Their Sweet Coastal Reunion
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Kaylie Newell
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Chapter One
“How much for the jawbreakers?”
Kyla Beckett smiled at the teenage boy in the faded hoodie and worn-out Converse All Stars. His face looked drawn and a little sad. Something about him reminded her of herself at that age. Except her clothes had never looked as good as his. Her mom had always bought them two sizes too big, so she wouldn’t grow out of them so fast.
“Fifty cents each,” she said from behind the vintage Formica countertop.
He nodded, his blue eyes shifting toward the tip jar.
He was her first customer of the day. Coastal Sweets was empty this morning. A fine mist was coming down outside, and the Pacific Ocean churned a few blocks away, gray and moody to match the dark, mottled clouds overhead. But Main Street still managed to look cheerful, with colorful flower baskets hanging outside the shop windows, and coffee-clutching tourists beginning to stroll by, unfazed by the weather.
Kyla had almost forgotten this. How charming Christmas Bay could be. After all, the town had coaxed her back into its arms after all these years, something she never thought would happen.
The boy shifted on his feet, suddenly looking nervous.
Kyla’s stomach dropped. Uh-oh. She was helping Frances with the shop for the summer, but she was also a high school history teacher, and she recognized the look in his eyes. He was getting ready to say something stupid, or do something stupid. And judging by the way he’d just yanked his hood over his head, she was betting on the latter.
But before she could step out from behind the counter, he’d reached out and grabbed the tip jar. Overflowing because Frances had forgotten to empty it last night, and Kyla had unlocked the doors before remembering to do it herself.
“Hey!”
The kid didn’t skip a beat. Quick as a cat, he shoved the plastic jar up his hoodie, and bolted for the door.
Kyla didn’t hesitate. She hauled herself over the counter and ran after him. Feeling a flash of anger for Frances, who was sweet and loved everyone, and who didn’t deserve this. She would’ve given the kid the money if he’d just asked for it.
“Hey, come back here!”
She winced even as the words left her mouth. Did she actually think he would? But she was out the door and yelling it again before she could help herself.
He glanced back at her, and before she could process the scene playing out before her eyes, he ran right into a uniformed police officer, nearly knocking him off his feet.
The boy fell backward with a grunt and landed on his butt. Hard. The tip jar tumbled out of his hoodie and rolled onto the wet sidewalk. Thankfully the lid stayed on tight.
Kyla slowed, watching as he scrambled to his feet. But he wasn’t fast enough to duck around the officer, who grabbed his hoodie and yanked him to a stop.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you’re going?”
The boy didn’t struggle. All the life went out of him, and his shoulders slumped. Resigned. Maybe resigned to this world.
In spite of her anger, Kyla’s heart squeezed as she made her way toward them. Just like the clothes were familiar, so was that look. Maybe all the fight had gone out of him because there hadn’t been that much to begin with.
She wrapped her arms around herself, the mist clinging to her hair and eyelashes. She was glad she’d worn waterproof mascara this morning. She’d been away from the Oregon coast for a while now, but she’d remembered that little necessity.
The officer looked up as she approached. Midthirties. Tall, dark hair, dark eyes. Thick chest and strong biceps that bulged from underneath his uniform sleeves.
He was a good-looking man, no doubt. But that wasn’t why Kyla’s mouth grew suddenly dry at the sight of him. His body might’ve changed and matured, but she’d know that face anywhere. His eyes, the set of his mouth, were so familiar, so sweet, that she nearly forgot she hated him.
“I’m guessing he belongs to you?” he said.
Struggling for her bearings, she lifted her chin. Defensiveness. She felt it all rushing back. The anger, the pain, the closing off of her heart so nobody could hurt her. How easy it was to step back into those little girl’s shoes.
“No. Well, kind of.”
He raised his brows.
It was obvious he didn’t recognize her. After all, the last time he’d seen her she’d been in the sixth grade, tiny for her age and skinny as a post. Crooked glasses because contacts had never been an option.
Kyla felt the sting of tears at the unwanted memories. She’d worked hard over the years to lock them away. But she also knew that coming back here would open that door again. She just hadn’t expected how bright the light would be, or how much it would hurt her eyes.
Gritting her teeth, she pulled the sea air into her lungs. She wouldn’t cry out here on this blustery sidewalk in front of the whole town. And she certainly wouldn’t cry in front of this man, who, for better or worse, had changed her life forever.
“I’m assuming you’ll want to press charges?” he asked.
Kyla thought about this. Christmas Bay was a tourist town, full of little shops like Coastal Sweets. Shoplifters were a problem, and as far as she knew, weren’t given much leniency in the hopes of discouraging more shoplifting. It made sense. Still, she couldn’t quite bring herself to go there yet.
“How long do I have, Officer?” she asked. Not saying his name, even though his shiny gold name tag practically shouted Martinez right there in front of her face. “To decide?”
He frowned, looking down at the boy, whose hoodie was still wadded up in his hand. “Oh. Well, you can take your time. If that’s what you want.”
Judging by his tone, it was pretty clear he thought she should go ahead and do it. Of course, he would. The Ben Martinez she remembered was a rule follower. He probably wasn’t used to bending them much, and quite honestly, neither was she. But she was also having a hard time ignoring the heaviness in her chest at the sight of this kid’s threadbare clothes. Of the weariness in his expression. His wavy blond hair hung over one eye, and it wasn’t too hard to imagine it in ringlets when he was little.
She watched him, doing her best to lock Ben and his judgment out altogether.
“What’s your name?” Kyla asked.
“Hunter.”
“How old are you, Hunter?”
“Fifteen.”
“You should know that we donate the money in that tip jar to our local food bank at the end of every week. You’re old enough to understand how wrong stealing it is. And the implications something like that has on other people.”
Hunter had the decency to blush at that. He looked down at his Converses, as Ben let go of his hoodie and smoothed it out.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
Kyla relaxed a little. He seemed reasonably contrite, and in her experience, contrition went a long way. That didn’t mean he’d quit shoplifting. But maybe he’d think twice next time.
“I know who your dad is,” Ben said. “So, I know where you live. I’ll be in touch, but until then, no more trouble from you—got it?”
Hunter nodded.
But at the mention of his father, it looked like the weight of the world had just settled squarely on his shoulders.
Kyla took a step back, suddenly overwhelmed with the emotion of it all. With the expression on the boy’s face, and the thumping of her heart brought on by the simple presence of the man beside her. She longed for the warmth and comfort of the little candy shop down the street—a place where she could safely unpack the events of the last few minutes.
“I have to get back to the shop now, Officer,” she said. “Thank you.” She turned and left, hoping he couldn’t see the pain in her eyes.
Ben watched the woman walk away, her gray cardigan not doing a ton to conceal her curves. But her curves weren’t what had his attention right then. It was her eyes, dove gray, like the sweater. Something about her tickled his memory. He knew her from somewhere, he just couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Wait!” he called after her. “Wait just a second...”
She turned, and he jogged to catch up. They were going the same way anyway. The police station was only three doors down from Coastal Sweets.
He smiled as he approached, but her expression remained cool. He couldn’t figure out why. Unless maybe he knew her from a police matter or something, but he didn’t think so. She had the guarded look of someone who wanted to keep her distance, and that wasn’t something he’d be able to let go of easily. Especially not without knowing why.
He stopped a few feet in front of her. Her dark hair was damp now, and starting to curl a little around her collarbone. She hugged the tip jar to her stomach, and gazed up at him, a familiar tilt to her chin.
“So, you’re working at the shop?” he asked, trying to sound casual, but feeling anything but. She looked like she wanted to stick a knife between his ribs.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know Frances hired someone. I’m glad. She stays pretty busy.”
“She does.”
He smiled again and stuck out his hand. In his line of work, he found that charm went a long way. In getting people to trust you, in getting them to open up. And he knew for a fact that he had some to spare. Or so he’d been told.
“Ben Martinez. Christmas Bay’s police chief.”
Her gaze fell to his hand, but she didn’t extend hers. She looked back up, her full lips pursed. Okay, now he was getting annoyed. What the hell had he done to her anyway?
“I know who you are,” she said.
He dropped his hand to his side. “Well, you’re one up on me then, because I’ve been trying to figure out who you are for the last five minutes.”
She shifted on her feet and glanced over at the candy store. “I should go. In case we get a customer.”
“Is Frances not working today? I’ve been meaning to come see her.”
He knew he should shut up, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to leave her just yet.
“She’s not,” she said. “I talked her into taking the day off.”
“Oh, that’s great...” He let his voice trail off as they stood there looking at each other. A gull squawked overhead, and a woman brushed by walking a little dog in a sweater. It stopped to sniff Ben’s boot and she tugged on its leash. He barely noticed.
“You know,” he said. “I gotta say, I’m feeling some hostility coming from you.”
She swallowed visibly and looked away, probably not expecting him to call her on it. Another Ben Martinez tactic. Be direct. That one he’d learned from Gracie, who could get anyone talking. Six years old, and already a better negotiator than him.
The woman was quiet, gazing toward the ocean in the distance. The sun was trying its best to peek through the misty clouds overhead and warm things up. It felt good on his shoulders.
“Are you?” he asked.
“Am I what?”
“Hostile. Toward me.”
She looked back at him, her lovely eyes chilly. “A little.”
He felt his lips tilt at that. She was going to be a challenge, and he liked those.
“Can I ask why?”
“You have no idea who I am?” she asked. “None at all?”
Not yet. But her face was so familiar that it was bringing back feelings, if not clear memories. Feelings from a long time ago. Maybe they’d been friends as kids?
“Not at the moment,” he said. “But you’re from Christmas Bay, right? Did you go to high school here?”
“I did, but not with you. You were older than me.” She took a breath, and readjusted the tip jar under her arm. “I was friends with Isabel. I lived a few blocks down from you on Poppy Lane...”
Ben’s heartbeat slowed inside his chest. Those eyes. He knew those eyes. In fact, right then, he was surprised he could’ve ever forgotten them.
“I’m Kyla Beckett,” she said evenly.
He stood there staring down at her. Taking her in as if she’d slapped him across the face.
She couldn’t blame him. She felt the same way. She was still having a hard time reconciling this adult Ben with the boy she’d known before—charismatic, sweet, protective. Protective of her. He’d been her best friend’s oldest brother. A star running back, who’d been getting ready to head off to college and a full-ride scholarship. And he’d been her first love, although of course, he never knew that.
He was also the reason she’d finally been taken away from her mother, and placed in Frances’s home high above Cape Longing. She’d never gone back. Her mother had died before she ever got the chance.
Ben had been the one to report the neglect, and as far as Kyla was concerned, had betrayed her in the worst way. At least that’s how she’d felt as a girl. Now, as a grown woman, she didn’t know how she felt. Sad. Angry. Angry that she hadn’t had more time with her mother. He couldn’t have understood that her mom was a good mom, she just struggled. Or maybe she was just making excuses again. She was great at those.
“Kyla...” he said quietly.
His deep voice stroked something inside her. A feeling of warmth, of safety. And she pushed it away before it could burrow its way inside her heart. She didn’t need anyone’s protection anymore. She was fine on her own. Frances had raised her and her foster sisters to be strong, independent women. But it wasn’t until right then that Kyla wondered if that independence might’ve been stoked a little too well. Sometimes, she had flashes of wanting to lean on people again, of needing them in her life. And then the feeling was gone before she could ever get her arms around it.
“It was a long time ago,” she said.
He nodded. What could he say? Maybe there wasn’t anything to say. Maybe from now on, they’d just politely ignore each other around town, pretending like they weren’t ever a significant part of each other’s lives once.
“How’s Isabel?” she asked before she could help it.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Her gaze kept dropping to his mouth, to his jawline, which promised a five-o’clock shadow by noon. He looked handsome in his dark uniform, which was crisp and fitted, even in the mist of the morning.
“She’s doing well,” he answered. “She’s the only one of my brothers and sisters who still lives here. She’s a nurse-practitioner—Frances probably told you that part. Married, kids.”
Kyla warmed. She’d genuinely loved Isabel Martinez, and before she’d come to live with Stella and Marley, she was the only sister she’d ever known.
“Tell her I said hello,” she said.
“I’ll tell her. But don’t be surprised if she comes down here as soon as she hears you’re back.”
Kyla nodded and took a step away, wanting to increase the space between them. Standing this close, she could smell a faint scent of soap, maybe the shampoo he’d used that morning. It was making her a little heady, and she had to remind herself she didn’t want anything to do with this man.
He must’ve noticed the expression on her face, because his softened. But to his credit, he didn’t bring up her mother, or the past or anything that could make her chest grow any tighter than it already was.
Instead, he put his hands in his pockets, making his uniform shirt stretch over his broad shoulders. “You should know this isn’t the Mohatt boy’s first rodeo.”
“The Mohatt boy?”
He nodded toward the tip jar. “Our friend who borrowed that. He’s a handful.”
“Oh. Well, I’m used to those. I’m a teacher.”
He eyed her.
“A high school teacher,” she continued. “That’s why I can help Frances with the shop. Summer vacation.”
“Ahh. So, you’re leaving in the fall then. Going back to...”
The truth was, she had nowhere to go. She’d given her notice at her school district in Portland a few weeks ago, packed up her rented cottage and had driven down the coastline not knowing exactly how long she’d be in Christmas Bay. She was here to help with the shop, but Frances was going to need a lot more than that. The big old house on the cape was getting to be too much for her, and her memory was slipping noticeably. Something that worried Kyla to no end.
So, she and her foster sisters would have a lot to talk about. They needed to figure things out. What the future of the candy shop looked like, what the future of the house looked like. And what Frances’s future looked like, as a widow with no biological family of her own. It was a tender subject.
Kyla felt her back stiffen as she gazed up at him. It was a small town, but this was really none of his business. She didn’t care that he was the police chief, or that he had an obvious soft spot for Frances or that he looked good in that uniform. She wasn’t going to chitchat like he was some kind of old friend, instead of the arrow in her heart that he absolutely was.
“I really should go,” she said.
He nodded as she took another step back. His eyes said it all, even if he didn’t utter the words. She wasn’t going to be able to run away from him this time. After all, he worked right down the street.
“I’ll be here if you need anything,” he said. “And, Kyla...”
Reaching for the door, she turned.
He watched her, his shoulders hunched a little. His badge flashing in the sunlight that now bathed Main Street in its morning glow. “I’m sorry,” he said. “About...all of it.”
She paused for a second. Then retreated inside the sweet-smelling shop. Me, too.
“You take it plain, sweetie?” Frances called from the kitchen. “Or with sugar? I can’t remember.”
Kyla sat looking at the ocean from the cozy sunroom of the century-old three-story Victorian house that she’d called home since the sixth grade. The yard this time of year always reminded her of something out of a fairy tale—emerald-green grass, miniature roses, golden Scotch broom that grew in a wild, scattered way along the peeling picket fence. And the way the property ended in such unapologetic drama, hovering at the edge of a series of cliffs overlooking the blue-gray waters of the Pacific.
The fog and mist of the morning had given way to an early evening sunshine that warmed Kyla’s face now. She leaned back in the old overstuffed chair that had always been her favorite reading spot as a kid, and smiled.
“Plain, Frances!” she called back. “Thanks.”
It was good to be back. Like her sisters, she’d mostly stayed away, thinking she needed distance from her past. She thought if she had space, it would give her room to heal. But over the years, she’d begun to miss her foster mother terribly. Phone calls and short visits never filled the lonely crevices in her heart. So, in the end, making the choice to come home again hadn’t been as complicated as she’d expected.
Now that she was here, though, she felt the significance all the way to her bones. Home. She was home. And what did that mean exactly? Something permanent? Or something that would end up slipping gently through her fingers like the sand on the beach?
Frances walked in carrying two glasses of iced tea with lemon wedges stuck in the rims.
“Here you go. Drink up, buttercup.”
Her foster mother, wearing a Christmas Bay Middle School sweatshirt, since she was a proud Pirate booster, sat on the wicker chair across from Kyla, the sun making her bouffant blond hairdo glow platinum. She’d always been a beautiful woman, with smooth, luminous skin and big blue eyes, framed with thick lashes. Her eyes were what had drawn Kyla to her in the first place. What had made her trust again after not being able to trust very much at all.
They took her in now with their characteristic warmth. But there was a new sliver of vagueness in them that made Kyla’s stomach knot. Frances was only sixty-two. Much too young to be losing her memory at such a fast pace. Her previous doctor had been leaning toward Alzheimer’s, a devastating diagnosis, but Frances had stopped short of the tests that would confirm it. And then, had stopped going to the doctor altogether.
Ever since her husband had passed away, she’d had to make it on her own. She’d built Coastal Sweets into the successful business it was today, and had taken care of the lovely old house herself, which had been in her family for three generations.
In her own words, Frances did not have time for an Alzheimer’s diagnosis. But of course, it wasn’t that simple.
Kyla’s heart swelled as she watched her take a sip of tea, and then set the glass down next to her cat, Jacques, who spent most weekdays at the candy shop curled up in a ridiculous pink bed beside the cash register. But he had today off, and was making the most of it by snoring away in a sunbeam.
Frances stroked his plump black-and-white belly, and he responded by stretching across the end table luxuriously, not bothering to open his eyes.
“So tell me again what happened with the chief?” Frances asked with a frown. “You said he caught a shoplifter?”
At the mention of Ben Martinez, Kyla’s throat tightened. “Well, there was a shoplifter,” she said. “But I haven’t pressed charges. Not yet, anyway. I told him I’d think about it.”
“Why?”
Kyla shrugged, taking a sip of her own tea. “You know the type,” she said, putting it down again. “Just looked a little lost and sad.”
“I do know the type. But sometimes they need a wake-up call.”
“That’s true...”
Frances leaned back in the wicker chair, making it creak. “You know I’m a believer in tough love.”
That wasn’t quite true. Frances was a major softie deep down, but Kyla kept her mouth shut.
“Sometimes it’s the very best thing,” Frances continued. “But it’s your call, honey. I worry about you in that shop all alone, though. Today it was only the tip jar, but what about tomorrow? I know when you were growing up here we never had to lock our doors, but things have changed. The town has changed. Things aren’t nearly as safe as they used to be.”
“I’m okay, Frances. Promise.”
Frances touched the strand of freshwater pearls at her throat. A birthday present from Kyla during her first year of teaching. She’d wanted to get her something special, and they’d been in the window of their favorite boutique on the wharf.
“Even so,” Frances said. “I’d feel better if I asked the chief to look in on you every now and then. Just in case.”
“Ben?” She shook her head. “No way. I’ll be fine. In fact, I’d rather take my chances with an armed robber.”
“Honey...”
She shook her head again.
“Kyla Anne, look at me.”
After a few seconds, Kyla did as she was told.
“When are you going to forgive that boy?” Frances asked quietly. “He was only doing what he thought was right. And he couldn’t have known what would happen with your mom. He was just trying to protect you.”
Kyla swallowed hard. In her heart, she knew that was true. But it still didn’t change the fact that she’d never been allowed to go home again. That her mother had died alone. And Ben was the reason. Even if she wanted to, she didn’t know how to forgive him.
“If it would make you feel better,” she said, “you can ask him to come by. But I don’t need—”
Frances held up a hand. “I know. You don’t need his help.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Nobody says you do. Just do it for me?”
“You know I will.”
“Oh, I know. I’m pretty good at getting what I want. How do you think I managed three teenage girls under one roof all those years?”
Kyla laughed.
Frances pointed a manicured finger at her, and took another sip of tea. Outside the open windows, there was the distant sound of waves lapping at the base of the cliffs. Gentle today, and not at all insistent like they’d be in the fall. The sun was at its most beautiful, slanting across the earth and hitting the water in thousands of golden sparkles that looked like sequins on a dress.
Leaning back, Kyla breathed in the salty air and listened to the gulls squabble in the yard. Maybe after dinner, they’d go for a walk on the beach. They hadn’t gone hunting for agates since she’d been home.
Frances stroked Jacques again, and frowned. “What did you say happened with that shoplifter again? You didn’t press charges?”
Kyla schooled her features, worried they’d betray the stab of pain in her heart. Instead, she reached for her foster mother’s hand and smiled.
“No, Frances,” she said. “I didn’t.”
