch the air as though ready for a fight.

  My head tipped, wondering what kind of entertainment we were in for this morning.

  These moments, filled with familiarity and kinship, almost made me forget why I was here… what this was all for.

  And what it had cost me.

  Even standing in the middle of utter destruction, the room entirely unrecognizable with missing walls and part of the ceiling, exposed beams, decaying pipes, it didn’t feel as despairing as it once had. In spite of its wrecked appearance, there was the same comfort and warmth invading this space as when Roasters had been up and running, back when the energy from the people inside was more powerful than what it looked like.

  Back when my family had still been alive.

  Mick smiled calmly at him. “Or I’ll send Eve out here to put you in your place.”

  Miles’ arms fell to his sides and all trace of mirth vanished from his face. “I’m good.”

  Interesting.

  “Did someone call my name?” Eve popped her head in from the hallway, looking around.

  Only because of what I just saw did I catch how her gaze quickly skipped over Miles.

  “No,” he clipped and then turned and walked away.

  “Sorry,” Mick mumbled as apology for the both of them.

  Her brave smile wavered as she turned and disappeared into the back again.

&nb
sp; “You holding up okay?” The question drew my attention upward. For a second, I sunk into his possessive gaze, always there waiting… wanting… to both kiss and comfort me.

  I could see the worry streaked across his face after I’d turned and bolted last night, but it was for the best. I’d felt too many things… with him… things I couldn’t understand. Things I couldn’t risk.

  “Yeah, just need something to do,” I said steadily, wiping my damp hands on my jeans.

  “Unfortunately… or fortunately… because of your help, there’s not a whole lot left to do before George takes a look,” he said even as his gaze roamed my face, searching for signs of distress. “Eve’s determined to tackle cleaning up the espresso machine today if you want to help her.”

  I winced. “I think it’s easier if she cleans it without me.”

  The pans… the walls… I could handle those. Touching the cool metal of the machine, cleaning out the grinds in there from when my pap was still alive…

  Yeah, that wasn’t something I was going to be able to handle right now.

  Hearing my reluctance, he suggested, “There are also some more books and albums and stuff underneath the counter over there. I don’t know what you want to do with them… take them back to the house… or maybe Josie would want some of them…”

  I nodded to that. Strange how old photos seemed less threatening than a coffee machine.

  “Yeah, I can take a look.”

  “Here.” He held out a mask for me.

  While the brothers cleaned up the debris, it was hard to breathe out here without one. Careful not to brush his fingers, I murmured my thanks and tucked the straps around my ears.

  I hesitated as I opened the cupboard doors, wondering if I was opening Pandora’s box. Too late now. A stack of photo albums sat underneath the picture frames from the counter I’d peeked through earlier in the week.

  I moved those to the side and reached for the album on top. The soft faux leather cover crinkled and creaked as I peeled it back to reveal faded sepia photos inside. Images of my pap from right before and during the war greeted me. These were the ones he always looked at with Josie.

  Putting it to the side, I reached for the second album, the cover groaning even louder as I opened it. My fingers gingerly brushed over the plastic film. Photo after photo of my family and me. Memories lost for a long time now floated to the surface.

  My breaths slowed as my ribs grew tight with a strange type of homesickness. Not one attached to a physical place, but rather a place in time. A place in the past.

  I’d forgotten it was the Covington brothers who’d taught me how to ride a bike. I’d forgotten how Josie baked me a Narnia cake for my twelfth birthday. I’d forgotten about Roasters ‘Coffee and Carols’ event every Christmas Eve when coffee, hot chocolate, and snacks were shared with anyone who came inside while we sang Christmas carols well into the evening.

  I laughed because the photo was of everyone singing except for my mom; she had a notoriously bad voice, and everyone knew and loved her for it. Instead, she stood behind the counter pouring coffee into the line of mugs waiting to be served with my dad by her side, handing a filled mug to someone whose face was hidden.

  In the front of the crowd, my pap led the community choir with his accordion strapped around his neck. And I stood right next to him with the strand of jingle bells in my hand because it was always my job to jingle. My smile was alive with laughter as we looked at each other; I could almost hear the tune coming out of the photo—just like I could almost feel the love.

  A drop of water splattered onto the plastic covering and I looked up, my first thought was a leak had sprung from the ceiling. But the ceiling was clear.

  The leak had sprung from me.

  Closing the cover reverently, I tucked the album along with the picture frames back into the cupboard and shut the door.

  “I’m going to take this one down to Josie,” I declared, peeling off my mask.

  I didn’t wait for acknowledgment before I bolted out the front door, the album under my arm, and took off down the block toward the Carmel Bakery.

  The entry bell, similar to the one at Roasters, dinged as I opened the door. Immediately, I was assaulted by the mouth-watering wave of freshly-baked bread infused into the warm air and my steps slowed to savor the scent.

  It wasn’t always bread that stopped you in your tracks. I could remember times when it was double-chocolate chip cookies or Josie’s famous banana-nut muffins. All different yet equally delicious.

  I blinked quickly and saw the girl behind the counter watching me strangely.

  I recognized her from the funeral—and her resemblance to Josie. Like digging for something in the bottom of your purse, my mind rapidly pulled out name after name that wasn’t what I was looking for until it finally came to me. Cambria.

  Josie’s daughter was younger than me, a quiet girl with pale blond hair that fell below her shoulders, a doll-like face, and subdued green eyes.

  “How can I help you?” she asked with a voice as warm and sweet as if it had been baked in the back along with the rest of the pastries. But her smile told a different story; the way it looked like it had been broken and then patched back together with just enough pieces to string it together.

  “Hi.” I walked up to the counter. “I was umm… wondering if Josie was around? I just have something for her.” I looked around, worried Josie wasn’t even here.

  “She’s just in the back, give me one second.” Turning, she disappeared through the swinging door, letting in another warm gust of baked bread. “Mom, Laurel is here to see you.”

  Josie appeared through the door a few seconds later, followed by her daughter, and wiped her flour-covered hands on her apron as she greeted me.

  “Hi, Laurel,” she said, equal measures of surprise and welcome baked into her voice. “Cammie, can you just go back there and keep an eye on the baguettes for me? If you want to work the sourdough while you wait, that would be wonderful.”

  With a nod to her mom, Cambria pushed through the door again, leaving Josie and me alone.

  “Sorry to bother you,” I began, lifting the photo album onto the counter. “I wanted to thank you for the basket you left at the house the other day.”

  “Oh, of course. I tried to put things that were your favorites in there.” She beamed with a motherly smile. “I’m sure your tastes have changed, but—”

  “Please. It was very thoughtful, and some things haven’t changed,” I reassured her without thinking, forcing a swallow through my throat that felt tight. “I stopped in because I just came across this up at Roasters, so I thought I would bring it down to you. I figured you might want it.”

  Her eyes homed in on the album, and she pulled it toward her slowly. “I wasn’t sure if it was taken during the break-in,” she murmured and blinked rapidly.

  I should’ve told her it was spared and it was all hers and left, but my feet remained planted to the floor like my memories of this town had grown roots to try to keep me here.

  Her smile widened as she opened the cover with trembling hands. Eyes shining, she pressed a palm to her heart as relief spread over her powder-dusted features.

  “I can’t tell you how many times your pap took time out of his day to look through these with me. I loved hearing his stories about my dad,” she murmured.

  I couldn’t understand how. Any and every mention of my parents only brought unimaginable pain.

  “Did you not… know him?” It was really the only explanation I could understand. If she hadn’t known her father, she couldn’t have been hurt by his memory.

  “When I was younger, I did. He left for the war when I was a teenager and, unfortunately, didn’t make it back.” Her eyes flicked to mine. “I was probably about the same age as you when you lost your parents.”

  I needed to leave.

  This was supposed to be for her—about her. Not me.

  But those roots had grown deeper. I wanted to be upset becaus
e she’d used her past to dredge up my own, and because she was able to look at these photos and smile. Instead, I brimmed with jealousy that somehow her emptiness had been filled while mine had turned into a black hole, sucking in and eliminating anything and anyone who got too close.

  “I’m sorry.” I reached for the album. “If you don’t want this, I’ll just take it back. It’s not a problem—”

  Her hand pressed on top of the pages and held it from me. “Oh, no. Please.” My hold relaxed as she looked down at the photos again. “My dad was so excited when him and your pap enlisted. And the stories your pap could tell…” She trailed off with a laugh. “My favorite was the time they chauffeured one of the commanding officers to a different base, but it was so foggy they couldn’t see the road. They ended up having to stop and wait until morning to continue, and when morning came and the fog lifted, they realized they’d driven right into the middle of a field.”

  My chest lurched forward as she continued to page through the album.

  “Why would you want to remember all of this?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking—from accusing. “Why would you want to remember?”

  “Oh, Laurel.” The warmth in her eyes killed me. “When I look at these, I don’t remember the loss. I remember the love.”

  I wasn’t breathing. In fact, I wasn’t sure my heart was even beating when she answered me.

  The memory—the recent one—of Eli and me laughing last night, remembering my grandfather… it knocked the air right out from my lungs.

  That was what she felt.

  That was what she meant.

  And it was all because of him. Unintentionally… unknowingly… Because of Eli, I’d remembered the love.

  And the realization petrified me into silence.

  “I haven’t looked at these photos in a while.” She sighed. “After you left, more often than not, I’d stop over at Roasters and ask him to see the pictures in the other album… the ones of you and your parents.”

  “Why?” I croaked out in disbelief. I could understand wanting to see photos of her father. But we weren’t family. “Why would you want to see photos of me?”