Not You
Again
Erin La
Rosa
On Sale Date: November 11, 2025
9781335916372
Trade Paperback
$18.99 USD
About
the Book:
Two 30-something singles stuck in a time loop
are forced to relive the worst days of their lives, so they team up to find a
way to break the cycle. For fans of Palm Springs and Oona Out of Order, NOT YOU
AGAIN offers a fresh new take on the Groundhog Day story.
In Julian, California, every day is April 22.
Most people have accepted the loop—after all, reliving the same day every day,
there’s nothing to lose. Day drinking until you pass out? Yes. Partner
swapping? Why not.
But Carly has woken up at her dad’s funeral
exactly 238 times, and she wants out. She doesn’t want to waste her life away
reliving the worst day ever in the small town she always hated visiting. Carly
wants to go back to writing film scripts in LA; she’s determined to find a way
to break the cycle.
She discovers an unexpected kindred spirit in
Adam, the mortician she met at her dad’s funeral. April 22 was also one of the
worst days of his life: his fiancée admitted to cheating on him with his best
friend. Every day Adam wakes up on April 22 to his ex-fiancée's admission,
starting each day with a breakup. April 22 was supposed to be his last day
working for his parents at the funeral home, and the start of his new life as
an astronomer. Adam is a man of science, and like Carly, he believes there must
be a way out of the time loop.
Together, Carly and Adam team up to find out
what’s causing the time loop. And in trying to find a way out, they also find
their way to each other.
Buy
Links:
Ripped Bodice: https://www.therippedbodice.com/product/erin-la-rosa-signed-books
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Not-You-Again-Erin-Rosa/dp/1335916377/ref=sr_1_15
Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/not-you-again-erin-la-rosa/1ff614776ac42445?ean=9781335916372&next=t
Excerpted from Not You
Again by Erin La Rosa, Copyright © 2025 by Erin
La Rosa. Published by Canary Street Press.
Chapter 1
Carly
Day 1
Carly Hart was what one former friend had
called “an emotional basket case.” She cried openly, in public, with very
little concern for who saw. And it wasn’t just big moments that
caused her to tear up—a breakup, losing out on
a job, having to fly out from LAX—but
the little things, too. Like when she tripped
on a sidewalk crack and accidentally squished a caterpillar, or the time she
went to take a shower after a workout and the water came out cold instead of
hot. Carly felt deeply without much effort. Crying was cathartic, natural and
part of
her way of life.
But it had been a week since her dad died and
still, not a single tear. She’d imagined his funeral would be the thing that
finally broke her. Yet, here she was, sitting in front of his
casket, and . . . nothing. Flower arrangements
lined the walls, white folding chairs were arranged in neat rows and a blown-up
photo of her dad from thirty years ago with a film camera
on one shoulder and a four-year-old Carly on
the other was placed in front of the coffin. The evidence of her dad’s
departure was all around, but still, none of this felt real.
Cry, she told herself, just like you’d write
into a movie. Yes, if this were a scene she were drafting, the heroine would
emit deep, guttural sobs, the camera would pan out and the screen
would fade to black.
But this wasn’t one of her screenplays. There
would be no swell of orchestral music, and no comforting hugs from a secondary
character, apparently. Because no one else was there—the
room was empty, except for her. Was she
actually going to be the lone attendee at her dad’s service? Was this how Bruce
Hart would be remembered?
A floorboard creaked and Carly stood, hopeful
that a friend of her father’s had arrived, but it was just the funeral
director.
“Sorry to interrupt,” he said.
Adam. His name was Adam. Now she remembered.
He was probably in his thirties, tall and lanky in a fitted blue shirt with a
blazer and loose tie. His floppy red hair fell just above
the sharp lines of his jaw. “It’s fine,” she
said, but her voice was much softer than
she’d ever heard it. She cleared her throat
and tried again.
“Fine.”
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” she managed to respond.
“We’ll move outside in about twenty minutes,
if that’s okay with you.” He clasped his hands, and she registered how his
brown eyes had f lecks of honey in them.
Carly blinked. Outside, as in the burial. She
gave a quick glance at the coffin, then studied her shoes. “Sure,” she said.
Though there was no way she’d be able to watch
her dad get lowered into the ground. She just couldn’t.
Her eyes began to mist. Was this the moment
she’d finally cry?
But then Carly’s knees buckled just enough for
her to sway. In a f lash, Adam was next to her with his arm wrapped around her
waist. “I’ve got you,” his tone was as firm as his grasp at her side.
He maneuvered her into a chair, and she was
suddenly overwhelmed by the nearness of him. Who even was this guy?
Why was he here, at her side, instead of
anyone else in her life?
She didn’t want to be in this room, let alone
be taken care of by someone who was about to bury her dad. She had a hard time
getting the words, “I’m fine,” out, but she’d done it.
Instead of taking the hint and leaving, Adam
opened a bottle of water that had been strategically tucked under a seat and
handed it to her. “Here.”
Her hands were shaky, though, and the water
dropped and began to spill all over the f loor. He deftly picked up the bottle
and found a cloth to place over the spill.
Carly should’ve apologized, offered to get
towels, or anything other than what she did next. “Please just leave,” her lips
trembled over the words.
He stopped cleaning, looked up, and seemed to
register her words. “Of course.” He stood, and his expression turned firm.
“Just don’t step in the water. I don’t want you to fall—”
“I don’t need you to save me.” Her eyes
narrowed at him. Carly understood that she was lashing out at Adam because of
her grief, and the fact that she forgot to eat that morning probably didn’t
help either. But she also didn’t care. This was her dad’s funeral. No one else
had shown up. And she didn’t want to be comforted by this man she barely knew.
She didn’t want his hand at her waist, or the water, or him. She wanted to get
the hell away from this room.
His mouth opened to say something, but then a
door down the hall opened, followed by footsteps.
“Excuse me.” Adam walked away from her all too
quickly and approached the hallway. Carly’s heart anxiously beat again—finally,
maybe this was someone to see her dad?
But no.
“Shireen?” Adam’s voice was surprised.
“Can we talk?” The woman attached to the voice
appeared—also tall, but curvy, with the most gorgeous dark curls Carly had ever
seen. Her expression, though, was concerned.
“I’m working.” He tilted his head toward the
room where Carly sat. His work was the business of burying her dad.
“It’s important,” Shireen said quietly.
Adam gave Carly a genuinely apologetic look,
then left.
She swallowed down a lump that had lodged in
her throat.
She knew she’d been unfair to Adam and later
she’d regret her words, but she was also relieved to be alone again. Carly
approached the coffin and placed her palm on the closed lid. In there, Bruce
wore the navy-blue suit and tie she’d picked out. Pinned on his jacket lapel
was the Star Wars enamel pin she’d gotten him for his sixtieth birthday. He’d
forever be sixty-four.
Carly studied her fingers instead of imagining
him inside the box. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye, she realized. She wanted
to explain that this was all just too much for her—too
intense, and awful. Maybe she could come back
tomorrow and visit the grave, when she was ready? But that was when she heard
them fighting.
“What do you want me to say, Adam? I fucked
up! I slept with him. I’m sorry,” Shireen shouted.
“Keep your voice down!” Adam’s own raw with
emotion.
Carly frowned. What was she overhearing?
“I don’t know what else to say!” the woman
exclaimed. “I just need to know if you’ll forgive me.”
There was a long stretch of silence. Carly
realized that this was a private moment between two people, and she had no
business listening in. She should definitely cover her ears or
something.
Problem was, Carly was nosy.
“What did you expect me to do? You haven’t
paid attention to me in years! We’re basically coworkers.”
“Coworkers don’t have sex, Shireen.”
“And neither do we!”
Carly slapped a hand across her mouth to keep
in whatever noise was about to tumble out. Instead of sobs, she choked back
incredulous giggles. How was it that on the worst day of
her life, she was overhearing some of the best
dialogue? Her eyes went wide as she focused on the coffin. “What do you think,
Dad? Movie-worthy?”
But she was met with silence, because of
course she was. For a moment, she’d been able to pretend like her dad was still
there. Like they were having one of their old brainstorming
sessions, where she’d rattle off a half-baked
idea that he’d punch up. Who was she going to spitball with now?
She uncovered her mouth. “I miss you.”
The words came out easily because they were
pure truth. She missed him. And in that moment, she knew where she finally
needed to go.
The Last Showing movie theater was located off
Main Street in the small, sleepy town of Julian, California. When she’d taken
the key from her dress pocket and opened the doors, Carly wasn’t sure what to
expect. Her dad had sent photos of the renovations he’d done, but to see the
theater in real life was . . . surreal.
The place had been closed for a week, but the
red-and-gold-flecked carpet was spotless. The warm white walls held framed
posters of upcoming and past film releases. Neon stars dangled from wires on
the ceiling. The food counter had been wiped clean, and the glass cases that
held rows and rows of candy were stacked and ready to sell. If she’d wanted,
Carly could throw open the doors, turn on the overhead marquee and wait to see
if anyone came in. That was probably what Bruce did every day. Used to do.
Instead, she went behind the snack counter,
tore open a package of Milk Duds and dumped the chewy morsels into an empty
popcorn bucket. Then she ripped open a pack of gummy worms and let them fall
in. She added Skittles, Swedish Fish, Twizzlers, M&Ms, Reese’s Pieces and
mini Butterfinger Bites until the bucket was nearly full. Her dad called this a
candy salad, their favorite treat.
Bruce also liked to add hot, buttery popcorn
on top so everything melted together. He wasn’t there to tell her that, though.
He. Wasn’t. There.
Carly looked up from her tub of sugar. A
“questionable” pot of joy any other day, but the thing felt as heavy as a brick
in her hands. Her dad’s whole world had been
movies. He’d gotten his first job as a PA on the set of a low-budget indie
horror film when he was eighteen. But after forty-some-odd years of working his
way up to cinematographer, he’d wanted a change of pace. He could’ve taken a
cushy role as an adjunct professor at USC’s film school—a job he’d been
offered. Instead,
he’d done the least sensible thing imaginable:
taken his savings, uprooted his Los Angeles life and bought a decrepit movie
theater in a small town three hours away.
“I want to build something special—something
of my own,” he’d excitedly told Carly over a greasy pancake brunch at the
Tallyrand diner in Burbank, just a few blocks from his house and her apartment.
He’d already begun renovations on
the theater. “You’ll see, Carly girl!”
But she didn’t see, and neither did anyone in
Julian. Because as Carly recently discovered, Bruce was in massive piles of
debt. He’d taken out more loans than movie tickets sold. An
exaggeration, but still . . . his gamble
hadn’t paid off.
A few weeks ago, her dad had asked that she
come visit so they could make his famous candy salad and watch the total solar
eclipse together. He’d lived full-time in Julian for a year,
and she hadn’t taken the three-hour drive down
to see him. But Carly had no intention of coming to watch the eclipse—even if
it was “rare and cinematic,” as her dad said. Because if she
traveled to Julian, then she’d know for
certain that he was never returning to Los Angeles. So she’d declined the
invite, hoping he’d finally understand that his leaving had been the wrong
decision.
Of course, neither of them knew that seeing
her would be his dying wish. Carly thought putting together her dad’s favorite
movie snack would ease her pain. She thought that by coming to
the theater she’d get some kind of closure.
But as she looked around the empty lobby, she couldn’t help but feel complete
and utter rage.
If he hadn’t moved to this cookie-cutter small
town to pursue his half-baked dream, Bruce would still be alive. If he and her
mother hadn’t had their first date in a movie theater, maybe none of this
would’ve happened in the first place. Why were both of her parents gone from
this world when so many other people got to keep theirs for longer?
The bucket shook in Carly’s unsteady hands.
Being here without him was too excruciating. For the first time since arriving
in Julian, she finally understood her dad was really gone. Her throat burned.
She couldn’t breathe. The hot, bubbling sorrow that had built inside her blow
by blow finally tumbled out as a scream. She clenched her jaw, hurled the
bucket of candy as hard as she could and it exploded against a framed poster.
Carly let out a loud sob. The flood of tears
was so intense that the tightness in her throat couldn’t compete with the force
of her own pain. Her body swayed from the grief, and
she collapsed to the f loor. Her dad, that
clever, sweet bear of a man, was gone.
After what felt like hours but was probably
more like minutes, Carly had no more tears left. So when the front door
squeaked open and she spied Hank—the janitor her dad had
told her about—she couldn’t so much as fake a
hello. Hank looked at her, then at the trail of spilled candy.
“I’ll clean this up.” Her hands instinctively
went to the floor.
“Let me,” Hank said as he approached. Why
hadn’t Hank come to her dad’s funeral? Was Julian just filled with soulless,
rude people?
But then Adam popped into her head. He hadn’t
been rude. He’d tried to help. So, naturally, she’d gone and chased him off.
“You go outside,” Hank added. “Get some fresh
air. See the eclipse. Your dad would’ve wanted that.”
The eclipse. Yes, Carly had forgotten about
the total eclipse that was happening because, well, her dad. She wordlessly
agreed to let Hank do his job, and then numbly moved
toward the exit.
Outside the theater doors, the sun was low in
the sky and filled Main Street with warm light. A preschooler rode a scooter
down the sidewalk as her mother chased along behind.
The child’s delighted squeals blended with
Carly’s own sniffling. A chunk of her life had ceased to exist, but somehow
everyone else carried on like that didn’t matter. As she glanced down the
street, there were a handful of people in eclipse glasses, and kids lying on
their backs with their faces toward the sky, delighting in the novelty. The
whole scene would be quaint if she weren’t in mourning.
The truth that Carly didn’t belong in Julian
hit her like a punch. She belonged in Burbank, where she’d grown up and had a
studio apartment waiting for her. The sooner she could wrap up her dad’s
affairs, the sooner she could get back home and leave behind the reminders that
he was gone.
Home. The thought made Carly slip her phone
out of the pocket of her black midi dress. There was a text from Daniel, her
closest friend. She didn’t have a ton of those.
DANIEL: Call me, okay?
She would call him, eventually.
Then she clicked into her email. Being a
screenwriter was a mostly solitary endeavor. So when she saw the new email with
the simple subject line of “script,” she felt compelled to
open it.
FROM: therealmarilyn@wahoo.com
TO: CarlyHartWrites@tmail.com
SUBJECT LINE: Script
Carly, I read your script. I think it has
potential. Let’s set
time to discuss. Xx
She read it again. Then again. Carly had
recently sent a script to Marilyn Montgomery—one
of the most successful screenwriters in the
business—after her dad had called in a favor. But she never expected a reply;
favors were called in all the time in Hollywood, and often nothing came of
them.
But Marilyn had read her script. She said
there was potential.
She . . . wanted to discuss it?
Normally, knowing that an Academy
Award-winning screenwriter thought her script could be something would elicit
the kind of manic excitement that might frighten the nearby children. But in
this moment, where Carly could barely stand from grief, all she could do was
smile. A genuine smile, because she knew her dad would be so proud. Her life
was about to change. She couldn’t call Marilyn, not when she might start crying
if another human so much as spoke to her, so she typed a quick response back.
Thank you for reading! I will send availabilities shortly! Thank you, again!
She hit Send before she added another superfluous thank-you
Or exclamation point, and immediately got a
failure-to-send notification.
Carly frowned, and out of sheer desperation,
placed a call to Daniel. Only, the voice that greeted her was an automated
recording. The number you’re trying to call is not reachable.
Before she could overthink it, voices rose
around her and the people nearby pointed toward the sky.
Maybe the service was glitching because
everyone was outside on their phones and livestreaming the eclipse. She’d try
emailing again as soon as it was over. What the hell; she
might as well see the eclipse. Her dad had
been eager to watch, and if she couldn’t be with him physically, maybe this was
a different way to honor his memory. Carly took a deep breath,
shaded her eyes with her hand and looked up.
This, however, was absolutely a mistake. Her
retinas instantly burned. She blinked back the sting and tried to open them
again, but her lids felt stuck together. All she saw was
black. Had she just blinded herself on top of
everything?
There was a flicker of an image—white folding
chairs and her dad’s coffin—followed
by his voice—Come find me, Carly girl—so clear
and loud her breath caught.
Then, as quickly as it had all come on, her
eyes opened.
“Dad?” Carly said.
Main Street came back into focus—the kids
lying on top of towels, strangers pointing toward the sky. Of course he wasn’t
there. She must’ve heard his voice in her fog of grief. Come find
me, Carly girl echoed like a drum in her head,
though. Logically, she knew that her heart wasn’t actually breaking, but how
else to explain the sharp and sudden pain in her chest? She placed a hand to
her forehead, let out a shuddering breath and wished the day would just end
already.
About the Author:
Social
Links:
Instagram & Twitter: @erinlarosalit
TikTok: @erinlarosawrites
Substack: https://thedeskoferinlarosa.substack.com/
Author website: https://www.erinlarosacreative.com/
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