“You got it?” she asked eagerly, raising her bed.
“Anything for you.”
She ripped open the bag and unwrapped the cheeseburger from In-N-Out Burger. The smell was heavenly, as was the first bite. She held in a moan.
Clark put a milkshake container on her tray. “Chocolate, just like you asked.”
She felt a rush of emotion and knew the stupid hormones were back. From what she’d read, they would be with her for a while, but then they would fade.
“You’ve been very good to me,” she said as he pulled up a chair.
“I’m kind of a saint, huh?” His voice was teasing.
She thought about how he’d been her friend for the past seven months, how he’d rubbed her feet and indulged her cravings and listened to her rant as her body had changed. She thought of how she’d kept him company at the zoo when he’d been worried that one of his orangutans was sick, and all the movies they’d been to. She thought of how he’d listen to her agonize for nearly forty-eight straight hours when she couldn’t decide which of two condos to buy and how he’d helped her move, basically doing all the packing, lifting and unpacking. And best, best, best of all, how he stayed with her all night when she’d been in labor and how he hadn’t gotten upset when she’d screamed at him in the delivery room.
She’d never wanted a man in her life. She’d never understood the whole pairing up thing. It just seemed unnecessary. She had family and friends, and her work and her life was full. No man required. Only...only...it just didn’t seem right. Not without Clark.
Somehow, when she wasn’t looking, he’d become a part of her life. A part of her. He was always there and she liked that. She depended on him and she hoped he depended on her.
And as she was figuring all that out and eating her burger, it occurred to her that he’d never once tried to make a move on her. Not once. Not a kiss or an inference or anything.
“Are you seeing anyone?” she asked.
He stared at her. “What? You mean like dating?” He chuckled. “Zennie, I’m with you nearly every second I’m not working. When would I find the time?”
That was a relief. “What about sex?”
“Sometimes I take long showers. What do you do about sex?”
“I’ve been pregnant. Trust me, it hasn’t been on my mind for a while.”
“And before that?”
“It was never that interesting.”
“I remember you saying that.”
She supposed she was one of those people who simply didn’t have a very strong sex drive. Although now that she thought about it, she could kind of see the appeal of that kind of intimacy. Not now—every part of her hurt—but maybe later, when she was healed.
“I always thought I wanted to be alone,” she admitted. “That the pairing up thing was for everyone else.”
His humor faded. “I know. You made that clear.”
Was that disappointment in his voice? Did he want more? Did she?
She wiped her hands, then sucked on her milkshake. The combination of ice cream and chocolate and just plain goodness was magical.
“Can you sneak in wine later?” she asked.
“I thought we’d wait until you were discharged, then I’d bring over a nice dinner and a bottle of wine.”
“I’m so getting drunk. And drinking coffee. And going in a Jacuzzi.” Although she was pretty sure she couldn’t do the latter until her stitches were healed, but absolutely right after that.
She looked at him, at his familiar face, and thought about how much she liked him and how she didn’t want to lose him. She thought about kissing him and touching him and wondered if the problem hadn’t been lack of interest but not realizing she needed the right person.
She put down the milkshake. “Clark, will you go out with me? On a date?”
Instead of answering, he stood up and moved close to the bed. Seconds later, she realized he planned on kissing her.
“I just ate raw onion,” she murmured, more flustered than she would have expected.
“I genuinely don’t care.”
He pressed his mouth against hers. She waited, wondering what, if anything, she would feel. And then it happened. A little quiver down low. A need to put her arms around him and hang on. Desire flickered and grew and before she knew it, he’d pushed the tray aside and somehow they were both in the bed, kissing and holding on and wow, she just never wanted to let go.
When they came up for air, she was smiling.
“So yes on the date?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t have sex for six weeks.”
Clark chuckled, then shifted so she could rest her head on his shoulder. “You can’t have intercourse for six weeks, Zennie. There’s a difference.”
“Really. That’s an interesting notion.”
“I was hoping you might say that. So about Italy. I think we should go together.”
“I’d like that.”
“Me, too.”
* * *
CALIFORNIA
GIRLS
Susan Mallery
Reader’s Guide
California Girls Stuffed Scones
Treat your book club to these super-delicious scones as you settle in for a cozy chat about the book! Best when served with hot tea or coffee. Or, if you’re feeling wild, serve them with fresh strawberries and a side of bacon for a decadent breakfast.
With all these almonds and raisins, these scones were inspired by my great home state of California.
Filling:
4 oz cream cheese, room temperature
2 tbsp sugar
1⁄4 tsp vanilla
Scones:
2 cups flour
3 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp baking powder
1⁄2 tsp salt
4 tbsp very cold butter, in 16 small pieces
3⁄4 cup heavy cream
1 egg, beaten
1 tsp almond extract
2 oz sliced almonds
1⁄2 cup raisins
Combine filling ingredients and mix well. Set aside.
Preheat the oven to 425º F. In a mixing bowl, combine the flour, sugar, baking powder and salt. Cut in the butter until the mixture looks like coarse crumbs. I did this with the flat paddle attachment of a stand mixer. You can also use a pastry blender or two knives. I don’t recommend you use your fingers, as that will warm the butter too much.
Add the cream, egg and extract and mix by hand or by machine on low speed just until a dough forms, then gently fold in the almonds and raisins. Turn the dough onto a floured surface and knead lightly 5–10 times, just until the dough is smooth. Do not overwork.
Divide dough into two balls. Pat one ball into a 9-inch circle, smoothing the exterior edges. Plop half the filling in the center and spread into a circle, leaving a 1-inch border around the edge. Fold the circle in half and press the borders together. Cut into 6 wedges. Place on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. Repeat with the other ball of dough. Bake until golden brown, about 12–14 minutes.
Questions for Discussion
These questions contain spoilers about the story, so it’s recommended that you don’t read them until after you’ve finished California Girls.
Finola was the first of the sisters to be dumped, and in a truly jolting way. What did you think of the way she reacted to her husband’s pronouncement, then Treasure’s? How do you think you would have reacted in those circumstances? Did you admire Finola’s professionalism,
or did you wish she had reacted differently?
What were the similarities and differences between each of the three sisters’ breakup moments and the days that followed?
How would you describe the sisters’ relationship? How did it evolve as the story developed?
At the start of the book, Zennie is annoyed that the world seems to insist that people pair up two by two. Do you think that a romantic relationship is essential to a happy life? Why or why not? Do you know people who are happily single? By the end, of course, Zennie has found true love. How did you feel about that?
Would you ever carry a baby for someone else? Why or why not? What would you think if your daughter, sister or close friend agreed to carry someone else’s baby? How would you advise her? How would you support her?
Ali struggled with feelings of invisibility all her life. Could you relate to that? Do you think her parents really did each have a favorite child, or did Ali misinterpret that? Explain your thoughts. How did falling in love with Daniel change her view of herself?
What did you think about Daniel when he first appeared in the book? Did your feelings about him change as you continued to read?
What surprised you about California Girls? What made you laugh? Which scenes brought tears to your eyes?
With which sister do you share the most in common? Give some examples.
Although Mary Jo wasn’t a point-of-view character in the book, she certainly made her perspective very clear. Why do you think she wanted grandchildren so much? What did you think of the way the story resolved for her, reuniting with a lost love and getting a grandchild in a most unexpected way?
What lessons did you take away from this book, if any? Did it make you think about your own life in a different way? How so?
Susan Mallery has a long-standing promise to her readers that every book she writes will end in a satisfying way, with the main characters in a better place at the end than they were at the beginning (and lots of surprises along the way). Unusually, in California Girls, that meant that Finola got a divorce. Do you think that was the right ending for Finola’s story? Why or why not? What about the other sisters? Did Zennie and Ali get the endings they deserved?
#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery delivers a heartfelt new novel about twin sisters overcoming their disastrous love lives and finding their true happiness.
Enjoy this preview of The Summer of Sunshine and Margot.
#1 New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery returns with an emotional, humorous, and heartfelt story about twin sisters who, with the help of an entertaining ensemble cast, overcome their disastrous love lives and find their true happiness.
The Summer of Sunshine and Margot
The Baxter sisters come from a long line of women with disastrous luck in love. But this summer, Sunshine and Margot will turn disasters into destiny…
As an etiquette coach, Margot teaches her clients to fit in. But she’s never faced a client like Bianca, an aging movie star who gained fame—and notoriety—through a campaign of shock
“Susan Mallery never disappoints and with Daughters of the Bride she is at her storytelling best.”
—Debbie Macomber, #1 New York Times bestselling author on DAUGHTERS OF THE BRIDE
* * *
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Summer of Sunshine and Margot
by Susan Mallery
Chapter One
Social interactions fell into two categories—easy or awkward. Easy was knowing what to say and do, and how to act. Easy was witty small talk or an elegant compliment. Awkward social interactions, on the other hand, were things like sneezing in your host’s face or stepping on the cat or spilling red wine on a white carpet. Or any carpet, for that matter. Margot Baxter prided herself on knowing how to make any situation fall into the easy category. Professionally, of course. In her professional life she totally kicked butt. Personally—not so much. If she were being completely honest, she would have to admit that on most days her personal life fell firmly in the awkward category, which was why she never mixed business and pleasure and rarely bothered with pleasure at all. If it wasn’t going to go well, why waste the time?
But work was different. Work was where the magic happened and she was the one behind the curtain, moving all the levers. Not in a bad way, she added silently. Just that she was about empowering her clients—helping them realize it was all about confidence, and sometimes finding confidence required a little help.
She turned onto the street where her nav system directed her, then blinked twice as she stared at the huge double gates stretching across a freeway-wide driveway. She’d been told the private residence had originally been a monastery built in the eighteen hundreds, but she hadn’t expected it to be so huge. She’d been thinking more “extra-big house with a guest cottage and maybe a small orchard.” What she faced instead was a three-story, Spanish-style former church/monastery with two turrets, acres of gardens and an actual parking lot for at least a dozen cars.
“Who are these people?” she asked out loud, even as she already knew the answer. Before interviewing a potential client, she always did her research. Overdid it, some would say, a criticism she could live with. Margot liked being thorough. And on time. And tidy. And, according to some, annoying.
Margot pressed the call button on the electronic pad mounted perpendicular to the gate and waited until a surprisingly clear voice said, “May I help you?”
“I’m Margot Baxter. I have an appointment with Mr. Alec Mcnicol.”
“Yes, Ms. Baxter. He’s expecting you.”
The gates opened smoothly and Margot drove through onto the compound. She parked in one of the marked spots, then took a moment to breathe and collect her thoughts.
She could do this, she told herself. She was good at her job. She liked helping people. Everything was going to be fine. She was a professional, she was trained and she was calm. Calm-ish, she added silently, then reached for the glasses she’d put on the seat next to her briefcase.
Margot stepped out of her car and smoothed the front of her slightly too-big jacket. The outfit—gray suit, sensible pumps, minimal makeup—was designed to make her appear professional and competent. The glasses, while unnecessary, did a lot to add gravitas to her appearance. She was thirty-one, but in shorts and a concert T-shirt, she could pass for nineteen. Even more depressing, in said shorts and T-shirt, she looked ditzy and incompetent and just a little bit dumb, and that didn’t reassure anyone.
She walked up the stone path to the enormous front door. Although she knew nothing about Spanish architecture, she wanted to trace the heavy carved wood doors where angels watched over Christ as he carried the cross toward a hill. Yup, the big-as-a-stadium building really had once been a monastery and apparently the monks had been sincere in their worship.
Before she could get her fill of the amazing craftsmanship, the doors opened and a tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired man nodded at her.
“Ms. Baxter? I’m Alec Mcnicol. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
She stepped inside and they shook hands. She had a brief impression of two-story ceilings and intricate stained-glass windows before Alec was leading her down a hallway into a large office lined with bookshelves and framed maps of lands long forgotten.
She did her best not to gawk at her surroundings. While she was used to working with the rich and famous, this was different. The books made her want to inhale deeply to capture their musty smell and the maps had her itching to trace a path along the Silk Road.
She’d taken a step to do just that when her host cleared his throat.
&nbs
p; She glanced at him and smiled. “Sorry. Your office is incredible. The maps are hand drawn?”
He looked slightly startled, his eyebrows coming together in an attractive frown. “They are.”
She looked at them one last time. If she got the job, she would have to ask permission to study the framed drawings. She reluctantly pulled her attention away from the distractions around her and took a seat across from him at the wide desk.
When he was settled, he said, “As I explained on the phone, you’re here to help my mother.”
“Yes, Mr.—”
“Please call me Alec.”
She nodded. “I’m Margot, and yes, I understand she will be my client.”
“Excellent. She and I decided it would be easier if I conducted the preliminary interview to see if you and she are suited.”
“Of course.”
Margot relaxed. Hiring someone like her was often stressful. Her services were only required when something had gone very wrong in a person’s life. Or if the potential client was anticipating something going wrong. Or was overwhelmed. Very few people looked around at their happiest moment and thought, Hey, I should find someone to teach me social etiquette and how not to be odd/uncomfortable/weird or just plain nervous. There was always a trigger that made a client realize he or she needed her services and it rarely grew out of an uplifting event.
Alec glanced at the papers on his desk. They were arranged in neat piles, which Margot appreciated. How could anyone find anything on a messy desk? Her boss, a man whose desk was always covered with folders and notes and half-eaten sandwiches, was forever sending her articles on how messy desks were a sign of creativity and intelligence, but Margot would not be swayed in her opinion. Disorder was just plain wrong.
“You know who my mother is?” Alec asked, his voice more resigned than curious.
Margot filed away the tone to review later. The dynamic between mother and son could be significant to her work.
“I do. Bianca Wray was born in 1960. Her father died when she was an infant and she was raised by her mother until she was twelve.” Margot frowned. “Why she was put in foster care isn’t clear, but that’s where she ended up.”
California Girls Page 37
