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All Contemporary Romance Coverage

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Emily Henry’s People We Meet on Vacation is an inspired and achingly romantic reimagining of Nora Ephron’s beloved rom-com When Harry Met Sally, which famously questioned whether men and women (heterosexual pairings specifically) can ever truly be just friends. And the answer, then and now, is . . . probably not if they act like these characters do.

Like Ephron and Jane Austen before her, Emily Henry paints a specific and nuanced picture of first impressions gone perfectly wrong in a prelude to a relationship that is nonetheless incredibly right. When Alex meets Poppy during the first night of orientation at the University of Chicago, neither one is particularly impressed. He is wearing khakis; she wears what look to him like a ridiculous costume. Alex quickly sizes Poppy up, reacting to her “neon orange and pink floral jumpsuit from the early seventies” with skepticism and disapproval. They’re sure they have little in common apart from “the fact that we hate each other’s clothes.” But it takes just one more meeting—a shared ride home to their mutual hometown in Ohio over break—for an enduring mutual fascination, fueled by those same differences, to firmly take hold.

The rest is the stuff of legend or infamy, depending on your vantage point. From the perspective of Alex’s long-term, long-suffering, on-again, off-again girlfriend, Sarah, Poppy’s connection with Alex hangs over her own relationship with him like a constant threat—Chekov’s unresolved sexual tension. From the perspectives of Alex and Poppy, who are deeply committed to denying their palpable physical attraction to each other, the two are devoted best friends, almost like siblings: 95% platonic and just a tiny bit “what if.” But that pesky 5% is a killer. Poppy is continually surprised when it rears its head.

Even worse, Poppy, from whose perspective the story is told, misguidedly but truly believes she’s alone in this torture. Alex is a buttoned up English major-turned-high school teacher and a surrogate father to his younger brothers. Poppy is a freewheeling former weirdo-turned-travel writer and internet personality who’s determined to make up the time she lost to bullies when she was young. Both are seemingly committed to the idea that someone like him could never want someone like her and vice versa.

Partners come and go, but for over a decade Alex and Poppy keep in close touch and continue the ritual of an annual summer vacation. The first years are lean ones: She blogs about her travels; he goes to graduate school to get an MFA in creative writing and then a Ph.D. in literature. They save and scrimp and take on extra jobs to fund their budget adventures. Eventually Alex returns to Ohio to teach, and Poppy secures a dream job at a glamorous travel magazine called Rest and Relaxation (a thinly veiled version of aspirational publications like Travel + Leisure). After that, the vacation locales go upscale: a villa in Tuscany, high-end European hotels. Though the style of travel evolves, Alex and Poppy’s devotion—their heartfelt intrigue and obsession with each other and the unspoken attraction that pulls them together like magnets wherever they roam—never changes.

In When Harry Met Sally, Harry claims this type of close, sustained platonic friendship can’t be done, at least not in the way Alex and Poppy are doing it: “What I’m saying is . . . that men and women can’t be friends because the sex part always gets in the way.” The gorgeously written, delightfully original People We Meet on Vacation will not do much to contest that claim. It’s a wonderful tribute that puts Henry firmly on the path to becoming the millennial Nora Ephron.

Emily Henry’s People We Meet on Vacation is an inspired and achingly romantic reimagining of Nora Ephron’s beloved rom-com When Harry Met Sally.

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After her blockbuster debut novel, Red, White & Royal Blue, author Casey McQuiston returns with another queer romantic comedy—with a time slip twist. One Last Stop is a delightful speculative tale that follows August Landry, a somewhat cynical mystery lover who finds the ultimate puzzle in Jane, a punk-rock lesbian she keeps encountering on the subway.

August was raised by her single mom, who was obsessed with the disappearance of her brother, August’s uncle. Their loving but co-dependent relationship is complicated, to say the least. August sees New York City as the perfect place to strike out on her own, a bastion for loners and cynics like herself. But the city has other plans, and August immediately finds her people in the form of three supportive and vibrant roommates. The only thing that’s missing is romance, which she doesn’t expect to find anytime soon.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Casey McQuiston on what comes next after coming out.


Then she spills coffee on herself on the Q train, and like a knight in shining armor, Jane approaches with a red scarf to hide the offending stain. August knows that moments shared with strangers on public transit are fleeting, but she can’t stop thinking about Jane and whether she’ll ever run into her again.

Well, she does—again and again—because Jane is stuck. A queer activist from the 1970s, Jane has been displaced in time and is now trapped in the same car of the same subway line, with limited memory of who she was or how she wound up there. All she has are the contents of her backpack. It’s a surreal and scary situation, but at least there’s August, the tenacious and cute woman she keeps meeting. Attraction inevitably grows between them, but how can you fall in love with someone who isn’t from your time and is literally stuck on the subway? It’s a problem August is desperate to solve.

If you’ve ever had the pleasure of traveling to NYC during the warmer months, you’ll recognize the particularly fervent summertime energy that One Last Stop exudes. The air is thick with humidity and endless possibilities. McQuiston infuses charm into every detail, from the creaks and hisses of a subway train pulling into a station to the shine and grandeur of the New York skyline.

This is a book of hope and love and self-discovery. August is just this side of prickly, and she possesses a cautious sense of reservation. Deep down, she’s scared of being disappointed by those she lets into her heart. She’s a perfect foil for Jane, who is unapologetic and confident.Every scene between them will make the smile on your face grow wider. The speculative twist of a time slip adds angst to August and Jane’s seemingly meant-to-be pairing, giving One Last Stop higher stakes and making it feel more propulsive than other city-set contemporary love stories.

Bursting with heart, snappy banter and a deep respect for queer history and community, One Last Stop isn’t just another surefire hit for McQuiston. It also might be the best read of the summer.

After her blockbuster debut novel, Red, White & Royal Blue, author Casey McQuiston returns with another queer romantic comedy—with a time slip twist.

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Emily Houghton’s Before I Saw You is a tender, emotional debut about pain, recovery and the support people find in unexpected places. This tear-jerking slow-burn romance follows two patients in a long-term care ward as they recover from serious injuries.

Alice and Alfie share a room at St. Francis’ Hospital. Alice is an overworked introvert healing from significant burns after a fire in her building. Alfie is an incurable extrovert who survived a deadly car accident but needed to have his leg amputated. They’re very much opposites. Alfie is quite the chatterbox, determined to bring a smile to everyone’s face, and Alice barely speaks and keeps the curtains closed around her bed. After relying solely on herself from a too early age, the thought of depending on someone else for anything causes Alice to shrink further into herself.

At first, their relationship is built on Alfie talking and Alice just listening. While his incessant chattering annoys Alice at the beginning, she quickly grows accustomed to hearing his voice and eventually finds it a source of comfort. Alfie and Alice both suffered other traumas before their respective injuries, and a long-term hospital stay could be the catalyst for finally addressing those events. After all, there is little else to do when you’re mostly confined to a hospital room.

An action-oriented romance this is not. But it's a perfect read for someone who prefers getting to know the main characters and watching their relationship grow via those tiny, seemingly inconsequential moments. Alice and Alfie’s journey from strangers to friends to more is torturous in the best way possible. Their relationship unfolds slowly, teasingly. The first time they touch hands is momentous and feels incredibly raw because of how much tension and anticipation Houghton has built up to that point.

There are dark moments as Alfie and Alice come to terms with their own baggage, and as the reader discovers more about the circumstances that led them to the hospital. Before I Saw You should come packaged with tissues because crying is inevitable. However, Houghton sneaks in bits of levity from the larger cast of characters, from Alfie’s doting parents to the empathetic staff. It’s a great, balanced approach that also extends to the affable Alfie. Though his kindness and charming personality are genuine, he wields them as a shield to distract himself from thinking too deeply about how his life will change once he leaves St. Francis.

Don't be turned off by the promise of an ugly sob or two. Houghton makes the tough times worth it, such as when Alice speaks her first words to Alfie or when she finally shifts aside her curtain and reaches out her hand. One of the beauties of romance is how it shows the bright spots amid tough times, and Before I Saw You is a testament to why readers find this genre to be hopeful above all else.

Emily Houghton’s Before I Saw You is a tender, emotional debut about pain, recovery and the support people find in unexpected places.

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“Grown women knew better than to attach themselves to time bombs. Teenage girls couldn’t wait to be ruined.” So writes Tia Williams, author of the smart and steamy Seven Days in June. The “grown woman” is Eva Mercy, a 32-year-old romance novelist and single mom in Brooklyn. The “time bomb” is Shane Hall, a literary novelist and former paramour who unexpectedly reappears in Eva’s life at a book festival. The Black literary world doesn’t know that Eva and Shane were teenage lovers—or that they’ve been communicating to each other through their books for years. 


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Summer reading 2021: 9 books to soak in this season


Seven Days in June is a slow burn as Shane and Eva attempt to heal old wounds, their love affair made all the more delicate by Eva’s history of abandonment. Chosen family is a strong central theme in the novel, and characters like Eva’s spunky daughter, Audre, and book editor, CeCe, bring warmth to the pages. But this isn’t a light romance by any means, especially during flashbacks. Shane entered foster care as a child and is now in Alcoholics Anonymous. Eva has a history of self-harm, and an early scene depicts an attempted sexual assault. 

In addition to addressing mental health concerns, Seven Days in June portrays the daily difficulties of having an invisible disability. Eva has experienced migraines since she was young, and she still struggles to manage them without revealing her pain to the world. But Williams never uses Eva’s illness to inspire pity or to cast her as somehow weak. It’s refreshing to see a character whose disability is fully developed and integrated into the narrative from start to finish. 

Through this gripping love story, Williams reckons with family histories and shows the power in rewriting our origin stories. She lays bare what happens when we are “fearless enough to hold each other close no matter how catastrophic the world” becomes. Readers will feel as attached to these characters as Eva and Shane are to each other. 

In this poignant romance, readers will feel as attached to Tia Williams’ characters as Eva and Shane are to each other.

Rosie Danan returns with The Intimacy Experiment, a steamy contemporary romance that is every bit as enjoyable as her debut, The Roommate. It’s a triumph of feminist fiction, supporting the importance of healthy emotional and physical intimacy and showing how to make the world a better place with love.

Startup executive Naomi Grant thinks of herself as something of a superhero. She’s a former porn star who left behind her previous name and identity to build an enormous platform and take-no-prisoners public image, which she has used to transition into a career as a sex educator. But given the cultural stigma surrounding sex work, she isn’t welcome in the lecture circuit or in higher education.

She’s the perfect foil to Rabbi Ethan Cohen, one of the city’s hottest bachelors, who’s been tasked with attracting a younger generation to the faith. His own background is somewhat nontraditional, in that he was a career academic before devoting his life to his faith.

Faced with budget woes and low participation, Ethan decides to pursue a controversial initiative with Naomi by asking her to co-host a seminar series on modern intimacy. Rather than judging her former career as a sex worker, he focuses on her intelligence and the successful company and message she’s created. Not only does he acknowledge the brain behind Naomi's beauty, he also understands that the things she’s talking about are important to the millennial generation his congregation needs to survive.

The Intimacy Experiment is sexy and modern and fun, but also thoughtful and authentic. Danan avoids tired stereotypes: Ethan isn’t the least bit squeamish about sex, and Naomi is vulnerable and open when considering their budding romance. There’s a lot at stake for both of these flawed, richly layered characters. For them to love each other, openly and without reserve, is a risk to their professional reputations. And even without all of that, it takes a brave person to tell another, “I think I could be good at loving you,” and mean it. It takes a brave person to believe they’re worthy of that love. Danan crafts a beautiful arc as Naomi learns to stand in the real world and let her true self shine through, reconciling both her “superhero” and “secret” identities, and trusting that Ethan will love all of who she is.

Rosie Danan returns with The Intimacy Experiment, a steamy contemporary romance that is every bit as enjoyable as her debut, The Roommate.

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In Uzma Jalaluddin’s sophomore novel, Hana Khan Carries On, a Muslim woman tries to keep her family’s halal business afloat while finding comfort in creating her own anonymous podcast.

Hana Khan has plenty to worry about: her mother’s casual halal restaurant is in dire financial straits, and the Khan household has been turned upside down by the arrival of her aunt and cousin. Her only outlet is Ana’s Brown Girl Rambles, a podcast that Hana launched anonymously and views as a diary of sorts. As it slowly gains a following, Hana starts an adorable online back and forth with a dedicated listener. What she doesn’t know is that very same listener is Aydin Shah, who runs the competing halal eatery that is jeopardizing the Khan family business.

Jalaluddin’s debut novel, Ayesha at Last, was a Pride & Prejudice-inspired journey to romance and self-fulfillment. With Hana Khan, Jalaluddin turns to rom-com classic You’ve Got Mail for inspiration. The bones of the Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks film are there, trading bookstores for halal food, but Jalaluddin launches this story into the 21st century. The most obvious update is Hana’s interest in podcasting and auditory forms of storytelling, but there’s also the setting of Toronto’s Golden Crescent neighborhood, which is home to a thriving Muslim community. Jalaluddin demonstrates how this close-knit world provides both support system and motivation for Hana and her family throughout the novel. But she also acknowledges the depressing truth that it makes them targets, especially when Hana experiences an anti-Muslim hate crime that goes viral.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: How Uzma Jalaluddin uses romance tropes to expand the boundaries of the genre.


It’s a tall order to find someone worthy of such a brilliant and earnest heroine, but Aydin is an excellent love interest. He’s genuine and charming, a perfect foil for his father’s more hostile business tactics, but the novel is more focused on Hana’s journey than his own. There is a satisfying happily ever after at the end, but Jalaluddin explores more than just romantic love in Hana Khan. It’s a story of self-love, familial love, togetherness and compassion between neighbors, and all the different ways we express love with who we allow into our lives.

This modern romantic comedy is full of warmth, and complemented wonderfully by Hana’s courageous self-determination and the scene-stealing secondary members of the Khan family. If Hana Khan Carries On is a sign of things to come, whatever Jalaluddin writes next will be inventive, extraordinary and well worth a read.

In Uzma Jalaluddin’s sophomore novel, Hana Khan Carries On, a Muslim woman tries to keep her family’s halal business afloat while finding comfort in creating her own anonymous podcast.

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In Jenny Holiday’s Sandcastle Beach, Maya Mehta and Benjamin Lawson have a longstanding rivalry whose foundation is as sturdy as a castle made of sand. He rigs the Mermaid Queen election in her favor every year, which she supposedly hates (but secretly enjoys). She boycotts his brick oven pizza while still regularly frequenting his bar, where Ben reserves her favorite wine for her exclusively and surreptitiously slips her freebies all night long.

Watching these two find the pettiest of ways to hate on each other while sneakily admiring each other is great entertainment for their friends and the matchmaking elders who populate the small town of Moonflower Bay. It makes for a mildly frothy read, but the tensions underlying the hate side of their unacknowledged love/hate relationship might feel a bit lukewarm for connoisseurs of the enemies-to-lovers trope who prefer more heated relationships such as those depicted in Sally Thorne’s The Hating Game, Jasmine Guillory’s The Wedding Party or Kennedy Ryan’s Hook Shot. As Maya’s brother Rohan tells her about his most recent failed relationship: “’For a massage to work, you need some pressure, you know? Some friction.’” He shrugged. “’I started to think maybe that’s true in life, too?’”

Handsome, generous and generally single Ben just isn’t particularly hateable or even rakish. He enjoys sparring with Maya but scarcely remembers how their rivalry started. He just knows that she’s been inexplicably spikey with him since she was 19. Maya’s motivations are clearer—he carelessly did her wrong years ago—but her perception of Ben is similarly cloudy and as a result, the friction on her side is fuzzy too, at least at first.

Fortunately, their initial rivalry is a prelude to a more complex, satisfying and steamy enemies-with-benefits arrangement in which hostilities are intermittently suspended for Premier League football and wine. Their slow burn gets exponentially hotter as the two become more sure of themselves, and their quick-witted banter and mutually obsessed attentiveness impressively echoes Beatrice and Benedick’s dynamic in Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, a production of which Maya directs and stars in during the novel. When the town council announces a lucrative grant program for local entrepreneurs, placing Maya and Ben in direct competition with each other, it magnifies the stakes of their rivalry tenfold. The $100,000 prize would be life-changing for either Maya or Ben, who are both at professional crossroads. When these aspects of the story take off, their chemistry really begins to sparkle. The result is effervescent, joyous and rewarding fun.

In Jenny Holiday’s Sandcastle Beach, Maya Mehta and Benjamin Lawson have a longstanding rivalry whose foundation is as sturdy as a castle made of sand.

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Farah Heron’s Accidentally Engaged is mouthwatering romantic comedy that layers on tropes like a buttery, flaky dough.

Reena Manji is a dedicated baker who’s ready to kick her passion for bread and baking into high gear. When she hears of a couple’s cooking contest with the grand prize being a scholarship to a culinary institute, Reena desperately wants to enter. There’s just one glaring problem: She doesn’t have a partner, or even a boyfriend. But the solution might lie in the shape of hunky Nadim Remtulla. Her British neighbor works for her father, and Reena’s parents already tried to set the pair up. But now Reena needs his help and he’s all too happy to help make her dream a reality.

This book is for anyone who’s discovered the joy of bread-making, especially bakers who hover over their sourdough starters, waiting for them to grow and bloom and get ready to be turned into warm, delicious loaves. Food—cooking it, sharing it, eating it—is an extension of love and care in Accidentally Engaged. Much of this wonderful slow-burn romance plays out in the kitchen, and readers will be deliciously tortured by how long it takes Reena and Nadim to realize how well they complement each other. Heron also deepens both characters by exploring their different experiences and backgrounds. While both Reena and Nadia are Muslim and of Indian descent, Reena’s experiences as a Canadian Indian and Nadim’s as a British Indian are different. Heron weaves those divergences into their developing relationship in both subtle moments and more overt discussions, perfectly depicting how a couple organically learns more about one another.

As Reena takes charge of making her dreams happen and Nadim plays the role of supportive and enthusiastic cheerleader amidst complicated family dynamics, Heron hits every romantic beat with a confidence of an author who knows exactly what she’s doing. There are meddling family members, close-quarters cooking, a fake relationship and the dreamy boy next door with his beefy muscles and swoony accent. This book is undoubtedly what Heron would pull out during the Showstopper Challenge on a literary version of “The Great British Bake Off.”

Farah Heron’s Accidentally Engaged is mouth-watering romantic comedy that layers on tropes like a buttery, flaky dough.

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There’s no place like home. Which might be the problem with Dr. Will Sterling. While reading Kate Clayborn’s Love at First, you get the sense that he’s never actually had anything that fits that title. As a child, he had a house that he lived in with parents who were obsessed with each other and largely indifferent to him. As an adult, he has an apartment that he barely sees in between long hospital shifts. There’s no one he’d consider family. There’s barely anyone he’d consider a friend. He works overtime in the hospital’s emergency room until his co-workers basically kick him out, not realizing that he doesn’t actually have anywhere better to go. And then, suddenly, he has a new . . . well, let’s call it a residence. An inherited apartment from his recently deceased estranged uncle that he’s very, very eager to get rid of but can’t, thanks to the terms of the uncle’s will. And with the apartment comes an added, unspoken inheritance in the form of the colorful neighbors that fill out the small, six-unit apartment building.

Eleanora Clarke—better known as Nora—might be the youngest resident (by far) in the crotchety, close-knit community, but she’s also its fiercest and most determined protector. Her own isolated childhood led her to treasure the place and the memories it holds of her beloved grandmother. When Will shows up with his smile and his charm and his decision to—horror of horrors!—renovate his inheritance and turn it into a short-term rental, she springs into action to combat him. The conflict is immediate, but if you’re expecting typical rom-com over-the-top exploits, then you’d be wrong. Sure, Nora pulls a couple of fast ones to try to get around Will, but then something far sweeter than hijinks ensues.

There’s a lovely, expansive hopefulness to Clayborn’s romance. Pretty much none of its characters have the life they’d imagined for themselves or the one they would have chosen. Everyone, not just the main couple, has experienced their share of grief, from the 80-year-old Lothario on the third floor (he’s very into dating apps) to Will’s direct supervisor at the hospital, a man who might be the most awkwardly endearing boss you hope to never have since Michael Scott from “The Office." But as all of them come together in a variety of ways—involving poetry, lost kittens, towel rods and really good marinara sauce—a sense of beautiful optimism shines through Clayborn’s prose. Love at First will not only make you believe that you can recover from the pain in your past but that you can, if and when you choose, break away from your past entirely and build a new future, surrounded by love and support. Rather than narrowly focus on its main couple, Love at First overflows with a sense of connection and community. While watching Will and Nora fall deeply, endearingly in love, you’ll also fall in love with the world they live in, the community they build and the future they have to look forward to together.

There’s no place like home. Which might be the problem with Dr. Will Sterling. While reading Kate Clayborn’s Love at First, you get the sense that he’s never actually had anything that fits that title.

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Talia Hibbert has quickly become the go-to writer for those who like their romances to be heartwarming, thought-provoking and fun in equal measure. Building on the success of the first two novels in her Brown Sisters trilogy, Hibbert’s formula is burnished to perfection in Act Your Age, Eve Brown, a delightful comedic confection.

Hibbert unites many beloved romance tropes in one tremendously fun package, flawlessly and creatively executing all of them. Eve and Jacob are the embodiment of the grumpy/sunshine trope—she’s a delightful, chaotic ray of light, while innkeeper Jacob is an order-obsessed grouch. They are opposites very reluctantly attracted, and their meet-cute (which is more of a meet-disaster) leads them into forced proximity and helps their attraction grow.

When the going gets tough, pampered 20-something Londoner Eve Brown gets going—right out of town. Eve is a gorgeous hot mess. She’s tried and failed and tried again on a number of different career and life paths. Through it all, she’s enjoyed the backing of her wealthy and accomplished family. This time, however, when her nascent wedding planning business goes bust, Eve loses the financial backing and patience of her frustrated parents. She flees to the countryside where she runs into Jacob Wayne, the proprietor of a bed-and-breakfast, and applies for a temporary chef position. Eve is eminently qualified, but has great difficulty proving it because (of course) she fails to produce anything like a resumé. Turned off by her apparent lack of professionalism, Jacob rejects her application. But when she accidentally hits him with her car and breaks his arm, a horrified Eve insists on working at the B&B to help while he recovers. Though there’s a fair amount of hostility and distrust between them as chaos meets order, hate soon gives way to friendship and then to love in the sweetest, most natural progression.


ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Talia Hibbert explains why she thinks Jacob and Eve are so perfect for each other.


Though their romance is delightful, Jacob and Eve also face significant personal challenges and Hibbert handles these serious topics with finesse. They are both on the autism spectrum, and Hibbert sensitively portrays their perspectives while also exploring how their autism intersects with other facets of their lives.

Confident and vulnerable in equal measure, Eve values herself for the fabulous and vibrant woman she is, but she’s also cognizant of how aspects of her identity—including her race, color, size and shape—are devalued in society, especially in the performing arts. As Eve discloses to Jacob, her talent for acting was supposed to be her saving grace. Unlike her academically high-achieving older sisters, Eve struggled in school but knew she “was meant to be a star.” And yet, even in the theatrical world, being different got in the way. Her memory issues were a problem, taking direction was challenging and maybe most frustrating of all, she did not have “the look.” Eve decided a long time ago that “she was beautiful, and her body was lovely, and she would accept no other judgment on the subject.” But she also admits that she used to care. Because she was, in one view, “too fat and too dark and not entirely symmetrical,” the powers that be at her performing arts school relegated Eve to playing “the evil background character or the comedic relief.” And that hits her hard, as Hibbert demonstrates in a gorgeously written and intimate scene:

She pressed her lips together and flicked a glance at Jacob because, well, this part was so excruciatingly awkward to speak about . . . there were the people who acted like it shouldn’t hurt, being rejected by the status quo like that. As if, because it came from a twisted place of inequality, it shouldn’t have any hold on her. Which was a nice idea in principle, but Eve found it mostly came from those who’d never been personally crushed by the weight of all that disapproval.

Jacob wasn’t reacting like one of those people, though. He was simply sitting quietly, watching in silence, letting her speak. Because he was like that, when it mattered. He was like that.

What’s especially lovely is that this conversation leads to discovery and revelation for both characters, even though Eve is the primary focus.

Throughout Eve and Jacob’s story, Hibbert exhibits masterful control of plot and character. Act Your Age, Eve Brown is a wonderful blend of tropes and reality. It’s the kind of book that inspires myriad feelings: It will make you laugh, cry, sigh and swoon. But more than anything else, the experience of reading Act Your Age, Eve Brown is pure pleasure.

Building on the success of the first two novels in her Brown Sisters trilogy, Hibbert’s formula is burnished to perfection in Act Your Age, Eve Brown, a delightful comedic confection.

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If I told you that The Ex Talk by Rachel Lynn Solomon was an “enemies-to-lovers workplace romance,” you’d probably think you’d know what to expect, right? Especially if I said that this was a fake relationship story as well? It’s a familiar, much-loved plot. (Many people’s favorite is The Proposal, but I’m partial to Someone Like You, weird cow subplot and all, because Hugh Jackman—well, because Hugh Jackman. What other reason do you need?) But what if I said this story isn’t about faking being together, but faking breaking up?

Shay Goldstein is devoted to the public radio station where she works as a producer, but her dream is to host a show of her own. Still, she’s mostly joking when she suggests, at a come-up-with-new-programming-because-we’re-a-sinking-ship meeting, that the station create a relationship program hosted by ex-lovers. She’s stunned when the program director loves the idea and wants Shay to host it along with the station’s new hotshot reporter, Dominic Yun. But Shay and Dominic disagree on everything. They can’t hold a civil conversation. And, oh yeah, they aren’t exes. But no one needs to know that, the director suggests. They just have to fudge the truth a little (a lot—to everyone) and focus on telling a story, whether or not it’s true. Or they can lose their jobs due to cutbacks. Shay’s current show is on the chopping block, so it’s lie-way or the highway. The easier path seems to be to take a chance and snag her dream job, even if it means pretending to have fallen in and out of love with a man she doesn’t know but is quite sure she dislikes.

Of course, as they tangle in the sound booth, chemistry emerges—along with a burgeoning, unexpected friendship. There’s more to Dominic than Shay expected, and there’s a lot more to her feelings for him than disdain. She’s started to fall for the man now nationally known as her ex.

Full confession: I massively overidentified with the heroine. I don’t work in radio, but my nine NPR podcast subscriptions reveal my addiction. After a decade working in my dream industry, cutbacks sent my career trajectory, like Shay’s, on an unexpected left turn. (Rachel Lynn Solomon, are you my stalker?) So I might have related more than usual as Shay worked and struggled and stumbled on her path to success, professionally and romantically. Shay’s a great heroine, witty and wry and vividly real, and Dominic is just as complex and lovingly drawn. I enjoy the escapist fun of a sexy, confident, flawless hero falling for a me-substitute as much as the next girl, but it’s so much easier to believe in love that feels earned and grows between characters who aren’t props or fantasies but compellingly flawed people.

While its central romance certainly functions as the story’s framework, The Ex Talk also leaves room to explore other kinds of love, including love for family (it was Shay’s late father who inspired her love of radio), love for friends, love for your work—and the kind of love for yourself that means you know when it’s time to leave a toxic, misogynistic work situation. (Thought this story was all sweetness and fluff? Think again.) So I don’t believe it was overidentification that made me fall for Shay, Dominic and the idea of the two of them together. I believe they and their creator did that by being funny, sharp, charming and insightful. This wonderful romance speaks volumes about chasing your dreams, finding your courage and putting everything on the line (or on the air) for love.

While its central romance certainly functions as the story's framework, The Ex Talk also leaves room to explore other kinds of love.

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In Christina Britton’s solidly crafted Regency romance, Someday My Duke Will Come, a fake engagement and close quarters spur friends to become the lovers they were meant to be. Quincy and Clara are two of a kind. Both are aristocratic underdogs: despite being the children of dukes, they grew up on the periphery of the noble circles to which they belong. And both harbor dark secrets and not quite fully healed childhood wounds that they think make them less than ideal partners. Plus, for different reasons, they’re both desperate to avoid the matchmaking machinations of nosy relatives.

Quincy is the brand new Duke of Reigate. As a boy, he revered and loved his father and was loved and adored in turn. But his mother always seemed to despise him, and he never understood why he felt so at odds with almost everyone in his family. At 14, with his father gone, he ran off to prevent his mother from consigning him to the Royal Navy. Having grown up as fourth in line to the dukedom, Quincy never thought he’d inherit. When he returns home for the first time in 14 years, he learns to never say never. Due to a series of unfortunate events, he’s the new Duke of Reigate and there’s no money left in the estate.

Lady Clara’s family is far warmer, but she’s a spinster and feels pressured by her Aunt Olivia to finally make a match lest she be permanently left on the shelf (unbeknownst to Aunt Olivia, this is Clara’s preferred life plan). Clara was just 9 years old when her mother died, and she all but traded her childhood to make sure her siblings, a younger brother and sister, felt secure. From then on, she watched them play and stood on the sidelines, more caretaker than sister to them both. Later, at 16, she went through a short rebellious period that ended in tragedy, plunging her into despair and making her believe that her past disqualified her from marrying the type of man that would otherwise be her match.

When an upcoming family wedding throws Lady Clara and the new Duke together, they both find themselves in need of a fake partner, and renew a warm friendship formed in Britton’s first Isle of Synne novel, A Good Duke Is Hard to Find. Quincy is warding off his mother’s ill-tempered demands that he marry to refill the coffers. As determined and disapproving as Lady Catherine de Bourgh scheming over Fitzwilliam Darcy’s future in Pride and Prejudice, the Duchess of Reigate has an intended wife picked out for the prodigal son she barely acknowledges—and it is not Lady Clara, his own desires be damned. The rather two-dimensional duchess is pushy and vicious, and her purpose is solely to act as the villain that propels the action forward, but it mostly works. When she ambushes Quincy with the match she’s chosen for him, Clara steps in as his fake fiancée, a claim that also conveniently wards off her aunt’s more generous but annoying matchmaking entreaties. More importantly, it throws them in close proximity even though they’d both sort of like to avoid the attraction they feel but haven’t acknowledged.

In addition to the fake engagement, the events of Someday My Duke Will Come revolve around Quincy’s bankrupt dukedom that needs saving and family secrets that need unraveling. Over the course of their arrangement, Clara and Quincy learn that the things they survived make them perfect partners for each other. This is a solid if not wholly original Regency romance between two likable underdogs who both deserve a happy ending.

In Christina Britton’s solidly crafted Regency romance, Someday My Duke Will Come, a fake engagement and close quarters spur friends to become the lovers they were meant to be.

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It’s said revenge is a dish best served cold, but what if it could be served hot? Really hot? Steamy, sweaty, decadent and deliciously hot? Because “hot” is exactly what flawless young aristocrat Lord Arthur Godwick is . . . and revenge against his family is precisely what Regan Ferry, a glamorous young widow with an icy edge, is after. Her revenge involves Arthur, stripped of his privilege and pretention, in her bed and at her mercy for 10 unforgettable nights. If he refuses, the priceless painting his reckless brother traded away will be lost forever. If he agrees—when he agrees—he’ll get the painting back, but what will he lose in its place?

Author Tiffany Reisz has a lot of fun playing with, inverting and interrogating positions of power in her latest erotic romance, The Pearl. Arthur—nicknamed King Arthur—seems to be a man who has everything: youth, beauty, wealth, influence, a flawless reputation, a bright future and a storied heritage, descended from generations of men who kept the reins of power firmly in hand. The hotel that Regan inherited from her late husband, the Pearl, was a favorite haunt of Arthur’s great-grandfather Malcolm back in the day when it was a brothel, and any woman there was Malcolm’s for the asking. Regan descends from one of the Pearl’s whores and has her own bitter experience of a man buying her, via a wedding ring, and relishing his authority over her. Little wonder that she revels in turning the tables on Arthur: having him kneel before her and service her in the hotel that her late husband owned, in the very rooms where Arthur’s ancestor once held sway.

In a subtler exploration of power, the rooms are decorated with a series of paintings (real, beautiful paintings—look them up!) by female artists with their own dark stories—not dissimilar to Regan’s—of cruel and careless men who tried to break their spirits. Paintings of fear, imprisonment, objectification, entrapment or desperation in which the artist, bloody but unbowed, gets the last word. And mingled among them—watching over them—is the one Arthur is bargaining for, the irreplaceable painting his family can’t be without. It’s a portrait of Lord Malcolm himself that might, it seems, have mysterious powers and an agenda all its own.

Reisz never fails to deliver a sizzlingly hot read, and there’s plenty of erotic pleasure to be found here as Regan and Arthur explore their desires and give rein to their passions. But The Pearl is also a deeper, darker meditation on love and trust, and what it means to give yourself willingly, freely to another, to let yourself be vulnerable enough to love and forgive in exchange for love and acceptance in return.

It’s said revenge is a dish best served cold, but what if it could be served hot? Really hot?

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