That One Time in California, page 1
THAT ONE TIME IN CALIFORNIA
ELLA BEACHLEY
POLO RANCH PUBLISHING
That One Time in California
Copyright © 2024 by Ella Beachley
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 9798323014644
Library of Congress: 2024908205
Cover design by: Lily McGonagill
For Sharlee
You’ve cheered me through this whole series and talked me out of quitting more times than I can count.
Bobs, Luca Banks, and “Sunset! Sunset! Sunset! Let’s go!” forever.
ONE
Fact: Never marry your twin brother’s best friend. I mean, I guess if you do, chances are, it’s going to be everything you hoped for: a happily ever after with two kids, a chocolate lab, and a bungalow nestled among a beach town in San Diego County. There is, however, that slight chance it’s going to end up a disaster and you’ll wind up moving to a new state. My experience is the latter.
Now, for the first time in ten years, I am going back to my childhood home and will have to see the guy I had planned to love for the rest of my life. I’ll play hostess with the mostest, while coexisting around his second wife and two kids, pretending my life is everything I had wished for.
I’m completely fixated on this and can hardly register what is going on around me at book club. The same fifteen women who have shared this conference room on the third floor every fourth Tuesday are wildly debating the two main male leads of our current month’s read. Does the morally gray character deserve the heroine’s heart, or does that honor go to the kind of nerdy, quiet, best friend next door?
Kate Porter nudges me back into awareness, and I glance at my watch. Lunch is nearly over; time to wrap things up.
Natalie Reddington, our old colleague visiting from Hawaii, concludes her argument with, “Take it from me, ladies. The quiet nerd is the one you keep for life. And that is a hill I will gladly die on.” She is speaking from experience, having met Joel Thompson last summer during her solo honeymoon to the island. They immediately hit it off, and she ended up leaving the company I work for, Bliss by Banks, to open a food truck on the North Shore so she could spend every possible second with him. I’m simultaneously happy for her as she says this and in an incredibly foul mood.
“Booksters,” I stand, “that’s time. I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree that they both are great boyfriend options for—”
“Who would you pick, Jill?” one of our coworkers asks. “Be the tie-breaking vote.”
I square my shoulders, meeting the eyes of my fellow groupies. “Honestly? I’d choose neither. Sure, they look good on paper and they’re both offering a great life for the lead, but they’re never going to live up to their promises. In the end, they will break. her. heart. Take my word for it. Plus, she already had love once—what woman not only gets a second chance in life but ends up with up two men chasing her? That’s a trope authors invented because readers want hope, and hope is a fickle mistress.”
With the mood immediately killed, everybody grabs their lunch garbage and books, filing out of the room. I gather my things, toss the book into my canvas tote, and look at Kate and Natalie like “what?”
When neither of them speaks up, I say, “Kate, don’t forget you’ve got next month’s pick. Just email out your choice to the group by the end of tomorrow, please. Hey what do you think? Should we should take a break from romance and read something different? Like a thriller?”
“Oh, I am all about a thriller,” Natalie says. I love that as a founding member, she still considers herself part of the book club and joins in every month over Zoom. The minute she’d told me she was visiting Portland, we’d rearranged our meeting to fall while she was here, and it felt good having us all together again.
When Kate doesn’t approve or poo-poo my suggestion, I ask, “What are you thinking, Porter?”
“That was fun.” Kate deadpans. Her lips quirk and she brushes her long, ashy-blond hair over her shoulder. “What was that little display just now?”
“What? I answered the question she asked.”
Kate tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes, appraising me. “You’re always up for self-righteously monologuing final thoughts on the book. Granted, this wasn’t the most exciting one we’ve ever read, but you could’ve at least picked a side and let the meeting end on a positive note.”
With a sigh, I glance out the window at the newly bloomed leaves dancing in the breeze. Late spring in the Pearl District was here in all its glory, despite the dark gray sky that matched my mood. I know I owe my friends some kind of explanation before I jet off to a series of afternoon meetings. But it sounds so petty in my head, I can’t get myself to say it aloud. I don’t want to go home because my ex-husband and his perfect family will be at my parent’s house and I feel I have nothing to show for my life since our divorce. It’s not entirely true. I am successfully climbing my way up Mr. Banks’ company. From the ground floor in the warehouse, I’ve made my way to President of Contracts and Charitable Giving and now, a decade later, comfortably sit as President of Purchasing. I am a handful of years away from being invited into one of the coveted four jobs on the top floor, working daily with Mr. Banks himself. But does that offer the same bragging rights Nick has? I suppose it could be argued for some that a spouse, kids, and mortgage trumps the flashy job and townhouse overlooking the Willamette.
Unwilling to relent, Natalie reiterates, “It’s us—you can say it. What’s going on?”
“I’m just in a bad headspace, that’s all,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so defensive. I’ll send out an apology.” Our book club was started because we wanted to create a building-wide activity that brought women together from all different departments. Reading was a no-brainer: everybody could do it, and Mr. Banks offered the conference room, so we could meet during lunch. “Natalie, I know you thought we should read all kinds of genres, but remember how I was dead set this club would be romances? I wanted grand gestures and happily ever afters. Five years later, I’m starting to question everything I’ve ever believed in.”
“That’s deep. Like, dinner after work deep,” Natalie tells me.
“It’s just my yearly existential crisis,” I promise her with a flick of the wrist. “It’ll work itself out by tomorrow.”
We head to the door and she hip checks me. “You’re kind of being a buzzkill. I’ll forgive you, though, because it’s my last night in town. Let’s do dinner. Joel and Luca are hiking the Towee Trailhead this evening, and while they do that, we can solve your problems.”
“Killer Burger? Six o’clock?” I ask, heading for the stairs to go to the fifth floor.
Kate taps the down button on the elevator for the parking garage and looks at her phone. “I can meet you then. I have an afternoon filled with meeting potential collaborators across town, but I’d never miss out on bottomless fries and greasy burgers. I’ll tell Luca the plan so he can meet us.” Luca Banks, Kate’s boyfriend and Mr. Banks’ grandson, had recently vacated his spot as my successor in the Contracts and Charitable Giving Department to go back to school at the University of Portland. Kate had replaced him a month ago and had hit the ground running.
Natalie looks at me before stepping into the elevator with Kate. “Don’t work too hard, ladies. I’ll be enjoying an afternoon of kayaking on the river with Joel. Hey, Jill, drink a Diet Coke and take a breath. It’ll all be okay.”
I have never wished harder for her to be right.
Logged into my computer, the email I’d received from Jeff last night, the one I’ve been stewing over since then, stares me in the face. I only have four minutes, but I can’t put it off any longer and before I can stop myself, I’ve tapped on his contact info in my phone and it’s ringing.
My twin answers, his voice muffled by loud traffic. “Hello?”
“Is this a bad time?”
“Hang on,” he instructs, and a second later, the street sounds are gone. “Sorry about that. I was just grabbing take out, but I’m back in the car. What’s up?”
“I’m looking at a wild email you sent me. Please explain.”
“It’s exactly as it’s labeled. A schedule of retirement events—Dad’s going all out. Mom caught wind of the send-off he’s receiving and made sure she gets some recognition of her own.”
“This is a solid week’s worth of stuff, Jeff.” I point out the obvious. “I know they both worked for the school district for thirty-five years, but do we really have to be present”—I squint to look at it closer—“when they put their hands in cement at the high school?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun. Well, most of it should be,” he tells me. After a long pause, he backtracks. “Okay, most of it sounds incredibly boring, but I don’t think we have to go to all of it? We’ll make it to what we can and call it good. Anyway, the kids are excited to see you.”
“No, they’re not, they’re teenagers,” I s
“They are our family, too, sis.” There is no acknowledgement in his voice that this may be weird for me. For him, it was nothing more than defending the guys, as always. His three friends since elementary school who practically grew up at our house. As usual, it felt like they were more important to him than I was.
“But are they family, still? We’re forty and—”
“I don’t know how old you are,” he teases, “but I still have a good two and a half years before I’m forty.”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
“But yes, they’re family and they’re going to be around.” He ends the argument.
My assistant peeks her head into my office. “Are you ready for me?”
The tension in my neck and shoulders is palpable. “I am late for a meeting. We’ll talk about all of this later,” I tell him, hanging up the call.
House sauce smears across my cheek from my Peanut Butter Pickle Bacon burger as Luca takes the chair opposite me. Kate leans over to give him a kiss as he steals a fry from her basket. She responds by sliding his Spicy Chicken BLT sandwich at him and bopping him on the nose with her finger. Those two have been dating eight months and have their own language. I’ve never seen Kate happier and Luca has oddly become one of my favorite people. He’s the brother I should’ve had.
“My, my, if it isn’t the scholar himself. How was the second day of school?” Natalie asks, pulling her dark hair into a topknot. Joel sits beside her, digging into his Meathead, a burger with double the patties and bacon. It’s oozing house sauce all over his hands, but he’s not deterred. He catches me watching the dripping sauce and smiles, skin crinkling at the corners of the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. His quiet wit won me over the first minute we met. And he loves Natalie fiercely, no question about it. Plus, he appreciates good food, which undoubtedly makes him one of us.
“School? Aced it,” Luca responds, shrugging. “However, Josephine told me it’s not real schooling if one of my classes is online.”
His mom is definitely a force to be reckoned with from the stories Kate has told me over brunch, and I secretly hope to meet her one day. The table banters back and forth about Luca pledging for a fraternity—Kate rolls her eyes through it all—while I nervously weigh something I was up half the night contemplating. Luca has occasionally mentioned a set of cousins. All I know is they grew up on a tree farm near Salem and were close to Luca’s age. Desperation pulls at me and I interrupt the conversation, blurting out, “Luca, I need a favor.”
His brows raise, along with a smirk. “I’m loving this already, Marshall.” Luca calls everybody by their last name except for Kate and his mom—opting for Josephine rather than her maternal title.
“You have two cousins, right?”
He nods. “Bryce and Theo.”
“Is there a possibility either of them is single?” I drag my fry around the ketchup as I ask, unable to look him, or anybody, in the eye.
“I never thought I’d lived to see the day you wanted to date a Banks,” he says, surprised. “Honestly, I never pegged you to go after younger men.”
“That’s not exactly what I’m saying.” I pop the fry in my mouth and read him. He puts both elbows on the table and rests his bearded chin on his hands, waiting. Those dark eyes watch my nervous swallow from behind his bright blue glass frames. I can’t believe what I’m about to ask. “In two weeks, I fly home for my mom and dad’s retirement extravaganza, and I need a date. A fake date. I’ll get their plane tickets, put them up in a hotel, pay them for their time—I only need them to play the doting boyfriend for a weekend.”
He considers what I’ve told him and pulls out his phone. “Let me text and see if either of them are game.”
“That’s it?” I sit back and take a sip of Diet Coke as he thumbs the message. His hair has recently been cut; it no longer curls around his ears. He looks less playboy and more academic, which makes me internally happy. Kate’s gotten him to grow up just a little, and it’s endearing. “You are taking that at face value? No teasing? No follow-up questions?”
Placing his phone face down, he looks at me with dancing eyes. “Oh, I have a lot of questions, but you never ask anything of me, so this must be important.”
I mouth ‘thank you’ and he gives me a nod.
“Oh, are we doing this now?” Natalie perks up.
“Doing what?” Luca asks, looking at her.
Natalie waves her fry as she speaks. “Somebody had a moment in book club today and claimed she’s having an existential crisis. Jill’s words, not mine.” She looks at me. “But I thought we weren’t discussing it until these two”—she nodded her head at Joel and Luca—“were off in the woods.”
“Maybe they have some words of wisdom,” I reply in defeat.
Luca rubs his hands together in anticipation. “Hit me. I am ready.”
“My parents are retiring and throwing themselves an unorthodox family reunion-slash-retirement soiree week, which is why I’m going home. You know, celebrate this next chapter of their lives. Problem is, I haven’t been back since I moved to Portland.”
“Really?” Joel asks between a big bite. “You haven’t gone for a holiday or anything?”
“It’s just my mom and dad and my twin brother, Jeff, and his wife and two kids. We’re a small bunch. Once I left, I swore I’d never go back, so they’ve come here a few times, or we’ve met up in Hawaii or the San Juan Islands. There were a couple of years his girls were really into National Parks, so vacationed at a bunch of those. One Christmas, my parents and I went to London. This last year we went to Colorado to ski. Point is, I’ve gone anywhere but home.”
“You don’t like going home?” Joel asks, as if he’s the only one not in the loop. Little does he know this is largely new information for all of them. I’ve compartmentalized my life in California and my life here, and now they’re going to overlap in this loud restaurant.
I give him a small smile and shift the focus. “I didn’t grow up traveling much and decided there was an entire world to see. I’ve been busy doing that, I suppose.”
“I don’t think this has anything to do with going home.” I hate how perceptive Luca is. “You don’t want to go home single, do you?” Luca clarifies. I look at him, and he’s quiet for a minute, contemplative. “We’re friends now, right?”
I nod.
“Permission to speak freely?” he asks.
“Granted.” When we became friends, Luca and I discovered we have no inhibitions saying hard things to one another or being honest about our feelings. Again, I wish he was my brother because Jeff and I are nowhere near this good at communicating.
“You don’t need a man,” he starts. “You are one of the most independent women I know. All three of you are.” His hand circles around the table. “What is this about exactly? Do your parents expect you to be dating somebody? Are they antiquated like Thatcher?”
“No,” I laugh because his grandfather is pretty old-fashioned about a lot of things, “but my ex-husband is going to be there, and I haven’t seen him since the divorce.”
“Really? He’s going to be at your parents’?” Kate asks, right as Luca says, “So?”
The way he nonchalantly dismisses the stress that’s been hanging above me like a rain cloud threatening to burst open makes me pause. Why do I care so much? Why am I letting Nick have this kind of power over me when it’s been a decade? I blame the books. The books that promise forever love and hope and never having to be alone. The books that also always make it uncomfortable to go home again and run into exes. I need to give up reading.
I turn to Kate to answer her question. “Growing up, Jeff had three best friends, Nick, Max, and Burke, and they were always at our house. Always. My parents more or less adopted them as bonus children. I was friends with them by default of Jeff and me being twins but wasn’t always included, you know? Anyway, long story short, I married one of them, we got divorced, I moved here, and Nick moved on. He has a new wife, a few kids, is living the life we were supposed to have. I’m going to go back and be the third wheel. Everybody is married and moved on and then there’s poor, single Jill. I feel like the whole time I’ll have to prove something to everybody, like my life is exactly how I want it to be. And here’s the thing: most of the time it is. I love my life. I love my job, you guys, the freedom I have not being tied down to a husband and kids.” At least that’s what I tell myself about the last two. But then there are moments like this: when we’re sitting here and I know I’m the only one going to an empty house tonight. “It’s . . . it’s hard not to want more but I have to recognize maybe this, right here, is as good as my life gets.”
