Find Me in California by Kerry Lonsdale, excerpt
Matt glares at the departures screen as a heavy curtain of rain drenches the airport. Lightning flashes and thunder rumbles, shaking the building. Visibility is shit. All flights have been delayed or canceled, including his. Even if he catches a later flight with a connection in Phoenix or Las Vegas, depending on the delay, he won’t get into Burbank until late tonight.
His head pounds furiously at this massive inconvenience.
He searches for flights on his app. He could fly out tomorrow, which would get him to Rosemont after 4:00 p.m., but he loses a day in the process.
Or—he pulls up a map—he could drive. It’s twelve hours to Pasadena. Eleven or less given how he drives. He’d arrive by midnight, crash at a hotel, and be at Rosemont first thing in the morning, giving him and Elizabeth the entire day to coordinate her affairs and—he can’t believe he’s thinking this—talk about his mom. And what’s up with appointing him as her secondary? Barring hiccups, he could be back in Santa Fe by midnight Monday. He’d have all Tuesday to work on the Ford assignment.
That’s a shit ton of driving and miles he doesn’t need to put on his car. A lot of hours he’d be behind the wheel instead of editing photos. But he’s impatient and sees only one option.
Matt ditches the airport and heads west on I-40. The wipers chase sheets of rain across the windshield, but if his career as a professional automobile photographer and his frenetic love of road racing have taught him anything, it’s how to handle himself behind the wheel in extreme driving conditions. He isn’t stupid, but he rarely drives within the speed limit.
As his tires chew up and spit out the miles, Matt searches the backpack in the passenger seat for the edibles that he would have left behind had he flown. He pops one to quell the headache that’s been throbbing since yesterday. He then makes a call to Lenore to update her on the change of plans. He’ll be at Rosemont first thing tomorrow and wants to meet. But when the call goes to her voicemail, he hangs up and rings Julia instead. He needs to tell someone that he’s on the way.
“Matt,” Julia answers in a flat tone. She doesn’t sound pleased to hear from him. It throws him off.
“Hey, uh, hi. About last night,” is all he can get out before she interrupts.
“Worst phrase ever to start a conversation. But if we’re hashing this out, so far you’ve hung up on me and tried to pick a fight. What’s next? Are you going to dump me before we get together?” Her voice is soaked in sarcasm. He doesn’t know why, but he laughs. “That wasn’t meant to be funny,” she says, dryly. “And now I feel stupid because you’re probably married with kids.”
“Not married and no kids. It’s just . . .” He laughs some more. “This whole situation is absurd.”
“I assume you’re talking about Liza and what an inconvenience your grandmother is to you. Well, you aren’t the only one responsible for an elderly relative. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your dislike for voicemail and filial responsibility.”
“Whoa.” He clues in that there’s more going on than her irritation with him. “Everything okay?”
A long exhale. “It’s been a day.”
He glances at the dash clock. “It’s just after noon.”
“That’s all?” Her laugh is hollow. “Seems later.”
“Want to talk about it? I’m driving. I’m a captive audience.” He’d rather focus on her problems than his own.
“With you?” She laughs. “I’m sort of busy right now.” A reflective pause or a move to get off the phone, he can’t tell. “I hear you’re coming here.”
“Ah, so you already know I’m on my way.” He closes the distance on an eighteen-wheeler, his wipers barely keeping up with the water its rear tires dump on his windshield. He switches lanes to pass.
“Lenore told me this morning. Look—” She sighs. “Sorry I seem short, but if it helps any, I sort of get what you’re going through. My grandmother’s fees increased. I don’t want to move her, but if I can’t cover her expenses, I’ll have to, even though I promised her I’d never take her out of Rosemont. And why am I telling you this? I don’t know you.”
“I’m thirty, single, and live alone in Santa Fe. I like photography, fast cars, and southwestern tacos. I identify as a man, prefer to date women, and failed the only marathon I ever ran. Strained my Achilles. I love the water, but you’ll never catch me in a boat or swimming in the open ocean.”
Why, for the love of God, did he tell her that?
“How’s that for starters?” he says, shaking his head at himself.
“Is that your Tinder bio?”
“I don’t do dating apps,” he says, balking. Relationships should evolve organically. He also prefers solitude to company, and singlehood to coupledom. He’s not about to unload his baggage on anyone, let alone a woman looking for love. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I don’t know you either.” Matt chews on his bottom lip, waiting for her to share something. Keeps him from dwelling on who’s waiting for him at his destination. “Not much of a talker?” he asks when she doesn’t offer up anything.
“What are we doing? What is this?” she asks.
He has no clue. What he does know is she’s kind of fun to talk with. He picks a safer subject. “Your grandmother, she’s at Rosemont?”
“Yes, three years now. I volunteer here as a massage therapist to keep the cost down. They can’t honor that anymore, and I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”
“Are you close with her?”
“About as close as I can be with someone who doesn’t remember who I am. She has Alzheimer’s.” She doesn’t disguise her love for her grandmother, or her pain. Matt only wishes Elizabeth had forgotten about him.
“That must be tough. I’m assuming you guys were close?”
“You’ve no idea. She raised me. Tell you what, Matt: You seem to regret how our last two conversations went. I’m going to do you a solid out of the goodness of my heart.”
“Is that sarcasm?”
“Take it as you see fit. Lenore gave me brochures to a few assisted living facilities. I guess I should make some calls, plan for a worst-case scenario. If you’re interested, I can pass along what I find out. Save you some time when you get here.”
“If I’m interested? That—wow. That would be huge, thank you. One problem—” He starts to explain he won’t be able to meet until tomorrow morning since he’s driving instead of flying, but a wave of dizziness tilts the horizon sideways. He eases his foot off the accelerator and slows the Porsche to the speed limit. He blinks hard to regain focus. “Whoa, that was weird.”
“What was?”
“Nothing.” He frowns. Whatever just happened passed. “Julia, the weather here is crap. My flight was canceled. I’m driving instead.”
“From New Mexico?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a long drive.”
“I don’t expect to be in Pasadena until midnight. Can we meet tomorrow? Can I buy you lunch, or breakfast? I like coffee. You like coffee?” He realizes as he asks that he doesn’t know what she looks like. He hasn’t even tried to picture her or google her. She could be decades older than him, or much younger. And why the hell is his brain taking him on this trip? Why does he care?
“I like coffee. And I’m here all day tomorrow. I’ll make some calls today. Not sure I can set up tours. Tomorrow’s Sunday. But I’ll try.”
Like hell he’s going to spend time touring facilities. He’ll go with whichever one Julia recommends. Buoyant with gratitude, he grins. She just saved him a fuckload of time and hassle.
“Thank you, Julia. I really appreciate it.”
The rain lets up to a drizzle. He guns the car to make up time.
“Can I share something with you? Do you have a moment?” she asks.
“Shoot.” He’s driving across three states. He’s got nothing but time.
“Did you know our grandmothers knew each other when they were younger? They met in seventy-two, and I think they were friends.”
“Really?” He’s about to ask why anyone would want to be friends with Elizabeth when his vision fuzzes along the edges. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them. The sky is now utterly blue, not a cloud in sight. As if the storm evaporated in a snap. Poof. Gone. Everything is dry: the road, the dirt, his car. He leans over the steering wheel and peers upward. It’s so bright outside it burns. “Weird,” he murmurs to himself.
“Right? Small world. Liza’s been here for a year and she never mentioned anything. I mean, I suspected, and there were signs when I think back on it, but it wasn’t until I read Mama Rose’s diary—oh, gosh. You didn’t hear that from me. Don’t mention it to either of them when you get here. I feel guilty enough for reading it.”
“No worries. I’ve got you covered.” He takes a right off the freeway and coasts a quarter mile until the shoulder’s wide enough to pull off. He eases to a stop.
“I plan to tell her. I have so many questions for her and Liza. But I worry Mama Rose won’t remember she asked for the diary. And Liza, I doubt she’ll even talk to me. She’s never been forthcoming about anything unless she’s pressed. It took forever to get her to admit you’re her grandson when I asked her. Maybe that’s why I’m telling you. I’m worried they won’t talk about it, and I need to discuss it.”
“Then tell me everything. Where did they meet?” He puts the car in Park, not particularly interested in anything that has to do with Elizabeth. He just wants to keep Julia talking. Resting his forehead on the steering wheel, he breathes through the rising nausea. What’s going on with him?
Keep talking, he silently begs. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but her voice is calming. He decides he’ll wait here and let this run its course and then get back on the road.
“Hollywood, in a Ralph’s parking lot of all places.” She tells him an outlandish story about a young Elizabeth inviting Ruby Rose, a fresh-off-the-commune early twentysomething-or-other, to her home after a chance meeting over a torn bag of groceries.
All the while, Matt is tripping. She’s talking about his grandmother, but the woman Julia is describing doesn’t match up with the woman he knew. That woman hadn’t been generous or inviting, not with him.
Julia’s voice lulls him into a near trance. He recalls she mentioned she’s a massage therapist, and his mind drifts in an inappropriate direction. He pictures Julia’s hands, and then he pictures her hands on him, as appeasing as her voice. They release taut muscles, harden other parts. A delicious ache forms below his belt, and a groan builds in his throat.
Then he remembers where he is and who he’s speaking with. A practical stranger.
Get a hold of yourself, man.
He lifts his head and startles at the sight before him. There’s a woman outside sitting on a large hard-sided suitcase, the old kind without wheels. A smaller case covered in peeling bumper stickers rests at her feet. Her sheer paisley blouse flutters on her arms. Her face is tilted toward the sun, soaking in warmth. Long wheat tresses of the silkiest hair he’s seen reach her waist.
Who is she and where did she come from?
Aside from the highway, the area is desolate, nothing but barren land for miles.
Slowly, she turns her head and looks at him. Then she smiles. Holy—
Matt sucks in a sharp breath. She’s gorgeous. Like drop dead. Flowing hair and pixie eyes. All the feels hit him with force, and his chest hollows on a powerful exhale.
Gaze locked with his, she approaches the car. Through her shirt, Matt can make out her dark areolae. Her tongue glides along her bottom lip suggestively and sends an arrow of heat to his groin.
He tracks her to the passenger side. He feels compelled to open the door, invite her along for a ride. Uncover her secrets. Undress her.
What is his problem?
The logical side of him tells him she’s an illusion. She’s not real.
But his curious side? The photographer who wants to lay bare his subjects? That guy opens the window.
She folds her arms on the door and offers a ravishing smile, revealing a small gap between her two front teeth. Through the opening of her shirt, he sees the sharp peaks of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach.
“Hey, stranger.” Her voice is buttery soft.
“Hey.” He frowns. “Do I know you?” He feels like he does.
Skin puckers between her brows. “You don’t remember me?”
He wants to say yes. He has a feeling this isn’t the first time he’s seen her. He knows this woman. But the origins of his feelings are elusive when he attempts to grasp them.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”
She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. Then her smile turns full wattage.
“Baby, it’s Magnolia Blu.”
© Kerry Lonsdale Inc.
A Novel
An achingly romantic novel about chance meetings, buried secrets, and the multiple facets of love and family bonds by Wall Street Journal bestselling author Kerry Lonsdale.
Raised by her fiercely passionate and free-spirited grandmother, Julia Hope has never gone without love. But as she tends to her only living relative during her final days, Julia struggles to overcome her fear of being alone.
A thousand miles away, Matt Gatlin has managed to avoid the coldhearted grandmother with whom he once lived. But after twelve years of her being blessedly out of sight, she needs him. His resentments still raw, Matt packs up his car and reluctantly heads to California to confront a bitter past he thought was long gone.
Over the next six days, Julia’s and Matt’s fates intersect. An old diary exposes the tragedy of a long-lost love. A history of secrets in two families comes to light. And on a lonely back road, Matt picks up an unusual yet captivating hitchhiker with a secret of her own.
For Julia and Matt, something heartbreaking and heartwarming, mysterious and beautiful, will touch their lives—with neither of them realizing that maybe they’re destined for each other.
Women's Fiction Contemporary | Thriller Domestic [Lake Union Publishing, On Sale: June 11, 2024, Paperback / e-Book, ISBN: 9781662514821 / ]
Kerry Lonsdale is the award-winning Amazon Charts, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post and #1 Kindle bestselling author of the Everything series (Everything We Keep, Everything We Left Behind, and Everything We Give), No More trilogy (No More Words, No More Lies, and No More Secrets), and multiple standalone novels that include All the Breaking Waves, Last Summer, Side Trip, and Find Me in California. Her books have been Amazon Editors’ Picks, translated into twenty-seven languages, and have been covered by PopSugar, Buzzfeed, Parade, Redbook, Coastal Living, Travel & Leisure, Medium, Refinery29, and multiple other media outlets. She’s a founder of the Women’s Fiction Writers Association and lives in Northern California with her husband and three rescue cats.
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