Now listen very closely: Melissa J. Sweet is not here to mess around.
The tension. The Grade A Certified Organic Sass. The tight-knit, flirty found family.
What a fantastic romcom of a debut has she unleashed! To use baseball metaphors I’m sure she would appreciate: she swung for the fences and hit a home run on this friends-to-lovers. She’s batting a thousand on banter. Scored a touchdown on that mutual yearning. Agh, two out of three.
Let me tell you about this double-glazed cinnamon-roll of a long-haired, tattooed hero whose screaming love language is acts of service and energy drink delivery. Our girl needs a safe-space who can both belt and flip a switch on his protective side, and Mr. Serotonin Dispenser ™ volunteers as tribute. He volunteers so hard—he just needs to find his words, okay?
Speaking of love-fools, I love me a plot where waiting for the heroine to get out of her own way as she’s showered with affection by the perfect man right in front of her IS the plot. Full disclosure: she’s engaged to someone else for half of this—I know, I know, I know. But don’t worry—you’ll be as charmed as you are frustrated by Lucy Sky. She’s got all the Older Sister sash badges: Avoidance, Guilt, Overburdening, Expert-level Comparmentalizing. She’s like a dear, scrappy friend you root for even as you want to smack her upside the head for her misplaced self-sacrificing and self-sabotaging misbelief. She’s a wordy one—says the teapot. Sometimes she goes off telling me her life story when all I want to know is when she’ll put herself and her darling end-game man out of their misery. And when it happens, ugh, it’s such a grand slam (ding ding ding!)
They’re all so dang lovable and have such palpable chemistry, you’re here for all of it. The cast, oh my word, the cast. I said “flirty found-family,” right? What absolute fun. I’m a sweet historical reader with a low tolerance for cringe and cliché. I don’t even like my contemporaries to be super pop culture referential. But this POV is jam-packed with such wit and random references you’ll either geek out or be totally fine googling it later so you can be cool too. I looove how this book proves you don’t need slapstick every chapter to earn the romcom category. For the love of Bret Michales, let's allow the banter and wit to carry it. This one steps up to the plate. (Not a baseball romance, I’m just locked in now.)
While I could’ve done without whole scenes that prove Mr. Red-Flag-Bunting Fiancé is a jerk that does not deserve her staying-power, we’re also hit over the head with how perfect JD is, and THAT I could not get enough of. Once he finds his words and is like “Oh, so you want me to take over. Say no more,” he busts himself out of the friend zone and never looks back. That third act kept me guessing: Would the villain need a firmer kick on the behind? Would our girl fabulously freak-out under pressure? Would Mr. United Nations of Green Flags choke? (Just kidding—I knew there was no way on that one.)
You know what takes a romance that keeps its eye on the swoon ball up to a whole other league? It’s the heart-achingly sweet epilogue that tracks so well. It’s the happily-ever-after tingles. Though I’m truly convinced all JD needs is a whiff of her peach-scented neck and maybe a freshly-baked pie to keep his love tank overflowing—gimme a bonus scene where Lucy gets to grand-gesture right back.
Melissa J. Sweet, warm welcome to the Feet-kicking Debut Hall of Fame. And yes, I also need a baseball romance now.
Content notes: A little more harmless innuendo and oogling than I’m used to, but I’ll allow it cause everyone is so dang charming and sweet. We go a little beyond kissing-only to not-too descriptive make-outs (tongue mentioned twice). There’s brief mention of suicide. On page verbally and borderline-physically abusive relationship. On page toxic parent. Secondary character surprise pregnancy situation. Some hilarious almost-swearing. Not totally on board with one of the nicknames but to each their own.
Thank you to the romcom prodigy author for an advanced copy.