Once and again, Rebecca Serle is bringing the magic to your TBR list.
Exactly two years from the day I shared “Expiration Dates” with the world, I am thrilled to return with my latest heartfelt exploration of life and romance titled “Once and Again”. This compelling tale will grace bookstore shelves on March 10, 2026. TopMob News has the privilege to unveil both the captivating cover art and a tantalizing sneak peek into the first chapter of this enchanting story. For those eagerly awaiting my next work, I assure you that “Once and Again” will not disappoint!
Rebecca shared with TopMob News in April 2024 that her work is a continuous investigation into the interplay between destiny and personal choice. She ponders over the question of how much power we have versus what is predetermined, what events will unfold regardless of our decisions, and how these two forces interact with each other.
In “Once and Again,” the author extends their investigation, presenting a fresh perspective. This leads to an intriguing query: if granted a second chance, would you seize it?
In the family of the main character, Lauren Novak, every female member possesses a unique ability to rewind time – only on one occasion.
It’s a gift Lauren’s mother used after her dad was in a fatal car accident.
However, since Marcella lost her power, she’s lived in constant dread of what she can’t undo. Her mother, Sylvia, is a stark contrast: a bohemian, rule-breaking individual with an enigmatic past that she barely reveals. Lauren has grown up caught between these two influential figures-anticipating when her own crisis might occur.
Instead of staying with her husband 3000 miles away, Lauren seeks solace at her childhood home in Malibu. However, the intricacies within her family aren’t the only complications she faces; there’s an additional twist: She reconnects with her old flame, Stone, following a decade of separation.
The summary mentions that as Lauren slips back into familiar routines with her family and especially Stone, she begins to ponder over all the decisions, big and small, which have led her to this point in time. She starts questioning if it’s time to reconsider one of those choices.
Continue reading to explore the initial chapter of “Once and Again,” available starting March 10, 2026, as well as other freshly launched books…
P
He texts me after landing, and I once again feel the solid ground beneath my feet. It’s 4:0m in Los Angeles, an unusual hour, yet I’ve always found myself unable to sleep when Leo is flying. Over our four-year relationship-three of them as a married couple-this has been a constant for me.
Over the last hour, I’ve been stationed in our dimly lit kitchen, repeatedly updating the display on my mobile device, filling the space with strong, cool blue illumination.
Exhale.
As a devoted admirer, I wrap my robe snugly around me to ward off the chill. This enchanting bungalow, constructed in 1958 and renovated in 2010, has captured my heart. Its character and brightness are undeniable, with expansive windows and a petite garden. It’s even within leisurely walking distance to Melrose Place. However, the lack of functional heating is somewhat inconvenient.
Upon initially settling here about six-and-a-half years back, the walls boasted a green and burnt orange hue, all light fixtures were brass, but since then, I’ve transformed the space. I’ve painted the walls white, added wallpaper to the bathroom, refreshed the kitchen with new grout, and filled it with a vibrant collection of items from Rose Bowl Flea Market bargains and Crate & Barrel sales. The result is a cozy, well-arranged living area. Although Leo tends to accumulate lots of things, I personally don’t find chaos to be an appealing or cheerful environment.
Go back to bed, Lauren, he writes, and I smile.
I love you.
I feel my shoulders slacken. The whirling in my stomach settles to a casual rinse cycle. He’s fine.
At age fifteen, I tragically lost my father in a car accident on Mulholland Drive during a regular Tuesday afternoon, just shy of rush hour. He wasn’t exceeding the speed limit, but unfortunately, an inattentive teenager driving in the opposite direction who was distracted by his cell phone collided with him. Both drivers perished instantly.
I turn on the electric kettle, add dark roast coffee to the pot, and then glance at the pile of mail on our kitchen counter. Leo apparently didn’t sort it before he left. I sift through the letters, finding insurance documents for Leo, Ralphs coupons, and a thank-you note from my friend Delia for her baby shower. We had bought her a bottle warmer as a gift. I trace the embossed stork design on the card before throwing it away in the trash can.
Leo is heading off to interview for a new job opportunity. He’s a Director of Photography (DP), having begun his career as a lamp operator on film sets. Last summer, his former college mentor offered him the chance to be the DP on an independent project, which he enjoyed immensely. Today, Leo is taking a flight to meet Grayson Baldacci, a renowned television writer, regarding a new series called “Big Guys,” an office drama that will film in New York. Securing this job could significantly alter Leo’s career trajectory, providing him with a stable position and regular income.
For over a decade, I’ve been an accountant, but prior to that, I was providing bookkeeping services for individual clients. Two of these clients continue to seek my assistance on the side. Currently, I work at a compact firm with just two other Certified Public Accountants (CPAs). Our primary focus is on assisting senior clients who live on a fixed income. While the nature of the job isn’t glamorous, I appreciate its predictability and dependability. Moreover, I find fulfillment in guiding people to effectively manage their finances, helping them steer clear of potential difficulties, even if it doesn’t align perfectly with my professional passion.
Leo has a different story altogether. He glows when discussing films. Whenever we watch a movie together, he eagerly shares the cinematographer’s shot list with me-the reasons behind using a crane in that particular scene or a wide angle here. I usually tune out, but I adore how he perceives the world; as if it’s an unpainted canvas waiting to be captured or narrated. In Leo’s world, everything seems pre-existing; all he needs is the right perspective.
Carrying water with me, I stroll towards the sofa. A sunset painting on its back showcases the artistry of my grandma Sylvia. This very scene is a familiar sight from our Malibu home, where I spent my childhood days.
Did he land?
My mother. We share the same history.
Yes.
Go back to sleep.
Picture her presently, clad in a worn Ralph Lauren housecoat, gazing upon the shimmering waterscape. My mother, you see, is not a morning person; that title belongs to Dad.
Pea, my cat, ambles into the room with a tired expression, as if to say “not again”. After a moment, she departs abruptly. Four years ago, on the eve of Los Angeles’ most intense rainstorm, I discovered her clawing at my door. She was just six weeks old, struggling with various health problems, and unclaimed, having no identification tag.
Previously, I hadn’t owned any pets. I was hesitant about letting her enter our home, but Leo persuaded me. “The rain could be fatal for her,” he explained. “We need to bring her inside.
In simpler terms, she thoroughly examined every hidden corner and crevice of our bungalow, eventually settling down for a sleep on the carpet. By evening, I was certain that she belonged to us.
As I catch a whiff of the beans, I glance down and notice my cell phone vibrating on the counter. It’s Leo calling.
“You’re not sleeping,” he says.
His voice always reveals his mood to me. Unlike myself who prefers solitude, Leo is naturally outgoing, but when it comes to our bond, he becomes quiet and tender. Currently, he seems cheerful, though it’s nearly 8:00 a.m. in his location. I can visualize him disembarking from the flight wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt, carrying his backpack and duffel bag, with a hoodie hanging casually over his shoulder. Maybe a bit of bagel crumbs are on his front. He sleeps exceptionally well, wherever he is.
“You’re the one calling,” I say.
In all honesty, I’m taken aback because Leo hardly ever uses his phone. At home, this trait makes him an excellent husband, as he’s always attentive and seldom distracted. However, when he’s away, reaching out to him can be challenging. Initially, during our dating days, I felt neglected due to long periods without communication-even stretching over weeks at a time. But then, he would reappear, arrive at my home, and with a look in his eyes that spoke volumes, I realized he hadn’t forgotten about me.
“True. Guess what? The guy next to me had never been on a plane before.”
“Really?”
“Makes you marvel at the miracle of modern travel. I felt like a child again.”
The coffeepot sputters and gurgles its final stream.
“How was your night?” he asks me.
Despite having a restless night, keeping tabs on his flight and looking out for any weather alerts, I prefer not to disclose this fact to him. Leo is well-acquainted with me, yet he’s also aware of the information I choose to share. Our marriage has been relatively short, spanning just three years, and there are still many aspects about each other we are yet to fully understand.
“I ordered from Pizzana with Tracy. She left around eleven. Then I did a little work.”
“What did you get?”
“The white pizza. And that chopped salad with the mushrooms.”
Leo hates mushrooms.
“Just remember if you watch Summer House without me, I’ll get an alert.”
“Not if I stream it from my phone.”
He lowers his voice to a growl. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Leo and I crossed paths at Beach Cove, an exclusive club with old-fashioned decor and a predominantly upper-class atmosphere, where it’s said they may not welcome Jewish individuals as members – something Leo claims is still the case. We both found ourselves there for the Fourth of July fireworks, invited by different people: my friend Tracy and his acquaintance Luke, respectively.
What stands out about Leo is how unconventional he appeared. He was casually dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt, drawing attention amidst the crowd sporting belted shorts and neatly ironed polos. I found it odd that they allowed him entry. However, I also recall being instantly drawn to him. His imposing stature (standing six foot four and weighing two hundred and sixty pounds). His raven-black hair. And his subtle British accent.
Or another option:
What struck me about Leo was how out-of-sync he seemed. Clad in sweatpants and a T-shirt, he stood out from the rest of the crowd who were dressed in belted shorts and polos with the collars popped. I couldn’t help but be taken aback that they let him attend. Yet, there was something about him that immediately caught my attention. His towering frame (six foot four and two hundred and sixty pounds). His striking black hair. And his subtle British accent.
He spent his early childhood in Boston, moved to London until age ten, and attended school in West Virginia. This individual exhibits a nomadic lifestyle that seems at ease with travel. Despite being seven years senior to me, there’s an undeniable sense of youthfulness about him, making one wonder if he was actually younger. His appearance further supports this notion.
Pea sneezes in the other room.
“I miss you,” I say.
“Already?”
I retrieve a mug from the cupboard, filling it with freshly brewed coffee. I prefer it scorching hot and without any added milk or sugar. Cradling the steaming mug, I notice a faint glow starting to seep into the darkness outside.
“I like it better when you’re here.”
Leo’s tone softens. “I know, baby. Me, too.” He clears his throat. “What time is the clinic?”
I reply, “Nine,” and choose not to mention that I had to visit them the day before due to uncertainty regarding my progesterone levels.
Leo and I have been striving to start our family even before our marriage. We were certain that we desired a family together, and as soon as things became serious between us, we began trying immediately. Over the course of two years at two separate fertility clinics, we discovered the reason for our struggles: premature ovarian failure, which essentially means my fertility is equivalent to someone ten years my senior. After receiving disappointing news at California Reproductive Center, we sought help from Dr. Frankel at Reproductive Los Angeles, hoping for better luck. So far, we’ve undergone six intrauterine inseminations (IUIs) and four egg retrievals, but unfortunately, we have never managed to create a single embryo, and I have yet to become pregnant. This month, we attempted another last-ditch effort IUI, just to try our luck.
As a lifestyle enthusiast, I’d express it as follows: “He suggests keeping the conversation open on this matter, but I can sense a touch of weariness creeping into his tone whenever we discuss it.
As a dedicated supporter, I find myself doing all I can to be understanding and helpful. Yet, when it comes to matters of fertility, it’s like we’re speaking different dialects. Even terms like ‘low ovarian reserve,’ ‘high FSH,’ and ‘low AMH’ are abstract concepts to him, more like numbers on a chart than realities I live with every day. They may be facts for him, but they hold a much more personal significance for me.
I understand his exhaustion, it’s a feeling I know all too well. He wonders aloud ‘How much more can we endure?’ It’s a question I grapple with, too. But for me, the answer remains the same – ‘As long as it takes to bring our dream to life, our baby.’ Each step forward may feel heavy, but remember, it’s each step that brings us closer.
Instead of saying, “I will,” I choose to express myself as, “I plan on going…” Changing the subject, allow me to share that, “Perhaps I’ll head over to the beach this evening.
I can hear Leo’s smile through the phone. “They’ll love that.”
At that moment, there was a knock on the door, causing me to jump slightly and accidently spill some coffee. Upon opening the door, I could see him waving at me from the other side, visible through the glass.
“Jesus,” I say.
“What?”
“Guess.”
Instead of waving and pretending to open a door, since he’s already taking out his keys, I find myself raising my hand in a wave, only to discover he was preparing to unlock the door himself.
Leo says, ‘It’s not yet half past four!’ I understand, I’ll leave now. Goodbye and take care. I love you. Inform your father that he was mistaken about the Lakers, and I owe him an apology.
© Copyright 2026 – All rights reserved by author Rebecca Serle. The upcoming book titled “Once and Again” (published by Atria Books, an imprint of Simon & Schuster, LLC) allows for this material to be shared with permission from the author.
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2025-08-25 19:17