I needed this way more than I expected.

I was hesitant going in because I usually avoid age-gap romance, but I completely fell for Addie and Brooks. The story doesn’t lean on the age difference as the “point” of their relationship, and I felt that right away. Brooks is aware of it, but it doesn’t drive his feelings for her. What matters instead is the way they connect through music, and Addie’s very guarded, very practiced refusal to be vulnerable.

Adriana (first introduced in book one) is that classic “black cat” bartender, but for some reason her town has completely ostracized her. I thought her pain would be what made her compelling, but I actually found myself relating more to her sharp edges. The writing doesn’t soften her into a more palatable version of herself—she stays blunt and sometimes vicious, even when she’s in the wrong. For anyone who’s ever felt like their defenses are both protection AND isolation, that felt really honest. And Brooks’s response to her was such a relief. He notices when she’s shutting down, doesn’t push, and gives her space to regulate before gently trying again. It felt incredibly grounded and kind.

At the same time, Addie does something just as meaningful for him. Brooks is raising his autistic teenage daughter and has spent so long having other people treat that as complicated or “too much.” Addie doesn’t see it that way at all. She meets them both with immediate, uncomplicated care, and it never feels performative or forced—it just feels natural to her, and it changes everything for him.

This ended up being a really satisfying read if you’re drawn to neurodivergent representation and relationships built on patience, awareness, and intentional care.