#queer protagonist

With all the strength she could summon in her slender frame, with an unwavering determination against all odds, she pulled the door open halfway. Only for the rusty hinges to give up and refused to budge any further. Disappointment washed over her as Cara peered into the darkness. Encountering nothing but wispy spider webs, a stench of disuse, and a single empty wooden box adorned with a faded Black Cat Cigarettes logo. And when she pushed it to the side, stirred up nothing but a cloud of dust that tickled her nose and caused her to sneeze in response.

As naturally curious and inquisitive as a kitten, Cara could not believe she discovered this perfectly hidden gen just after she pushed open the front door of her family's new home. Despite this find, as Cara looked around, this unfamiliar place failed to provide even a single ounce of comfort or warmth that Oregon had with its every tree, cloud, and blade of grass. Maine simply did not have that home-like feeling for her. Not even a little. Yet it did have a uniqueness of its own.

At least she had one thought that helped her out: at least everything is new and exploring is fun! This comforted and excited her.

Mother could tell Cara's disappointment with being in Maine, not that it took a psychic to figure out. She would repeatedly tell her daughter to give it time. And Father told her to not let it try to replace Oregon, but to let it stand on its own. That just off the boundaries of the property laid a lush forest older than any human memory. When winter would come, so much snow would blanket everything that Cara loved no matter how old she got. And yet, all of this she looked forward to exploring, here and now, Cara never thought it would ever feel like home.

And yet the house itself sat perched atop of what the locals called Little Mountain, even if Cara didn't consider it more than just a regular hill. Capped with a dramatically-inclined, tall, steepled roof which towered high above. Providing a spacious attic space used as storage for decades but now converted to a singular apartment. Which was where a curious old man lived. Mr. Jakub Kaczmarek, was his name, and referred to himself as a former marine biologist from way back when and liked to train cats to do tricks in his off time. Beyond an odd man, he was never short of a tall tale to regale her with. Carried with him an aura of unconventional wisdom. Alongside the acrid, bitter scent of cheap tobacco and cheaper alcohol.

Opposite, beneath the creaky floorboards, a deep and wide wine cellar as ancient and dusty as the bottles it housed. Down here the twelve-year-old girl knew she could find adventure, and scares, both in equal and fun measures. Though the shelves within laid mostly barren, there did exist a few glass bottles with French-sounding names and a layer of dust thick with ages. Much like everything else here.

The rotund land lady, Mrs. Robyn Clarke, reassured the family that anything in the bottles was far from fit for consumption. Cara couldn't help but wonder why anyone would try to drink something so old, older than even her grandparents. On top of that, she knew vividly what happened every time Mother indulged in the wine she kept in that little wooden cabinet—Father had it made just for her several years ago. Smelled bad.

Wine is just so gross. Cara's upper lip curled as she thought about it and the adults discussed whatever they did about the soured wine in the dusty bottles.

For her next exploration required, thankfully, to go outside. Stepping onto the back porch, that despite it being summer, a cool, salt-accentuated breeze ruffled her reddish-blonde hair. Cara gazed at all around her. More precisely, nestled midway down the hill and behind the house, where the land protruded before it sloped at a gentle angle until it reached the ground. Sat an ageless, well-maintained garden that pulsated with an unseen energy and magic to her. At its entrance stood a wooden sign that proudly proclaimed that the garden was first designed and planted in the mid-1800s by some one named Louis Bennefield. Who tended to it until the day he died. But right now, as part of his rent, it sat under the careful stewardship of Mr. Kaczmarek. Who spent many an hour under the shade of the massive red oak tree that sat in the center, speaking about how his mother always tended to the garden back home in Chelm. He inherited her skills, after all.

Carrying with it a natural majesty, the weather-beaten trees provided a protective wall around the perimeter. Not just for the delicate flowers and ornamental shrubbery, but for anyone who just wished a moment to sit down on a bench. And it all cast a spell on Cara as she watched the dappled shadows that the summer sun created over such vibrantly-colored flowers. These ancient, robust giants seemed so impressive to her. A singular dawn redwood, a couple of those red oaks, a Norway pine, and various balsam firs. At least that's what the little identification plaques called them. But she couldn't stay outside all day, unfortunately.

So, back inside and up in her room, Cara started to unpack her boxes. Putting her extensive book collection on the shelves. She pinned her posters to the walls: some of her favorite bands, a Tegan and Sara one prominent, as well as a few WNBA players. That was her sport, after all. It took her longer than expected, but when done, she sprinted out of her bedroom and outside before anyone could say a word to her. Cara wanted to take a walk and look around a bit. Passing by flowers, their aromatic sweetness caused the air to taste so lovely. When combined with that fading warmth of the late afternoon sun, Cara found every part of her invigorated. Her fingers brushed across the top of a black-purple leaf from a barberry shrub, which stood at the back of the garden near the trail that winded its way towards the edge of the property.

At the edge of the property sat a squat, single-level home, its faded white paint peeled in the summer sun. Just past that a few yards started that mysterious, ancient forest perhaps older than time itself. Suddenly came a cooling breeze; Cara wrapped her arms around her torso, hands on her shoulder for a moment. The leaves on the trees rustled and danced for a moment until the wind died down.

Past a tiny blue bird singing on a branch, Cara walked up to the home and stepped up onto the porch, which creaked under her weight. She knew it was the home of the landlady and her broadly-shoulder husband. Both as unassuming as the home itself. And furthermore, as she stood there, she had no real idea why she came here. Yet she did. So with a deep breath, Cara knocked on the door.

"Oh no, don't get up at all. I obviously got it!" the voice of a girl came from behind the door. Followed by a solid creak and the door opened with a squeak. "Oh, hi," said the girl with wide green eyes and a curious gaze. Twirling a finger in her tight orange curls that bounced with each movement. "Oh! I know you. That new girl that just moved into the house, right?"

"Exactly! My name is Cara," she introduced herself. "Nice to meet you."

“I’m Rowan, it is good to meet ya as well, Cara.”

When Rowan smiled it lit up her well-defined, angular face, who stepped aside and invited Cara to come in with a wave of her hand. Hit with a wall of air-conditioned atmosphere, far-too-cold for her and even the weather as it was not that hot. Almost like an icebox. An old, worn-out couch, its fabric threadbare and whose springs squeaked and bounced with each moment. And splayed across the couch with legs propped up on the coffee table sat lanky twin brothers: Steven, who had shoulder-length orange hair except without the curls, and Sam had a buzz cut of vaguely orange color. Both seventeen and too cool for Cara and Rowan. Yet they reminded her of two lazy birds, faces buried in their Nintendo Switches. Not word said between anyone.

They moved past the twins into a narrow hallway off to the right. Overhead sat a light that flickered and sputtered but kept on living. Grinning, Rowan pointed to the door on the right with a caution-yellow "Do Not Enter" sign on it. Someone crudely drew a skull underneath it.

"This is my room," Rowan stated the obvious. "My sanctuary. No one is really allowed in."

Cara gave an overly-dramatic, flourishing bow with a wide grin on her face. "Well, dang, I'm honored," she intoned with the provenance of nobility—or at least how she imagined it.

Once inside, she looked around at the kaleidoscope of visual delights that greeted Cara. Vibrant posters adorned the walls, much like her own. Showcasing many different fierce female soccer players in mid-action that she knew nothing about, but each of their faces looked so determined as they were captured in time. Interspersed among them were familiar faces of musicians. A repeating one that Cara herself adored was Tegan and Sara.

"Oh, snap. You like T'n'S too? I've only met older fans. Like, really older ones on tumblr and such."

"I dig their earlier sound more, but Heartthrob is such a banger through and through."

"Sainthood all the way."

In the corner sat a small desk with a laptop opened upon it that cast a gentle blue hue on the surrounding area and played some indie song Cara was not familiar with. Whilst an older model phone, plugged into its charger. But what intrigued her the most, was the neatly-stacked collection of well-loved, creased young adult fantasy novels. Their colorful spines whispered tales of adventure and escapism.

"Get comfortable, get comfortable. Chillax." Rowan smiled as she plopped down on the foot of her bed.

Cara thanked her new neighbor and sat beside the taller girl. "So, how old are you?"

“Twelve.”

“Awesome, I turned twelve this past April.”

“My birthday is February twenty-ninth. I’m a leap year, baby.”

Cocking her head, Cara asked, "wait, so you only celebrate your birthday every four years?"

Rowan laughed a good-natured, warm laugh. "No, no. Usually the twenty-eighth. Though it is nice when I can celebrate it on the correct day. Rare as it may be."

"So," Cara dragged on the word. "I am going to assume you like soccer. Like, a lot."

“Love it. Do you play?”

"I've played a little here and there, but my game is basketball. Been playing it my whole life." Cara stretched out her lanky legs out in front of her. "My friend Erika, b-back in Oregon, she played soccer a lot." Shaking her head, she sighed softly. "Would be cool to learn how to play more than just the basics."

"And I'd love to learn how to play basketball. You know, more than just the basics and all, too."

"Oh, that would be cool!" Cara added. "But, until then, is there anything interesting 'round these parts?"

With curls that bounced about her face as she nodded, Rowan said: "okay, so this is a very old and weird place—you know what I mean? I don't know everything. I have lived here my entire life. So, I bet, I can show you a thing or two that is interesting. Maybe you'll find 'em cool."

Standing with a start, Cara clapped her hands. Despite their newness she almost immediately felt a connection between them. "Hell yeah!" she exclaimed. "I'll love to check 'em out. Oregon had some nice places to explores, but we did not have a forest like this just outside my home."

Rowan giggled a soft little giggle that sounded far softer and gentler than one would expect. "Awesome!" She jumped up, and stood taller than Cara by a bit more than either girl noticed before. Mostly legs, lanky and tall, much like her brothers. "Kind of a few dope places. Have a vibe I just" — she shrugged her shoulders — "can center myself in."

A moment passed between them as Rowan seemed to stare deeply into Cara. "Before we go." The taller girl chewed on her bottom lip before she let out a breath and continued: "not to be rude or weird or a creepo. Just wanted to say. Your eyes are super unique."

Cara let a smirk broaden her face. “Is that good or bad?”

“It’s awesome, cool, and very much, in your own way, so very unique. Very good."

“Cool.” Cara had to will herself from blushing at the compliment.

As they stepped outside, a stiff wind blew that expertly mixed with the briny aroma of the ocean and the local flowers and trees into a concoction that Cara wouldn't mind having as a perfume. Alongside Rowan, the looked toward the trees. Before she led her new friend just past the treeline. A few steps into the woods itself, where it darkened just so. Rowan wore a sly smile directed Cara into a tiny grove surrounded by a copse of red cedars and sugar maples.

Long ago, someone arranged massive boulders and smaller stones into what looked to Cara a sort of geometric pattern that dotted the central grassy knoll. All of it intrigued her, each rock shaped in an interesting way. No rhyme or reason. And it activated her kitten-like curiosity. The quickest way to become her friend. Running her fingertips across the rough surfaces of the stone—some were moist whilst others felt bone dry—added to the distinctiveness of each one. Then, just outside of the geometric pattern, she saw one that bore an uncanny resemblance to a disfigured face when viewed at a slight angle.

"Oh these are freaking awesome," Cara hummed as she clapped her hands together. "You were right, dude."

With a dramatic flair, Rowan hopped onto an ancient, massive tree stump. She sat and watched Cara, who spent several long moments in admiration of each large rock. As Cara looked over at her new friend, she could not help but think Rowan looked a lot like a goddess of the forest sitting on her stump throne. Cara said, "this is wonderful. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"I found this place so long ago," Rowan sighed as she pulled a knee up to her chest while the other dangled off the stump. "Sam was acting like a straight ass. I don't fully remember 'bout what, just he was. So I ran. Ran as fast as I could into the forest and just happened upon this grove. It was fall. I remember that everything was so verdant and colorful. I think I remember that more than anything else.

"I crumbled to my knees in front of this stump. Face buried in my arms. Just weeping for who knows how long. Eventually, when my tears finished. I looked around me and was without words—you know what I mean? The stones, dude, just caught me off guard. I think I've studied each one hundreds of time. The twins found me some time after, and just hung with me here. Sam apologized, as he always does. Seemingly so long ago but only a few years."

Rowan let out a deep sigh. "Let's go check something else out, yes?" Standing up and pointing toward the trail. "Not too far away. It's a spot even better than here."

Further along the trail and past an overturned tree that Rowan explained, "the last storm knocked it down," where behind a could of trees that acted as a blind and a waist-high rock came into the next curiosity that piqued Cara. A large fairy ring where the forest had thinned out enough to let the sun filter through into the middle. Each mushroom squishy, tiny and brown-speckled, which stunk when crushed underfoot. Despite their stench, she had to resist taking one home with her. Mother would explode in quite the physical sense if she tried to grow them in an aquarium, or dried them out on the windowsill.

Mother's words rang out in her head, "what are you doing?! Those could be toxic and dangerous!" A sharp, snorting laugh escaped Cara.

With parsed lips, Rowan cocked an eyebrow. “What’s up?” she asked.

“Sorry, just thought of something stupid. Something my mom would say.”

With a tone that turned south, and a smile which disappeared, Rowan asked, "you want one of 'em, right? Don't. They are awful."

Though intrigued, Cara just nodded and followed Rowan down the trail further. Deeper into the woods, yet not too far, stood an ancient stone well built by hand with craggy and misshapen stones. Green-blue moss and algae coated it like a thin skin. An ancient wooden roof-like structure bleached from years of exposure covered the top, looked as if it held a rope and bucket at some point. Broken lever discarded off to the side and hidden among the weed. Whilst a heavy stone lid kept everything out, and maybe in, and despite Cara's growing strength and athleticism, the lid remained immovable and in place. Much like the toad that sat on it. Who croaked its displeasure with a simple, "ribbit."

"Yeah, good luck with that." Rowan hopped up and sat on the lid. Her boots almost reached the ground, and when Cara sat beside, their knees touched.

The toad croaked once more and jumped off the lid. Cara commented, "kinda gross to think people drank out of that. Can you imagine what lives in there?"

"Toad water." Rowan's pert nose scrunched up. "But there's one last thing I wanna show you today. Before my mom gets home and starts yelling for me."

“My mom would just send me a text.”

A short, “hah,” came from Rowan. “Phones don’t work that well out here. Probably all the trees.”

“What else would it be?”

Rowan shrugged. “No idea. Magic.”

"Hell." The rough stone lid scratched at Cara's denim jeans when she pushed herself off. "What other cool shit do you got to show me? Hard to top any of this."

The smile that adorned Rowan’s heart-shaped face grew ever wider. “The coolest thing of ‘em all.”

Further down, deep into the woods by this point, a tilted wooden sign with words etched into its roughly-hewn surface directed towards Haven Bay just under two miles through the wood. Thick, archaic tree limbs seemed to almost form an arch that crossed over the trail. Roots, gnarled and twisted, jutted out of the ground, covered in moss and pieces of what seemed to be parasitic plants, and even formed what looked to be portals to another dimension.

The fay-world, Cara thought. Not gonna fool me.

Despite the summer's sun, the thick canopy kept out the majority of its warming rays. Though a thick moisture permeated the air, and hinted at the bogs and swamps that lingered further in. Mixed in with the earthy aroma of toadstools and musky fiddlehead ferns. Along that constant sweet scent of decaying undergrowth that seemed permanent. If someone told Cara this was heaven, she’d have no complaints or arguments.

When Rowan surprised Cara by taking her hand, it caused Cara's breath to hitch for only a split-second. The softness of her pal contrasted with the strength that obviously held within Rowan's grip. Who let the way toward a rather massive tree stump that seemed older than the forest itself. Almost as if it had existed since the land itself formed. So much bigger, different from than one in the grove—this stump seemed far grander, greater, and in all senses of the word, magical. At one point many eras ago, a gigantic tree towered above all others. It almost reminded Cara of a throne, where the real Queen of the Forests sat to d survey her domain.

Impressing Cara, Rowan jumped on top of the stump. Causing her pants to pull up a bit to show off her mismatched socks, that seemed deliberate more than accidental. As she spoke, her voiced came out lilting, "this place is magical, isn't it? Something here. You can feel it, right? Don't you feel it? Well, I've always felt something here. A connection. The twins both speak about going to college, moving away from here. To see the world. But me? Nah. I might go elsewhere for a bit, but I will always come back here."

She reached up to take a long three-pronged leaf off of a tree. Tossed it into the air where an unfelt breeze took it away on a brief dance before it landed. There came not a single doubt in Cara's mind that this place was special, at least the forest was. Maybe not the rest of the island. However, there could be no denial that this felt as close to the earth, to mother nature, anyone could get.

But magic? Cara thought. She didn’t have an answer for that. "I dunno 'bout magic, but you are right. Something truly special is here. So, thank you."

Rowan turned to look at Cara. "For what?"

"You know—thanks for trusting me and sharing your favorite spots." Cara smiled as she buried her hands into her pockets.

She climbed onto the stump to sit on the edge, Rowan moved to sit down beside. And for an indeterminable amount of time they sat together in silence. The surrounding forest went about its regular activity. Everything seemed so alive here, more so than Oregon ever seemed. With that, Cara had never felt so comfortable with someone so fast. Something, she told herself, that I have to unpack later.

After what seemed to be hours and the shadows grew ever-longer, Rowan went to speak. Yet before she could utter a sound, her mother's piercing, shrill voice echoed through the tree like a sharp knife. Which seemed to echo off the trees. So, with a wave, Rowan trotted off.

Taking a moment to consider if she wanted to stay here alone, Cara felt a shiver run down her spine and dug a deep pit into the bottom of her stomach. Staring off into the trees caused her heart to gallop at the thought of being out here alone. Skin prickled with pinprick-sized goosebumps. Yet something deep into the woods seemed to move off into he shadows. Probably an animal, but Cara was not so sure. This made her reflect on the words her newfound friend had imparted. This lit up another flicker of curiosity to light up her mind. However, in the end, she hopped off the stump and followed Rowan out of the woods with a quickened pace.

----

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Despite its relatively tiny size, there exuded a lonely kind of way from it. With just herself, and this cruel, frozen winter, leaving her to just her thoughts. What has come to mind over and over again is a desire for more. To do more, to earn more than just squeaking out a sort of life day-to-day.

At the foot of her parents’ bed, sat a weathered chest, bound by iron and locked since Father passed. And in truth, Alexandra had never looked in it. Both Mother and Father never let her look within, yet as she stared at it from her perch on the rocking chair. She stood up, there were no other family, no siblings, or uncles, or aunts, or grandparents. Everything that belonged, and would belong, to the O’Sullivan’s family, belonged to her. Despite lacking a key, she removed the Winchester rifle from off its rack on the wall. One solitary, solid strike from the butt hit with a thud, then another, and once more to finally cause the lock to break off and clatter onto the floor below.

Within were relics of Father’s forgotten and old life, before he met Mother and settled down here. From the life he lived by the gun, “a righteous man in an un-righteous time. Must bring about the judgement of the Lord,” he told Alexandra this one night when he was deep into the drink shortly after Mother’s death. His words still rung in her ears, “there is no greater calling, lass, than the culling of evil. That it pays well is just a bonus. To be taken care of both in this life and the next, nary a greater calling than that.”

Stuffed in an old, time-worn holster was the Colt Walker revolver that Father used to end the lives of so many bad-people that plague the relatively lawless lands. Despite its age, it still gleamed in the low light, as if freshly-polished and cleaned. On the left side of the wooden handle, there were twenty-six tally marks. She bit her bottom lip whilst pulling it from the soft confines of the holster. Stood up to hold the heavy, yet somehow, familiar weight of the rather long-barreled gun. Alex looked down its sights, pulled the trigger—having already checked that it was empty. Maybe this was meant to be, her destiny as well.

Wrapping the belt around her waist, pulled it taut and buckled it securely. Alexandra pushed the gun down back into its holster and squatted beside the chest again to go through the rest. An old photo of Father from before he met mother, still just as large as ever but youthful, seemed more careful and without a beard, a rather dashing fellow—Mother had good taste after all. Her face scrunched up at just the mere thought of thinking her father was handsome.

“Gross,” she said to the empty cabin.

Through the other mementos of a nostalgic past, of when the west was free for everyone and anyone without the encroachment of civilization from those posh, lazy folks east of the Mississippi, Alexandra found her father’s old, wide-brimmed rawhide that fit rather loose on her head. It didn’t matter to her. It felt right—it all felt too right. As if this was her calling, perhaps the blood that ran her veins was the same that ran in the crusaders of old. The same that fought against the darkness, to keep it at bay so the light could live and grow.

His hat still smelled of him: deep, richness of tobacco and the beautiful astringent peat of the scotch father would constantly take a nip of. The thick woolen Union jacket, just as warm and comfortable as the day it was made, smelled of his comfort and kindness, of his fierceness and his sense of duty. When Alexandra wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it tight across her chest., it felt like a strong, loving hug—almost.

Knock-knock-knock! A heavy hand almost beat on the door.

“Alexandra! I need my rent money, or I have to call upon the sheriff. I do not want to do that,” Old Man Jackson’s gruff voice carried with it both authority and sincerity.

With a deep breath, she stood up and walked over to the door and pulled it open. “Come in, please. I don’t have your money, but I am a-thinking of leaving anyways.” Alex pulled out a chair as she walked over to the stove. “Coffee? Get a bit of that chill off the bones, sir.”

“Please and thank you,” a puzzle expression crossed Old Man Jackson’s weathered face as he spoke. “What do you mean you are leaving? I am pretty sure your parents would have wanted you to settle. Start a family. Turn the land into something fruitful. We can talk over new terms, if’n it helps. Get you the deed over time.”

With a warm-hearted smile, Alexandra placed the steaming mug of coffee in front of the man and sat down across from him. “No, I appreciate it, but there’s something burning deep inside. These lands are in desperate need for a righteous soul—”

“In such an unrighteous time.”

“—aye, yes.”

The old man, who had seen more sunrises than most ever will, took a long drink from the coffee and thanked the young woman for the libation. “I’ve known your family a long, long time. Longer than even your mother knew. Did your father ever speak on our history?”

Alex shook her head and leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“Figured not. No one likes to speak of the bleakness, even if done for good reasons. We used to ride together. Hell, I taught him about the bounty hunter business. When he was still fresh-faced, hardened by the war. As we all were then. No side won that shit show, and all got broken up over it. It’s why everything is so…well, more people like you would not be a bad thing.

Listen up, okay? I want to tell you about the time your father and I took down Black Hat Bailey and his Psycho gang. It all started when Red Rock Mines were raided, dozens killed, more raped and wounded…”

****

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@inadequatecowboy @kitkins13 @watermeezer @shepardstales @bardic-tales

Protagonists

Luc O’Donnell

I didn’t like that being the thing people told each other about me. But then again, what was the alternative? That’s Luc, his career’s in the toilet? That’s Luc, he’s not had a stable relationship in five years? That’s Luc, where did it all go wrong?

Quite simply, Luc is an adorably anxiety-riddled, self-deprecating, hot mess.

He is famous-adjacent in that he’s the only child of two rock stars from the 80s. So while he’s not famous for any accomplishments of his own, he still can’t quite lead a normal life away from the press because they seem to like writing about him and taking his picture anyway. 

This life in the semi-spotlight has led to some trust issues, and he’s inherently suspicious of new people coming into his life. The trust issues sort of meld and go hand-in-hand with his abandonment/daddy issues because his famous father seemingly wants nothing to do with him. And you know what? That’s valid of Luc, because that’s pretty shit.

Now in his late twenties, he’s a reformed party boy who is just trying to make his way in the world without being splashed across the tabloids. He works a boring, but altruistic, job. He mostly spends time with his close group of friends and his reclusive mother. And he generally has poor taste in romantic partners.

Luc has poor impulse control in that he tends to blurt out things without much thought for a filter, landing him in some awkward situations. His defense mechanism is to be a bit of a prick and lash out at people. Oh, and he’s definitely a bit selfish and self-absorbed. 

Having said that, he’s also very endearing. At least, I thought so. Luc can be a jerk, certainly, but he also cares a lot more than he lets on. He goes to bat for the people that matter in his life. He tries to be a good friend and partner in the best way he knows how. And most importantly, he grows as a person throughout the book. Aw.

Oliver Blackwood

Oliver was much as I remembered him: a cool, clean, modern-art piece of a man entitled Disapproval in Pinstripes. And handsome enough to annoy me.

Oliver is initially the classic uptight, affluent, and pretentious white-collar type. He’s a barrister (lawyer for non-Brits), vegetarian, and overall holier-than-thou sorta dude who looks down his nose at everyone who isn’t doing everything they can to be a better person for the world, the environment, society, etc. 

In contrast to Luc, Oliver is just a well-adjusted person. He’s got his life together: stable career, a house, friends who have dinner parties. This guy knows how to adult. But just like Luc, he seems to be incapable of finding a partner who will stick around.

He is a bit of a control freak and a people-pleaser, meaning that he sometimes tries a little too hard. He claims not to force his ideals on to others, but gets judgey when they do something he deems to be unethical. 

Under the polish and private school attitude, Oliver is actually very sweet and thoughtful. He has more patience and understanding than a lot of people would have when dealing with someone as turbulent as Hurricane Luc. He’s a nervous texter, who digs himself into a bigger hole with every word typed, and prone to panic rambling. Most of the time he’s just trying to do the right thing, even if that means his choices are unpopular. Also, he has a surprisingly well-timed and sarcastic sense of humour.

Review/Thoughts (spoilers ahead)

This book reads like a romantic comedy put to page, so I wasn’t surprised to learn that they’re planning on turning it into a show/movie? (I'm not really clear on which it will be, but I’m greatly looking forward to it either way). It definitely has a Pride & Prejudice vibe to it in that if the characters could just get out of their own way they would probably be a lot happier.

It has got the whole meet-cute setup: they both need a boyfriend for future events so they don’t look pathetic, so why not date each other? It has the back-and-forth of will-they won’t-they figure out that they stopped “fake dating” like 100 pages ago. It has the whole temporary breakup (because feelings are scary), twice, that makes you briefly wonder if this might not have a happy ending after all. And then, of course, it has the grand romantic declaration (à la Bridget Jones Diary) where the protagonist shows up at their love interest’s door to demand a second chance. Or in this case, a go at the real thing.

Some people have called this a rivals/enemies to lovers, but I don’t feel like they’re quite at that level of hate at the beginning of the book. Dislike, sure, but hate? I don’t see it. Luc had a bad initial impression of Oliver (mostly because he was drunk), and then held onto this opinion of Oliver without ever seeking to see if it could be changed. Though I did actually snort a very ugly laugh reading:

I’d met Oliver Blackwood exactly twice. The first time, we’d been the only two gay men at one of Bridget’s work parties. Someone had come up to us and asked if we were a couple, and Oliver had looked utterly disgusted, and replied, “No, this is just another homosexual I’m standing next to.”

The spice mainly comes from the dialogue and banter and yearning, so if you’re expecting to find anything explicit you will be disappointed. There is exactly one non-explicit smut scene, and then it’s all fade-to-black, closed-door intimacy scenes. I gave it a 2 out of 5 for spice simply because I love banter as flirting and I enjoyed the sexual tension between these two fools. And that one scene was still hot. Like, finally. Luc’s been trying to get in this man’s pants for ages.

What I loved most about this book was the humour. Alexis Hall gives great banter. Luc is a funny narrator, whether he means to be or not sometimes. His sense of humour is a little dry (in that British way), occasionally mean-spirited, and (as said before) often self-deprecating. I’ve read that some people found him annoying, but I just found his dedication to putting himself into awkward situations charming. Then again, it might just be because I love broken characters the most. Sue me.

Also, the dick pics. Fucking hilarious.

Luc telling Oliver’s family to go fuck themselves? Gold.

I love how they both made a point of standing up for each other to their respective shitty families (Odile excluded, ofc). Like “yeah, we’re fake dating, but you can’t talk to my man like that.” I wanted to pump my fist in the air in celebration, because toxic people should really be put in their place more often. Gotta love a supportive partner, and these two are all in for their man.

Shout out to the supporting cast of characters, because I found them all to be enjoyable in their individual ways. Priya and Alex Twaddle in particular, and in complete opposite ways. 

Naturally, there are some problematic aspects to the book, as there are in pretty much any novel. The whole idea of Luc needing to check this “right type of gay” box for his boss and their donors is sorta insane. He does threaten litigation, but like... what the actual fuck? He’s definitely offended, but there’s not much push back. You could argue he keeps mostly quiet because he wants to keep his job and seems to be under the impression that no one else will hire him, but I’m sure there would be something out there for him, where he didn’t have to deal with homophobic fuckwits. And I know this is mainly used as a plot device to make him desperate enough to take on this crazy scheme of fake dating to retain his job, but it’s definitely a stretch. Having said that, this is fiction and a romance and we’re not really here for realism, are we?

I feel that I’ve rambled long enough. So simply put, if you’re looking for a fluffy, funny, romantic comedy that will give you a smile, I think this is the book for you. It’s a great comfort read, and (while the whole situation is not the most plausible) it’s just fun, alright? Hopefully, you will fall in love with Luc and Oliver, and all their flaws, the way I did.

Happy Reading!

❤️ GG

Note that this book could be read as a standalone as it ties up the story nicely, but there are two sequels that are definitely worth exploring (reviews to come eventually on those).

Other Spoiler-y Things

Happy Ending?: Yes

Content Warnings:

Abandonment (by a parent)

Dysfunctional Family/Difficult Family Relationships

Emotional Abuse/Manipulation (by a parent)

Family Illness (discussion about cancer)

Homophobic Remarks (by coworkers, parents)

Mental Health (anxiety, depression)

Additional Tags: 

Banter As Flirting

Closed-Door/Fade-To-Black 

Comfort Read

Fluff

Found Family

Hurt/Comfort

Made Me Laugh

Non-Explicit Smut

Slice-Of-Life

Slow Burn