Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Kerry Lonsdale’s Find Me In California, which is out June 11th 2024.

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.

Her stomach knotted like the tangled wad of bras she removed from the washer this morning, Julia tables her worries and knocks on her grandmother’s door in Rosemont’s memory care unit. She can’t discuss finances and brainstorm options with Mama Rose. Rarely does her grandmother remember who Julia is, and several months back, when Julia mentioned money to her, Mama Rose believed she still had a nest egg. She can’t comprehend it’s already been exhausted. Julia’s on her own with this dilemma.

“It’s open.” Her grandmother’s voice comes through the thick door. A soft chime sends a signal to the caretaker’s station when Julia enters. She quickly punches in a code on the keypad to silence the alarm and stops short with a look of horror when she sees her grandmother. Mama Rose stands amid a pile of blankets, her wheelchair on the other side of the room. She clutches a thick green-and-pink knit throw.

Panic explodes in Julia’s chest as a likely scene plays out in her head. Mama Rose will forget why she’s doing whatever she’s doing. She’ll forget about the blankets on the floor. Her foot will tangle in the wool and fleece. She’ll topple over and break her hip. Again. She’s been using the wheelchair because of a previous fall.

Dropping her shoulder bag on the table, Julia rushes to her grandmother’s side and gently grasps Mama Rose’s shoulders so she doesn’t lose her balance as she folds a blanket. Her grandmother’s face lights up at the sight of her.

“Have you come to get me out of this dreadful place?”

“You love it here,” Julia says. “You told me you wanted to stay.” It’s far more pleasant than other facilities.

“I said no such thing.”

Julia hums under her breath and resists getting sucked into this conversation. It’s old and repetitive, a symptom of Mama Rose’s condition. “What are you doing here?” She gestures to the pile on the floor.

“I’m . . .” Mama Rose smiles apologetically. “Forgive me. I can’t remember your name.”

Julia deflates. She’ll never get used to Mama Rose not recognizing her. “Call me Jules.”

Mama Rose pats her arm. “Beautiful name. My granddaughter’s named Julia. Have you met her?”

“I haven’t, but I’m sure she’s lovely. May I help?” She breathes through the hollowness in her chest. Reassured that Mama Rose is steady on her feet, she picks up the other end of the blanket and helps her fold. “Were you looking for something?” Her grandmother is always searching for objects from her past, be they keys or seeds or mail.

“A book.”

“In your blanket chest?” Julia sweeps the blankets off the floor to get them out of the way and drops the pile on the bed to fold.

“I found a toothbrush in there, so it’s possible.” Mama Rose puts the folded green-and-pink knit blanket into the chest and shuffles to the table.

“Tell me about the book. Is it one of those?” Julia asks of the books shelved above the dresser. Paperback mysteries and romances, their covers and spines creased from age and love. Books her grandmother read repeatedly before her eyesight deteriorated and Julia introduced her to audiobooks.

“No, none of those.” Mama Rose digs through Julia’s shoulder bag.

“Now what are you looking for?”

“These.” Mama Rose jingles Julia’s keys like she won a round in The Price Is Right. “We’re bugging out.”

“No, we’re not.”

“I’m driving.” Mama Rose shuffles to the door, or what she thinks is the door. The entire wall has been painted to look like a scene out of Monet’s garden, camouflaging the door. “I always get turned around. Where’s the door, love? You can’t keep me here forever. I’ll call the police. Soon as I get out of this dreadful place.” She runs her hands along the wall in search of the door, and the keys drop on the floor. “Oops.”

Julia is at her side and snags the keys before her grandmother has the chance.

“How about we go for a walk instead,” Julia says and gently takes her arm.

“I don’t want to go for a walk.” Mama Rose yanks her elbow away. “I want to go home.”

Moisture bites Julia’s eyes. “But you are home. You love it here. This is where you want to be.”

“Stop telling me what I want. Lies! All of them.” Mama Rose’s face flushes with her ire, and she wags a finger in Julia’s face. “I see right through them.”

“How about we see the garden instead? You always enjoy the gardens this time of evening.”

Mama Rose’s lips pinch. She rubs her thumbs across her fingertips over and over, her gaze darting around the room. “Yes, yes, you’re right. We’ll go see the garden. Maybe the book will be here after.”

“A wonderful plan.” Julia despises the relief that floods her forced calm. She’s curious about the book and wouldn’t mind helping her grandmother search for it later, but a visit to view Rosemont’s gardens is the distraction Mama Rose needs. Some days, Julia can’t derail her grandmother from her quest for some random object or her determination to break out of Rosemont until her frustration violently escalates and her caretaker has to medicate her.

“Hurry. The sun is setting.” Mama Rose pads to the wheelchair with Julia at her side.

Julia drapes a blanket over her grandmother’s legs once she’s settled in the chair and wheels her to the common room the memory care unit shares with the assisted living wing that overlooks lush gardens of roses, geraniums, and fuchsias in full bloom. The sun has all but set, blanketing the flowers in shadow. But it’s the scents of violets and begonias her grandmother loves.

She parks Mama Rose before an open window beside a rocking chair already occupied by Liza Holloway. The sight of the willowy woman reminds Julia of Matt’s call and that she needs to update Lenore before she leaves for the evening.

Upon noticing Mama Rose, Liza lifts her chin so she’s looking down her nose at Julia’s grandmother. “I don’t want company. Put her elsewhere.”

“The common room is for everyone, Mrs. Holloway.” Julia winks at the surly woman.

“Doesn’t it smell lovely?” Mama Rose asks.

“Do be quiet. I’m trying to read.” Liza flips a page in her hardback with enough flair to prove her point.

Julia pulls up a chair on the other side of Mama Rose. “We’re here for the sunset; then we’ll go.”

“Have I told you about the garden I tended in Beverly Hills one year? The roses were magnificent. I’d just moved to California and had never seen a multicolored floribunda until then.”

“Not this story again.” Liza snaps her book closed. “Can’t you talk about something else? And what’s with that you’ve got on? Weren’t you wearing that yesterday?”

Mama Rose glances down at her maroon tracksuit with a confused smile. Julia bought her several sets in various colors when her grandmother insisted on wearing them daily. Maroon is her favorite, and she has two in that color. Julia doesn’t think it’s the same set she wore yesterday until she notices something crusted on Mama Rose’s chest, a dribble of food alongside the zipper. It looks like yesterday’s corn chowder.

Julia touches her grandmother’s knee. “I like this story.” She’ll listen to anything Mama Rose says, even if it’s the same tired story she repeats each time she gazes at the garden. Julia knows that the day will soon come when she aches to hear her grandmother’s voice.

Upon Julia’s smile of reassurance, Mama Rose prattles on about every plant varietal she recalls from Rosemont’s garden and compares them to that mysterious Beverly Hills garden. It always strikes Julia how much her grandmother remembers about her earlier life and her present surroundings, yet she can’t recall who Julia is to her.

Julia blinks away a flash of hopelessness when Liza barks, “Would you shut up?”

Mama Rose turns to the woman beside her, startled to see her sitting there, so consumed she’d been with her storytelling. She never seems to recognize Liza, which gives Julia a perverse sense of pleasure. She isn’t the only one her grandmother can’t place.

When the sun has set, casting the garden’s far corners into darkness where the landscape lights don’t reach, Julia rises to wheel Mama Rose back to her room. Even she has her limits when it comes to spending time around Liza. But before they depart, Mama Rose’s caretaker Trevor appears. He grasps the wheelchair handles. “Time for your meds, Ruby Rose.” Soft, tender eyes fall on Julia. “Get yourself home, Jules. I’ve got her.”

Julia suddenly feels the full weight of her weariness. She’s been up since four thirty this morning. She touches Trevor’s arm. “Thanks.”

“Got plans for tonight?” He unlocks the wheel brakes.

Had her ex-boyfriend Nolan not run scared a few years back, she might have been meeting him for dinner. She certainly wouldn’t be as paranoid about running out of money if he’d stuck around. He paid half the monthly mortgage when he lived with her.

“Does a hot date with my laptop count?” She intends to spend the evening trying to mold their minuscule savings into a workable solution. An impossible feat that only magic could accomplish, a talent—aside from money—she sorely lacks. Still, she needs to do something, and staring at their account balances may coax forth an answer.

Trevor offers her a sad little smile. They both know she works herself to the bone and has a nonexistent life outside of work, volunteering, and spending time with Mama Rose.

“At the very least, pour yourself a glass of wine.” Trevor swings Mama Rose’s chair around.

“I will.”

Mama Rose looks up behind her. “There you are, Trevor. Looking like the sexy hunk you are.”

Despite how many times he’s heard it, Trevor still blushes. “Now, now, Ruby Rose. You know I’m already taken.” He grins at Julia, and she secretly hates him. Mama Rose always recognizes him.

“Well, you’re still good looking. Just not as handsome as my Matty.”

Beside her, Liza hisses, “He’s not yours.”

“Testy, testy.” Julia clucks her tongue, sharing a look with Trevor. From the day she moved in, Liza’s always had something against Julia’s grandmother. Julia’s never been able to define what, and Liza wasn’t forthcoming the single time she had the courage to press her on it.

Trevor starts to leave with Mama Rose when she snatches Julia’s wrist with startling strength. With a soft gasp, Julia lifts her gaze from her grandmother’s veiny hand to her faded blue-gray eyes. They shine with focus.

“Find my diary, Jules. The light-blue one with gold embossed lettering. You know the one. I need it.”

A sharp inhale from Liza. Julia spares the woman a glance. She has no idea what her grandmother is talking about. She’s never seen such a diary in her possession. She didn’t know her grandmother had kept diaries. But Liza’s complexion has gone ghostly white.

Trevor wheels Mama Rose from the room, and Liza stands with the assistance of a cane, collecting her book and readers. “All those secrets.”

“Excuse me?” Julia’s head swerves toward the woman.

“She was very good at keeping them.”

Shock immobilizes Julia. Did Liza just admit she’d known Mama Rose from before?

“What do you mean by that?” Julia asks. “What secrets?”

“That’s not a question for me.”

But Julia can’t ask her grandmother. Mama Rose has likely already forgotten she wants the diary.

“What do you know of her diary?” Julia asks. Now she must find it.

Liza’s thin, faint brows bob once before she leaves the room, stunningly quick for her age.

Text Copyright © 2024 by Kerry Lonsdale Inc. All rights reserved. Find Me in California is published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Find Me in California’ by Kerry Lonsdale appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

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The New York Times bestselling author of the The Book of Lost Names returns with an evocative coming-of-age World War II story about a young woman who uses her knowledge of the wilderness to help Jewish refugees escape the Nazis—until a secret from her past threatens everything.

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The View Was Exhausting by Mikaella Clements and Onjuli Datta
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The View Was Exhausting is a funny, wickedly observant modern love story set against the backdrop of exotic locales and the realities of being a woman of colour in a world run by men.

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The post July 2021 Fiction Book Releases appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Sixteen and pregnant, forced to choose between abortion or adoption, Lily Carson runs away from home, never to return. But she writes. Once a year, Lily mails a picture of her son, Josh, to her big sister Olivia. For thirteen years, this tradition continues, until suddenly Josh himself arrives at Olivia’s doorstep. He’s alone, terrified, and in possession of a notarized declaration from Lily. It begins, “In the event I go missing…”

Josh has difficulty talking. He can’t read or write, but he’s a prolific artist, exhibiting skill beyond his age. His drawings are as detailed as they are horrific. Olivia soon realizes Josh’s artwork tells a story. There’s more to his arrival and to Lily’s untimely disappearance than it seems. Using the drawings as a road map, Olivia traces Josh’s path back to his mom. Each drawing sheds light on Lily’s past and reveals a darkness that forces Olivia to question everything she thought she knew about her family.

“Everything’s about you,” he accuses. “What about me? You’re kick­ing me out, for Chrissake. At least hear me out.”

“Too late.”

“Come on, Livy. Just last night you were begging me—”

“Shut up!” He doesn’t need to remind her how wonderful he makes her feel, not when she’s trying to end them, as he so eloquently put it, before he can do any more damage. Her scars already run deeper than the lake they used to swim, holding hands while they floated on their backs, squinting into the sun. She yanks the cord to Blaze’s McIntosh turntable from her receiver.

“No! No, no, no.” He drops his PUMAs and shoves her aside. “Don’t touch my MTI.” He carefully lifts the turntable off the shelf and balances the component in his arms before turning to her. “Grab those.” He gestures with his chin toward the milk crate of vinyls on the floor.

Olivia heaves up the records and follows him out the front door, her gaze on his backside. He does have a nice ass. She’s going to miss looking at that, and him. Too bad she can’t trust the man, or anyone for that matter. She’s tired of being betrayed. It’s like she’s walking through life with a neon sign on her forehead: Screw Me Over. Picking up the pieces after they break her is exhausting. A part of her is left missing every time. She hasn’t felt whole since she broke up with Blaze in high school.

Correction. She hasn’t felt whole since her brother, Lucas, ruined their summers at the Whitmans’.

“Don’t throw my collection,” Blaze tosses over his shoulder.

“I won’t.” She isn’t that much of a bitch.

“Hey, Blaze.”

“Oh, hey, Amber,” he says when he walks past Olivia’s best friend. Amber lounges on the porch steps, making her way through a bottle of pinot noir.

“Thanks for coming,” Olivia says to her friend.

“Ah, well, I guess the end was inevitable.” As it always is with Olivia’s relationships.

Olivia cringes, embarrassed she’s such a failure in this area. Amber smirks. “For the record, I was holding out hope for you guys. But since it’s come to this, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

This isn’t Amber’s first Olivia breakup rodeo. Olivia called Amber right after she’d hung up on Blaze. After that incident several years back that left her with a fat lip and keyed car, she never kicked out a boyfriend without a friend on-site. One day she’ll learn to stop inviting men to make themselves at home.

Blaze sets down his turntable on the walkway and Olivia drops the crate alongside. “Careful,” he snaps, pulling out his phone. He approaches Amber. “You slept with Shane. Tell Liv this isn’t me.” He enlarges the photo on his 11 Pro Max.

“Good god. Put that thing away.” Amber covers her eyes.

“Screw you, Amber.”

“No, thanks. Already got Mike for that.” Amber drinks her wine like she’s washing down the taste the photo left behind.

Blaze shoves his phone away and turns to Olivia. “What’ll it take to convince you there’s nothing between me and Macey?”

She glances away. She can’t go through this again with him.

“This is it then.” Blaze shuffles his feet. His boot heels scrape on concrete.

“This is it,” she concurs, ignoring the inkling of remorse churning inside her stomach. She fooled herself into believing they could keep their relationship light, firmly seated on the fun level. She’ll miss him like family because at one time, he was family. But she doesn’t plead for him to stay. She bites her bottom lip hard so she won’t apologize and admit she might be making a mistake.

Amber quirks a brow. “You sure you want him to go?”

“Yes, why?”

She shrugs. “Thought I’d check while there’s still time to fix this.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“For a guy with a man bun, I kind of like him. And he didn’t key your Mercedes.” “Blaze wouldn’t have done that. Present fuckup aside, he’s too nice.”

“Then why am I here? And why are you breaking up with him?”

Olivia quirks a brow. “Seriously?” she asks while at the same time thinking Blaze may be 100 percent accurate. She’s been looking for an excuse to break up and Macey handed one to her in the shape of Shane’s—

Okay, she’s stopping right there.

Either way, a picture is worth a thousand words.

They watch Blaze throw a leg over his bike and the pang of regret in her chest sharpens, though not enough to invite him back or admit she’s wrong.

“You forgot your stuff.” Amber yells the obvious.

“Sure. I’ll pile everything on.” He gestures roughly at his ride and straps on his helmet. “I’ll be back later with my truck. Don’t touch my things.” He flicks down the visor and revs the cycle loud enough to scare off a cluster of blackbirds in the enormous pine across the street. He then flips Olivia his own bird and blows out of there.

Olivia exhales loudly. He’s gone. And she’s free.

She finger combs her hair back, holding the long, cinnamon-brown locks off her forehead, and turns to her friend. Their eyes meet. Amber’s brows lift.

“What?” Olivia barks.

Amber fixes her messy bun and refills her wineglass. She makes a contemplative sound deep in her throat.

“You think he was telling the truth,” Olivia presumes.

Her friend since college freshman orientation sips her wine. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”

Olivia settles beside Amber on the porch steps. “He was telling the truth.”

“Yep.”

She extends a skinny jean–clad leg and pulls out the single Marlboro and lighter she’d tucked in her front pocket before Blaze showed up. She knew she’d need a smoke after he left, a nasty habit she’d picked up in San Francisco when she worked seventy-plus-hour weeks. Something to take the edge off when exercise and sex couldn’t. The other side of her California king will be cold tonight and exercise isn’t on the agenda. She has too much work to do before she turns into a pumpkin. And that damn recurring nightmare is back. Good thing sleep isn’t a priority.

She lights up and inhales. Sensing Amber’s hesitation, she exhales a long stream of smoke before muttering, “Out with it.”

Amber sighs. “You know Shane’s an idiot—whoa.” She perks up. “Check out that car.”

Olivia looks across the lawn. A pristine, two-door Lincoln Continental pulls up to the curb and rolls to a stop within a hairbreadth of Amber’s red Tesla. The driver, an elderly woman with her nose in the air to peer over the dash and her seat pulled forward enough to kiss the steering wheel, shifts the car into park, leaving the engine to idle.

Amber whistles. “Wow. That car’s mint. ’77 or ’78?”

“Something like that,” Olivia says absently, watching the people inside the metallic blue antique. There’s a kid in the front passenger seat. He can’t be older than fourteen. Probably the woman’s grandson. They stare blatantly at Olivia and Amber through the open passenger window.

“Are you having a yard sale?” the woman asks.

Laughter bubbles from Amber. “Take the lot of it. It’s yours,” she says for Olivia’s ears only.

Olivia’s heart pounds wildly. There’s something familiar about the boy. She nudges Amber’s thigh, a warning to behave. “No, sorry. Cleaning house.”

The woman nods, then murmurs a few words to her passenger. The boy gets out of the car, slides on a backpack, and shuts the door. The woman waves and, after backing up, pulls away from the curb.

“Where’s she going?” Olivia asks, alarmed.

The car crawls to the end of the street and turns the corner. “Did she just leave that kid?”

“Maybe he’s a neighbor,” Amber says.

Maybe, but doubtful. Olivia hasn’t seen him around here.

The boy turns, thumbs tucked under the shoulder straps, and looks up at them on the porch. His chin quivers and Olivia swears his legs tremble.

She inhales sharply. He isn’t a neighbor. The brown hair under the flat-billed Padres cap, the almond shape of his eyes, and the slope of his nose, even the hesitant tilt of his head and body stance, tell her exactly who he is. This boy is identical to her baby sister, Lily, when she was his age. A sister Olivia hasn’t seen in fourteen years.

“Josh.”

Excerpted from No More Words by Kerry Lonsdale with permission from the publisher, Lake Union Publishing. Copyright © 2021 by Kerry Lonsdale.

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