I truly don’t understand why this book has such a high rating. It has the emotional depth of an empty glass and next to no facility with language and characterizations. Though I hate to damn with faint praise, they only reason I gave it two instead of one is because I’ve read worse.
The author tried to build resonance, with both protags being trauma survivors, and added a rescue dog in for giggles. But there are just so many things that fell flat for me.
Reece, a former rising star chef, left her fame behind after a traumatic event at her restaurant, for which she has survivor’s guilt. Understandably, she’s after a change of pace. Less understandably, that change of pace is waitressing at a poorly-run tequila bar on the opposite side of the country, spending her days looking mysterious and being annoyed by the incompetence. Sure, fine, whatever.
Her bosses, as this is a 3 book series, are three hot former Navy SEALS. Cade is the star of this one. It’s not enough for poor Cade to have survived Afghanistan and all it had to offer, he must also have a mountain bike accident. That left him with one testicle. And some erectile dysfunction. Temporary, of course, but he’s four shades of messed up over it. Not the war zone, guys, but the mountain bike. He can’t get back on a bike, he can’t handle his emotions, I can’t handle his shaggy fucking hair and his raging out over truly stupid things. Cade is a manboy. No, thank you.
So anyway, Reece takes over the terrible kitchen on the completely obvious sly, gets caught out an incomprehensible number of pages later, Cade loses his shit about being lied to (??? Over the vast improvement of the food? Seriously Cade?) and wants to fire her immediately. She disappointingly does not tell him exactly where he can stick the tater tot nachos they used to serve and instead he is rescued from his own idiocy by his two business partners, who are like, “Dude bruh, this is a good thing, we get a chef for waitress wages” and he relents. Because men only listen to men.
Meanwhile, Reece has a panic attack and as we all know, everyone who has a panic attack immediately wants to have sex. Nothing makes you feel like getting pounded like clammy anxiety sweats, nausea and an oppressive sense of dread. Then they are in love, of course, but in denial, and then there’s some more not very well-written sex and in between they teach her plot moppet pet how to surf. Oh, and a plot device in a the form of an ex-boyfriend boss, AN ANGRY ASSHOLE FAMOUS BRITISH CHEF NAMED GRAHAM. Reece clearly has a Type and the author definitely isn’t making a Gordon Ramsey reference. Entirely coincidental.
All of these things alone and together are enough to be not good. But the final straw was when Reece, rising star chef, and Gordon Ramsey are sitting down for a business proposition and he commends her for her “inspired” touch of cotija on posole. Dude. Come on. There’s nothing inspired about adding cotija to posole. I want to be commended for my inspired addition of cheese to my goulash. If you are going to write about chef life, you can’t dial it in like that.
So long story short, this was not a good use of my time and I finished it feeling both disgruntled and dissatisfied. But as always, your mileage may vary.