Page 22 of Find Me in California

“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 up its 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.

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