We meet Jessica Reaves while her life is pretty shitty. Her best friend Taylor left to sail around Australia, her boyfriend Adam feels like a dependent, and her waitressing job has pushed her to the edge. With her 30th birthday around the corner, she’s in no mood to celebrate.
From the very first chapter, Jessica’s exhaustion feels painfully real. She’s standing in her kitchen surrounded by dirty dishes and half-finished thoughts, realizing she’s become more caretaker than companion in her own relationship. The book doesn’t romanticize burnout—it sits with it. It shows what happens when your routines become cages, when you’re the one keeping everything together while slowly coming apart yourself. It’s a quiet but sharp look at how women are expected to “hold it all together,” even when they’re falling apart inside.
Then we meet Remi Pearce—a complete contrast. The opening pages of her first chapter show her leading a construction team, her voice cutting through the noise of drills and dust. She’s ambitious, confident, and respected, but the writing makes it clear that her strength comes with its own weight. Remi’s success in a male-dominated field isn’t treated like a victory montage: it’s messy, complicated, and sometimes lonely. The book uses her story to show how women in power are often forced to perform perfection just to be taken seriously.
As the story alternates between Jessica and Remi, their worlds start to echo each other. Jessica’s burnout and Remi’s isolation are two sides of the same coin: both women are running on empty, just in different ways. The author does a great job showing that independence and dependence aren’t opposites—they’re just different stages of figuring yourself out. The early chapters lay the groundwork for their connection, showing how both women crave the same thing: a life that actually feels like their own.
When their paths finally cross, it doesn’t feel forced—it feels earned. Their chemistry builds not from instant attraction but from mutual understanding, and through that, the book gently pushes back against the idea that love alone “fixes” you. It’s more about being seen clearly by someone else when you’ve forgotten how to see yourself.
The writing also stands out for its subtle humor and realism. From Jessica’s sarcastic inner monologues to Remi’s dry wit on the job site, every moment feels grounded. Even secondary characters—like Taylor, whose absence haunts Jessica’s early chapters—play into the novel’s bigger themes of growth, loss, and rediscovery.
Overall, this isn’t just a romance—it’s a story about rebuilding. It takes on burnout, emotional labor, and the constant negotiation between independence and vulnerability, without ever feeling heavy-handed. It’s heartfelt and self-aware, full of small moments that stick with you.
I had such a good time with this book. I went in expecting a thoughtful sapphic romance, which I got, but I also walked away wanting to completely reevaluate my life choices. Watching Jessica slowly rediscover her confidence and sense of self while navigating this new relationship was not only satisfying but inspiring. There’s something powerful about seeing a character grow in both her personal life and her understanding of what she actually wants, all while falling in love.
The author has a real gift for writing warm, grounded characters who feel like people you’d want in your corner. The dialogue is sharp, the romance has genuine chemistry, and the emotional beats land without ever feeling manipulative or overdone. Plus, there’s just something deeply satisfying about a story that takes rebuilding seriously—that shows it’s messy and slow and worth it.
Also, full disclosure: I read this while feeling stuck in my own routines, and now I’m questioning… a lot of things. Is this a sign? Should I be making bigger changes? I don’t know. But what I do know is this book made it all seem possible, and sometimes that’s exactly what you need from a story.
This book is 100% worth a read—especially if you love stories about second chances, complicated women, and the kind of emotional honesty that feels uncomfortably close to real life.
