This is a second chance romance where one protagonist, Hudson, never tells his parents that he and his bf, Kian, have broken up. Thus they must fake date while Hudson’s parents are in town for the weekend. That is a perfectly plausible scenario in romancelandia so I was all in.

Here’s the thing. I was prepared to LOVE this book: two Black men in Boston fake dating??? That is all I want in a book, it’s all of my favorite things, plus it made me laugh out loud SEVERAL times. There were so many perfect pop culture references, I had a very good time.

And YET!!!!! We never learn WHY the two initially broke up!!! Halfway through the book I was like “well surely it’s coming now.” And then 80% through I think “in order for this to be resolved, first we must know why they broke up so that they can make sure that doesn’t happen again, right?” BUT NO. We never learn why, but we do read all about Kian’s absolute devastation over their break up.

I don’t love second chance romances in the best of times, but in order to make the second chance work you must address what went wrong to begin with! That’s the whole trope! Learning to then do better. How can Kian learn to trust Hudson again if they never discuss why that trust was lost in the first place? Also I don’t think Hudson ever even apologized for dumping Kian! Rude.

Other notes:
-the perfect level of sly wokeness for a romance
-absolutely loved best friend Divya
-I can’t listen to Kian say one more time “I’m a journalist.” Um, no my friend, you are an unemployed grad who majored in journalism. I majored in econ and yet am certainly not an economist
-Hudson’s family are billionaires and his wealth and privilege are NOT discussed enough.

Quotes I wrote down:
Isn’t visiting someone’s home after 10:00 pm considered bad manners? Like telemarketers calling before 9:00 am or a top not paying for dinner when he fully intends to break a bottom’s back.

With my intrusive thoughts left outside to wait Like an angry Pomeranian tied to a bike rack, I smile and push my way into the restaurant.

Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. Or in gay terms, always the one holding the camera in the fire island gangbang, never the one in the center getting Eiffel towered. (The tragic emotion in the narrator’s voice as he says that one