Summer Island

 

Summer Island by Kristin Hannah

This was my second audiobook, and it kept me company during a long drive from South Carolina to Florida and back. I’m really starting to enjoy this format; there’s something comforting about having a story unfold through your speakers while the miles roll by.

I’ve read several of Kristin Hannah’s novels, and she’s known for delivering emotionally charged, powerful stories. However, Summer Island felt slower for me. Maybe it was the audio format…or maybe it’s just hard to follow the brilliance of The Nightingale, The Great Alone, The Women, and The Four Winds. Those are tough acts to follow. I hadn’t realized Hannah had such a deep catalog of earlier works until I stumbled across this one. Honestly, I chose it on a whim…10 hours of listening time felt like a good travel companion.

In a nutshell, Summer Island is about a family coming to terms with painful secrets, forgiveness, and the rebuilding of relationships. The story centers on Ruby Bridge, a struggling stand-up comedian whose estranged mother, Nora, a famous self-help guru, becomes the subject of a public scandal. Ruby has long felt abandoned by her mother, but when Nora falls seriously ill, Ruby returns to her childhood home on Summer Island, off the coast of Washington. There, amid the rugged beauty of Puget Sound, Ruby is forced to confront her past, reconnect with her first love, and ultimately, face herself.

For me, the story felt somewhat predictable…dare I say, almost like a Hallmark or Lifetime movie. Not in a light, romcom way, but in that familiar, emotional arc you can see coming. There are genuine moments of heartache and reflection, but the resolution seemed too tidy. How does a lifetime of pain and resentment resolve itself in a single week on an island? I suppose that’s part of the fiction…the hope that reconciliation and healing can happen swiftly when the heart is finally ready.

That said, Hannah’s sense of place pulled me in. The descriptions of the Pacific Northwest made me want to visit Puget Sound, Seattle, the mist over the water, sunsets from the dock. Even if the emotional journey felt familiar, the setting itself offered a kind of escapism that made the miles pass easily.

One line that lingered with me was this:

“I’d always believed that the truth of a person was easily spotted, a line drawn in dark ink on white paper. Now, I wonder. Maybe the truth of who we are lies hidden in all those shadows of gray that everyone talks about.”

This quote captures one of the deeper themes of Summer Island: the complexity of truth and the fluidity of human nature. We like to think of people…especially family…as either good or bad, right or wrong. But life rarely fits into those neat lines. The “shadows of gray” are where empathy, forgiveness, and understanding live. Ruby’s journey isn’t just about forgiving her mother; it’s about realizing that truth, and love…often exist in contradiction. We can be both hurt and healing, both angry and compassionate.

Ultimately, Summer Island left me thinking about the power of forgiveness…not just forgiving others but also forgiving oneself. Healing is rarely linear. It’s a process of acknowledging the past, then choosing to release its grip. Sometimes, that choice is the hardest part of all.

 

Everyone Is Lying to You

Everyone Is Lying to You

by Jo Piazza

Do you typically read or listen to books?

Earlier this week, I reached out to my friend Michelle...she's always raving about how easy it is to listen to books whenever she has a spare moment. She gave me a full rundown, and I ended up going with Amazon Audible. If you already have Prime, you get three months free, then it’s $14/month after that.

Honestly, I spend a lot of money on books through Amazon. It’s a guilty pleasure. Please don’t come for me with messages about the library...I love the library. I grew up going to them, spent hours getting lost in the aisles. But I’ve never liked the pressure of finishing a book within a set time. I also like to keep certain books.

One of my love languages is sharing books: passing them on to one of my sisters with a mini review written inside. They read it, then pass it on again. Maybe it’s silly, but I enjoy it.

Trying out audiobooks isn’t meant to replace reading for me. I just needed another option. Lately, my reading pace has slowed down, and I’m hoping this will help me keep "reading" and writing...even if I’m not technically reading. You know what I mean?

This month, our book club pick was Everyone Is Lying to You by Jo Piazza. I’m still on the fence...not just about the book, but the format too. Listening took some getting used to. My first takeaway? The narrator really matters. I wasn’t a fan of the voice actor who read Lizzie. The way she did her husband’s voice? Honestly, cringey. But I kept going.

The story itself dives into friendship, betrayal, ambition, and what I’d call the darker side of social media. In a nutshell: two estranged college friends reconnect after years of silence. Their reunion is tangled in scandal, murder, and long-buried secrets.

Social media is fascinating, isn’t it? We really don’t know what’s real and what’s performance. How far will people go to protect their image...or their freedom? Pretty far, it turns out.

Would you say you're social media-savvy? Regardless, it’s hard to escape influencer culture. The flawless women with perfect skin, toned bodies, endless outfits, immaculate homes and somehow, always living in marble mansions by the beach.

But beneath the curated perfection, there’s often chaos: crumbling marriages, hidden abuse, secrets waiting to implode everything. In the book, they talk about how it’s all a façade. The “perfect” homes? Just sets. Behind closed doors, there’s clutter, mess, real life. Some influencers even rent homes or rooms to film enough content for an entire month. Honestly, that never occurred to me. Wild, right? Want a marble bathroom for your GRWM videos? Rent it. Life is weird.

Putting the story aside, I definitely struggled with the audiobook format. I found myself zoning out or needing to rewind to catch things I would’ve picked up more naturally if I’d been reading.

That said, I’m going to stick with it...partly to cover more ground, partly to see if I can train my brain to stay engaged. I love the act of reading. Holding a book, turning pages, stealing quiet moments. Just me and the words. It’s one of my happiest places.

Overall, Everyone Is Lying to You is a murder mystery that feels eerily like real life. And while I’m still adjusting to the listening experience, I’m off to see what audiobook I’ll try next.

The Runarounds – TV Series Review

 

(I took this image from the internet)

The Runarounds – TV Series Review

I had some company this past week, which really brightened up an otherwise mundane stretch. I spent the weekend resetting my space, getting some exercise in, and cozying up while it rained outside.

Vanessa had recommended The Runarounds…although not highly. It’s a coming-of-age series that follows a group of young musicians graduating high school, trying to make their mark while navigating identity, real-life pressures, and the pursuit of musical fame.

Turns out the show is based in North Carolina and follows a real-life band that formed in 2021. They even made an appearance in Outer Banks (which I loved), so I figured…why not give it a shot?

I’ve also barely had time to pick up a book, so this is what I have to work with for a review.

Honestly, it started slowly. And as I kept watching, there were some moments that just didn’t land. The Wizard of Oz scene…where did that come from? Most of the weirdness came from the parents of the band members. Their characters never fully developed and ended up adding chaos more than context. Wyatt’s mentally unwell mother and Charlie’s unemployed dad, who lets their house slide into foreclosure, made the adults feel just as lost and helpless as the teens.

I will say…each band member comes from a different background, and the way their stories weave together feels authentic. They seem like real people just trying to figure things out.

At the heart of it all is a deep and genuine brotherhood. The friendships portrayed aren’t shallow…they’re tested and proven through real struggles. One of the most moving moments is when Bez, the drummer, returns home after being offered a major solo opportunity, only to find his mom has suffered an episode. What stands out is how his friends, his chosen family, rally around him. They support him emotionally, help care for his mom, and show up in a way that goes far beyond being just "bandmates."

That becomes the turning point: Bez realizes that fame isn’t worth it if it means walking away from the people who’ve always had his back.

That loyalty, that connection, is the emotional core of the show. It’s not just about making music. It’s about who you become along the way, and who you choose to keep close.

You know what I loved? Charlie’s determination. His hope. His passion. He knew what he wanted, and he went for it.

When was the last time you were that inspired or driven?

When was the last time you let a dream go to waste?

Go after something. For real. Decide there’s something you want and try. Get up and do the work. Exhaust yourself with effort. Because right now, so much of life feels like wash, rinse, repeat.

Keep me posted.

 

The Unhoneymooners

 

The Unhoneymooners 

by Christina Lauren

I honestly can’t remember how The Unhoneymooners ended up in my hands. Did a friend lend it to me? Did I snag it from the overflowing shelves at Goodwill? Or maybe I bought it after seeing one of the many book-lover accounts I follow rave about it. However it happened, it turned out to be one of those light, cheesy rom-com reads…perfect for an evening when your brain needs a break and your heart could use a little lift.

As I got deeper into the story, I found myself relating to Olive’s identity as the “unlucky” twin. She’s the one who always seems to draw the short straw in love, while her sister Ami floats through life getting picked first, finding cash in vending machines, and landing the perfect guy. In my case, that sister is Vanessa. And while she’s out there catching every lucky break, I’m left juggling job drama, empty pockets, and a love life that feels like a cosmic joke.

I’ve watched her fall into relationships that seem effortless…sparks fly, everything clicks. Meanwhile, I’ve been ghosted, blindsided, and stuck in the friend zone more times than I care to admit. Like Olive, I’ve wondered if the universe is playing favorites.

Quick recap: Olive’s sister Ami is having her dream wedding and a free honeymoon. But when the entire wedding party gets food poisoning from bad seafood, Olive and Ethan, the groom’s brother and Olive’s sworn nemesis, are the only ones left standing. The honeymoon is non-refundable and non-transferable, so they agree to go. The catch? They have to pretend to be newlyweds.

Cue the chaos.

From awkward shared hotel rooms to surprise run-ins with bosses and exes, Olive and Ethan are forced to play the part of a loving couple. And somewhere between fake kisses and real arguments, the walls start to come down.

What struck me most about Olive wasn’t just her sarcasm or skepticism…it was how those traits served as armor. I’ve worn that same shield. I’ve brushed off romantic hope, avoided dating altogether, because disappointment feels too raw, too vulnerable.

What I loved about her story is that her luck doesn’t change because she morphs into someone else. It shifts because she starts trusting herself. She speaks up. She takes risks. And she finally lets someone see the real her…not the unlucky twin, but the fiercely loyal, smart, and deeply lovable woman underneath.

I’ve got my own work to do, no doubt. But this book reminded me that being unlucky in love doesn’t mean you’re unworthy of it. Sometimes, it just means your story hasn’t hit its plot twist… yet.

Happy Place

 

Happy Place by Emily Henry

Happy Place is more than a romcom…it’s a quiet reckoning with the inevitability of change. It delivers a powerful meditation on the evolution of friendship, identity, and the bittersweet reality of growing apart.

Told in a dual timeline, the central romance between Harriet and Wyn provides the emotional heartbeat of the story. They were the perfect couple…until they weren’t. But it’s the unraveling of their once-inseparable friend group that creates the novel’s deeper, more resonant undertone.

Set against the backdrop of a beloved Maine cottage, their annual retreat, the story unfolds under the shadow of its impending sale. The loss of the cottage is symbolic. Its fading presence mirrors the slow erosion of the group’s bond, a quiet acknowledgment that even the most sacred traditions can’t withstand the pull of time.

Why do the books I gravitate toward lately keep circling this theme…a painful reminder of the ever-shifting landscape of friendship? The way life shakes out sometimes makes me wonder why growing up...sometimes means growing apart. Who shows up? Who fades into the distance...not forgotten but definitely changed.

Relationships that once felt effortless now require intention. Diverging paths, career pivots, romantic entanglements, personal growth…all leading to the realization that love, even the platonic kind, doesn’t always mean permanence.

“Things change, but we stretch and grow and make room for one another. Our love is a place we can always come back to, and it will be waiting, the same as it ever was.”

That line feels comforting and safe. It captures the emotional journey of the book: the idea that even as people evolve and drift, the bonds formed in deep friendship can remain a kind of emotional home…unchanged, waiting, and full of memory.  That feeling of not seeing someone for years and then calling or getting together and it is as if...not a moment has been lost.  

Ultimately, Happy Place is about the courage to let go. What happens when the people who once defined your world no longer fit into it? There are no easy answers. But friendships are meant to shape us, and sometimes it’s heartbreaking to watch them change. You just hope that in the spaces they leave behind, new versions of joy will take root.

This book doesn’t offer tidy resolutions…but it offers real ones. It’s a love letter to the people who shape us, and a gentle farewell to the versions of ourselves we outgrow.

 

The Devil Wears Prada

 

The Devil Wears Prada

I don’t know about you, but I absolutely adore this movie. I’ve watched it more times than I can count, and I’m not even remotely tired of it. It’s become a go-to comfort film for me and my sisters. Every so often, we plan a virtual movie night from afar: same dinner, same movie, same cozy vibes. And, more often than not, we land on The Devil Wears Prada.

One of my favorite parts is right at the beginning…those quick-cut scenes of models getting dressed, slipping into heels, and stepping out of their impossibly chic NYC apartments. It’s like a mini fashion show set to the rhythm of the city. Then there’s Andy Sachs, played by Anne Hathaway, munching on a bagel as she heads to her interview at Runway magazine, dressed in her drab, Midwestern best. That contrast between her and the polished fashionistas is so stark, it’s almost comical that she lands the job.

Speaking of bagels…can we talk about salt bagels for a second? I’ve been on the hunt for one and I kid you not, they’re nowhere to be found. It’s like they’ve vanished from the face of the Earth. I’m seriously considering a quick weekend trip to New York just to satisfy this oddly persistent craving. If Andy can land a job at the most elite fashion magazine in the city, surely, I can find a decent salt bagel.

But here’s the thing: The Devil Wears Prada isn’t just about fashion or the fantasy of living in New York. Beneath the designer labels and glossy magazine spreads, it’s a surprisingly poignant story about ambition, identity, and the cost of success. Andy’s transformation, from outsider to insider, from idealist to realist…is both thrilling and sobering. It asks the question: how far are you willing to go to get ahead, and what are you willing to leave behind?

My all-time favorite actress, Meryl Streep, delivers a masterclass in subtle power as Miranda Priestly. She doesn’t need to raise her voice to command a room…her mere presence is enough. For example, every morning she glides into the office, wordlessly tosses her coat and handbag onto her assistant’s desk, and begins issuing rapid-fire demands, including the impossible: “Get me the unpublished manuscript of the new Harry Potter book.” Why? Because her twin daughters want to read it. That moment perfectly encapsulates Miranda’s influence…she doesn’t ask for the world, she expects it.

It's stylish, smart, and endlessly rewatchable.  The Devil Wears Prada delivers. 

It’s a movie that never goes out of style.

 

 

My Friends

 

My Friends

By Fredrik Backman

Friendships mean everything. They shape our lives in ways we often don’t fully grasp until something shifts. I’ve written before that my mother once told me I was blessed with the gift of friendships. She reminds me often: I’ve always been surrounded by people who truly care for me… who show up… who would do anything for me… who love me deeply. I’ve never doubted it. But since moving recently, I’ve felt that absence in a way that’s hard to put into words.

In My Friends, the story portrays the power of friendship as a lifeline through grief and chaos, showing how shared memories and quiet loyalty can transcend time, loss, and even art itself.

“That’s all of life. All we can hope for. You mustn’t think about the fact that it might end, because then you live like a coward—you never love too much or sing too loudly. You have to take it for granted, the artist thinks, the whole thing: sunrises and slow Sunday mornings and water balloons and another person’s breath against your neck. That’s the only courageous thing a person can do.”

But lately, I’ve felt that courage slipping. The news is a relentless drumbeat of grief. I hike alone, paddleboard alone...seeking peace in solitude...but even there, I hesitate. Because people are being murdered while simply living their lives. Buying groceries. Walking dogs. Laughing with friends. And suddenly, the breath against your neck feels like a risk. The sunrise, a fragile promise. It’s terrifying. Lord, come quickly.

And yet...what choice do we have but to keep loving too much and singing too loudly? To take it for granted, not because we’re naïve, but because we refuse to let fear steal the music from our lives. 

The story follows Louisa, an almost-eighteen-year-old aspiring artist who becomes captivated by a famous painting, "The One of the Sea." Where most people just view the sea...they miss the three tiny figures tucked into a forgotten corner of the canvas. Most people overlook them. But she doesn’t. She becomes determined to uncover their story. Her journey across the country mirrors her internal one: a quiet search for meaning, for connection, for a way to make sense of her own sorrow.

Decades earlier, in a seaside town, a group of teens with fractured home lives found refuge on an abandoned pier. They spent their summer telling jokes, sharing secrets, surviving in the only ways they knew how. That summer, and the love they found in each other…inspired the painting now in Louisa’s hands. What begins as a mystery becomes something deeper: a meditation on growing up, on memory, on holding grief and joy in the same breath.

Twenty years later, the artist literally bumps into Louisa…quirky, awkward, fiercely intelligent, raised in foster care…as she flees the church where his painting was auctioned. He instantly recognizes her as one of them. He devises a plan, enlisting Ted to carry it out before he leaves this earth. That’s how Louisa becomes part of their love story and discovers the true meaning behind The One of the Sea…a painting that isn’t about the sea at all, but about the depth of friendship… and yes, a fart.

Louisa says, "This is a painting of laughter, and you can only understand that if you are full of holes, because then laughter is a small treasure. Adults will never understand that, because they don't laugh at farts, and how the hell are you supposed to trust the judgement of someone like that with something as important as art?"

There’s something quietly brutal about how this book explores growing up. How people drift. How those we swore we’d never lose slowly fade into the background. Sometimes you don’t even notice it happening. One day you just… stop talking. And you don’t know why. But then a book like this comes along, and suddenly, you feel sad…nostalgic…a little broken…a little grateful.

My Friends gave language to a grief I didn’t know I was carrying. It made me mourn people I haven’t even lost yet. Maybe it’s the move. Maybe it’s something deeper.

It reminded me that connection doesn’t vanish. It shifts, it evolves, but it doesn’t disappear. Grief is just love with nowhere to go. And art…whether it’s a painting, a story, or a shared memory…is how we hold on. It’s how we say: you mattered to me.

This story reminds us that life often gives us exactly who we need, exactly when we need them. These characters endured the worst of humanity, yet together they found what their families couldn’t: a safe space to be their truest selves, and moments of joy in a place that had so little to offer.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Sometimes, it’s worth a lifetime. And sometimes, that lifetime…is a summer.

TOMORROW!

 

Beautiful Girls

 

Beautiful Girls 

A 1996 Romantic Comedy-Drama

I wrapped up the Bentley Pontoons photoshoot this past week, and over the weekend, I gave myself permission to simply unwind. I had a punch list of tasks waiting, but I barely made a dent in it. Instead, I found myself drawn to rewatching familiar movies…there is comfort in nostalgia. 

One of them was Beautiful Girls…a classic. Great cast, unforgettable soundtrack, and a storyline that makes the relationships feel real: friendships, romances, even the messy affairs.

The story unfolds during a ten-year high school reunion in a snow-covered Massachusetts town where most of the graduates never strayed too far…except Willie (Timothy Hutton), a struggling pianist who finds himself at a crossroads…professionally…romantically and existentially.   

For me, it’s Marty, Natalie Portman, who steals the show. An impossibly wise 13-year-old who sets her heart on Willie. “I’m 13, but I have an old soul,” she says. And “My name is the bane of my existence.” She calls Willie “a dude in flux.” Her intellect, charm, and emotional depth are far beyond her years. And yes, she is…was…a beautiful girl.

The scenes between Willie and Marty are brief but tender. Innocent, yet deeply affecting. Their connection becomes the emotional heartbeat of the film…genuine, endearing, and unforgettable.

The ice pond scene stands out most for me. Marty asks Willie to be her boyfriend, saying, “If your feelings for me are true, you will wait,” and “Yep, wait five years for me… I’ll be 18.” Then the line that lingers: “We can walk through this world together.”

It made me wonder…do we look back with longing for what might’ve been, or do we lean into the unknown of what’s next? Do we cling to the wild, untamed spirit of youth, or embrace the steadiness of commitment and growth?

Overall…the movie is a snapshot of small-town life and the emotional growing pains of men who haven’t quite grown up.  It seems relatable…funny and deeply human. 

One obsesses over supermodels…one clings to his past glory…and then there is Willie…paralyzed by indecision. 

"Supermodels are beautiful girls, Will.  A beautiful girl can make you dizzy, like you've been drinking Jack and Coke all morning.  She can make you feel high...full of the single greatest commodity known to man...promise.  Promise of a better day.  Promise of a greater hope.  Promise of a new tomorrow. This particular aura can be found in the gait of a beautiful girl.  In her smile, in her soul, the way she makes every rotten little thing about life seem like it's going to be okay.  The supermodels, Willy?  That's all they are.  Bottled promise.  Scenes from a brand-new day. Hope dancing in stiletto heels." - Paul

There’s something hauntingly poetic about this. Beneath the romanticism lies a subtle melancholy...as if Paul knows that this “promise” is fleeting. Bottled promise isn’t just a clever phrase; it’s the emotional undercurrent of the entire film. It threads through the characters’ longing, their nostalgia, their quiet desperation to hold onto something pure before it slips away.

It felt...to me...like a quiet rebellion against growing up. A race to figure out what life is supposed to be before the weight of adulthood settles in. The film doesn’t mock that yearning...it honors it, even as it gently nudges its characters toward reality.

Maybe it really is that simple. Like Uma Thurman’s character says: “All she needs is to hear four words before she goes to sleep. Four little words. ‘Good night, sweet girl.’ That’s all it takes. I’m easy, I know, but a guy who can muster up those four words is a guy I want to stay with.”

Do we overcomplicate things? Maybe. Maybe not. That’s for you to decide. As for me, I’ll keep hitting play on Beautiful Girls. Again, and again.

Good night, sweet readers.

 

River is Waiting

 

Wally Lamb

River is Waiting

I picked up this book simply because I’ve enjoyed Wally Lamb’s previous work. I didn’t even read the synopsis…I just dove in completely blind. In hindsight, I wasn’t prepared. I’m still not sure how to talk about it, except to say…this was brutal.

I finished it over the weekend, and if you’re considering reading it, I’d urge you to ask yourself…are you emotionally ready to take this on? The book demands your full attention and deep empathy. More than once, I had to walk away. It doesn’t sugarcoat the darkness, and even now, I’m trying to shake it off.

Within the first 12 pages…you’re delivered a very dark, disturbing and HEARTBREAKING intro to a book…haven’t read one like that in a while.  For some reason, I kept going.

The protagonist, Corby, is deeply flawed…believably so. Before the tragedy, he’s already unraveling. He’s selfish, impulsive, and makes terrible decisions. But aren’t we all flawed in some way? The thing is…he thinks he is fine.  His growth is messy, slow, and hard-earned. There’s no dramatic turnaround…just a painful crawl toward something resembling redemption.

Corby loses his job and starts his morning with Ativan chased with hundred-proof rum…the real kicker…he is a full-time care giver to his two-year-old twins during the day.  His addiction steals the life of his son, Niko.  I won’t say how, it’s revealed early, and in excruciating detail.

From there, the novel becomes a deep dive into the American prison system. We follow Corby as he navigates incarceration, and the story becomes a study in brutality, injustice, and survival. But at its core, this is a story about empathy….about facing your demons, atoning for your past, and questioning whether true change is even possible.

What did I like?  There’s a heron mentioned, lol. 

The title, River is Waiting, refers to the Wequonnoc river.  For Corby, it was a childhood sanctuary from his abusive father, and later, a place to quiet his racing thoughts. The river borders the prison, and he can hear it from his cell. He reflects that its current flows south…toward home. But does he even have a home to return to?

I expected the book to end with his release and a resolution with Emily, the mother of his daughter. Throughout the novel, she tells him she needs more time. She doesn’t know if she can forgive him. But maybe she always knew. The ending shocked me. Most stories follow predictable arcs…this one didn’t. I should’ve seen it coming, but I didn’t.  

A quote that hit me hard…“Having hope was never going to hurt me, but having unreasonable expectations could clobber me.”

Horrible things happen to good people. This book is a reminder to check yourself…emotionally, mentally…before you read it.

Finally, I’ll leave you with this quote, “Worrying is carrying tomorrow’s load with today’s strength…carrying two days at once. It is moving into tomorrow ahead of time. Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.”

It empties today of its strength…what a powerful reminder to live in the present.  To be kind to others, and to be kind to yourself.  Aren’t we all just doing the best we can?

Can I recommend this book? Honestly, I’m not sure. Part of me wishes I hadn’t read it. But I did. Remember the book, Let Them?  I’ll let YOU decide.

 

 

 

Ordinary Grace

 

Ordinary Grace

By William Kent Krueger

1961. Frank Drum is thirteen years old, living in a quiet town in Minnesota. That summer will change his life forever. Ordinary Grace is his story…told from Frank’s perspective forty years later.

I spent most of my own childhood in a small town in Indiana. I remember riding bikes without helmets, playing kick the can until the stars came out, catching fireflies in jars. Looking back now, I realize how fearless our parents seemed…never doubting we’d return home safely. Those were the days.

In the novel, five lives are lost during that summer, each death rippling through the town and reshaping the lives of its people. I turned the final page late last night and lay there, thinking about this past year…about the many people I’ve lost.

Five friends. All but one my age. All gone.

• David – Suicide
• Kelly – Died in her sleep
• Michelle – Heart failure
• Fred – Heart failure
• Moses  – My dearest friend, Katie’s beloved dog whom I loved dearly - Died in his sleep

It’s staggering. Mortality feels closer now, more personal.

The book asks us to consider grace in its quieter forms…the kind that shows up without fanfare, through compassion, presence, and courage.

It made me ask myself: How do I respond to grief? How do I carry the weight of my mistakes…the pain I’ve caused others? And most importantly, how do I show up for others when life is hard?

I believe grace requires presence. It asks us to sit with others in their pain, even when our own hearts are breaking.

“The dead are never far from us. They're in our hearts and on our minds, and in the end all that separates us from them is a single breath, one final puff of air.”

Frank’s summer is filled with mystery, crime, secrets, prejudice, and lies. But this isn’t a traditional crime novel. It’s a meditation on family, community, and the nature of grace…whether granted by God or by flawed, fragile human beings in moments of crisis and loss.

Frank’s father is a Methodist minister and WWII veteran, carrying the weight of old regrets. His mother, artistic and restless, seems quietly disappointed by the life she’s built. His older sister is a gifted musician bound for Juilliard, and his younger brother Jake struggles with a severe stutter.

I won’t give everything away, but there’s a moment at a funeral when Frank’s mother asks her husband to offer, just once, an ordinary prayer. Jake, usually silenced by fear, stands, bows his head, and speaks without a single stutter:

“For the blessings of this food and these friends and our families, we thank you.”

That was it. Simple. Ordinary. Yet across the forty years since it was spoken, Frank has never forgotten a single word.

Ordinary. Grace.

This book is about life and death, and the emotions that shape us. It’s about bearing witness to pain without being consumed by it. Grace often lives in the small moments…a stranger’s smile, a shared meal, a hand reached for and held in silence. These are the acts that hold us together when the world feels like it’s falling apart.

Grace isn’t unattainable. It’s ordinary. Woven into our daily lives. Waiting to be recognized. Waiting to be shared.

We only need to choose it.

 

 

Just Like That...A Complicated Return to the City

 

Honestly, I’m not entirely sure what kept me hooked… but faithfully, I was.

As someone who adored Sex and the City, I came into Just Like That with high hopes and a heart full of nostalgia. SATC wasn’t just a show…it was a cultural awakening. It made me dream of becoming a journalist, living a life as bold and stylish as Carrie Bradshaw’s. It was groundbreaking: women choosing careers over marriage, owning their independence, and smashing gender stereotypes with wit, heartbreak, and unapologetic glamour.

But Just Like That is not SATC. And maybe that’s the only way to watch it…by separating the two entirely.

Carrie’s return to dating is… frustrating. Her storyline with Aidan feels like déjà vu in the worst way. His decision to disappear for five years to focus on his kids? Maddening. Watching Carrie repeat the same emotional missteps makes you wonder….has she learned anything?

Worse, Carrie herself seems changed, and not for the better. There’s a despondency in her eyes, a coldness in her interactions. She’s arrogant, selfish, and strangely disconnected from the vibrant, fun and light-hearted woman we once knew.

The best part of the show? Carrie’s cat. And the worst part? The absence of Samantha. Her energy, her humor, her fearlessness…none of the new characters quite fill that void. Seema and Lisa feel like placeholders, not people we’re invested in.

Sure, there are still the outfits, the romantic flings, the odd celebrity cameos, and the kind of New York real estate that borders on fantasy. But the scenes often feel awkward, the chemistry forced, and the sparkle dimmed.

It ended with Carrie twirling in a tutu-like red dress and pink heels, as the voiceover declared, “The woman realized she wasn’t alone, but on her own.” Isn’t it all about perspective?

Those final scenes...intimate glimpses into each character’s private world…felt strikingly real. Charlotte with her family, Miranda and Joy, Seema and Adam, Anthony and Giuseppe, Lisa and Herbert…each vignette captured the quiet, messy, beautiful moments of everyday life. Yes, shit happens (literally). But it’s in those unassuming moments that we see what truly matters.

All of those people are Carrie’s family. She may be on her own...but she’s certainly not alone.

So why did I keep watching? Maybe it’s loyalty. Maybe it’s hope. Or maybe it’s just the lingering magic of a show that once made me believe in the power of female friendship, self-discovery, and a really good pair of heels.

Turning the Page: A New Chapter in Columbia

 

I’ve officially relocated to Columbia, SC.

 

Over the past few months, life has been a whirlwind—changing jobs, selling my house, relocating, unpacking, producing a Dealer Meeting (with a photoshoot to follow), and trying to keep my sanity somewhere in between.

 

Anyone who’s ever packed up their life knows the drill: boxes everywhere, giving things away you swore you’d keep, endless logistics, and a healthy dose of unexpected chaos. No one asked…but if you’ve been wondering why it’s been quiet around here, I’ve been busy trying to calm the storm.

 

As much as I’d love to be curled up with a book and sharing my latest thoughts...the move, the show, and the mountain of unpacked boxes have temporarily taken over my schedule.

 

But I’m finally starting to settle in…thankfully, Vanessa came to the rescue.  She literally walked in the door…set down her bags and started moving things into organized piles.  Within three hours she had created a living room, a reading nook and told me to order some pizza. 

 

The photo is of my new reading nook, a little corner of calm in the midst of the madness.

 

It is starting to feel like home, and I’ll be back soon with fresh thoughts, bookish musings, and maybe even a TV series or movie review.

 

The Correspondent

The Correspondent

By Virginia Evans

Dear Readers,

Do you ever write a letter? I mean truly write one…sit down with pen and paper, jot down your thoughts, seal an envelope, place a stamp, and send it off through the postal service?

I do. I did. I used to love writing thank-you notes, always including a photo from the moment we shared, hoping my words carried the weight of my gratitude.

I love hand-written letters…both sending and receiving them.

Last week, I moved. While packing up, I found a love letter dated June 26, 2000. Twenty-five years ago! I smiled as I read it, grateful I’d held onto it all this time. I’ll never throw it away. I adored his words…the way he wrote them, the penmanship, the spacing, the red ink. But mostly…I loved his words.

Then there’s Sybil.

She’s 72 when we meet her in the novel…crotchety and outspoken, intelligent and well-read, fiercely independent and beautifully flawed. She’s just learned she’ll gradually lose her eyesight. She’s made some devastating, life-altering mistakes and carries the weight of guilt. She tries to make amends where she can, but that isn’t always possible. Like the rest of us, she’s doing her best.

Sybil pours herself into her letters…her love, grief, regrets, humor, and hope. Her relationships unfold through correspondence with her brother, sister-in-law, children, old work associates, and, delightfully, literary icons like Joan Didion and Larry McMurtry. Some letters she sends. Some she doesn’t. The most haunting are those she writes to a shadowy figure from her past…never mailed, but full of ache.

One letter to a young correspondent reflects deeply on the immortal power of writing; others are hilariously blunt, layered with her sharp, salty charm. Evans crafted Sybil with brusque vulnerability…a woman brimming with opinions, keen advice, and blind spots about her own tangled truth. Through her letters, Sybil slowly peels back the layers of her heart. The book reads like a character study told through correspondence…a slow unraveling of what makes Sybil who she is.

I’ll sign off just as Sybil does in letters to a beloved friend: What are you reading?

Where the Forest Meets the Stars

 

Where the Forest Meets the Stars 

by Glendy Vanderah 

My book club friends would probably say I read this book simply because Jo is an ornithologist…an expert on birds…and I tend to choose books with birds on the cover or in the storyline. I didn’t even realize I did that until they pointed it out. Funny revelation.

The book itself is part contemporary fiction, part sci-fi…or maybe part soap opera, part fairy tale. Quick synopsis: a little girl lost from the stars, a woman reclaiming herself after illness, and a man burdened by his mind and family. Each of them discovers life and love in spite of their individual traumas. There’s a forest. A constellation. An alien girl?

Before she can return to her alleged planet, Ursa must witness five miracles. She latches onto Jo, an ornithologist and cancer survivor, who’s spending the summer doing research at a remote cabin. Concerned for Ursa’s safety, Jo allows her to stay temporarily. Jo also meets Gabriel, her reclusive neighbor, and soon the two are working together to figure out what to do about Ursa. A slow-burn romance develops between Jo and Gabe.

What follows is a series of domestic, lovey-dovey drama where the leads play house and play parents to Ursa, wrapped in a cliché love story that glosses over the fact that both characters have significant trauma and mental health issues to work through. There’s also a mystery element centered around uncovering the truth about Ursa’s past. She appears out of nowhere and resists every attempt to return her home. Instead of calling the authorities, Jo decides to take her in.

We’re never told definitively whether Ursa is truly an alien or if her story is a coping mechanism for her trauma...but deep down, we know. Personally, I think the story could’ve ended after she witnessed her fifth miracle and said she had to leave. If she had died in that moment, it could’ve closed with a haunting ambiguity: “Did the little girl just die? Or did she return to the stars?” That would’ve been powerful. But instead, we get another 50 pages of detectives unraveling the mystery, explaining every detail, and tying it all up with a happily-ever-after ending.

Ultimately, it’s a story about love in all its forms, and the healing process of broken hearts and broken lives. It’s about finding a way to live that allows for the acceptance of love. Broken people searching for healing, for something…or someone…to believe in.

Maybe love isn’t the answer to everything, but sometimes, love really is all you need.

Local Woman Missing

 

Local Woman Missing

By Mary Kubica

Local Woman Missing is a gripping psychological thriller that is intense and suspenseful.  It felt like a rollercoaster ride at times… filled with twists and turns.

“Behind every smile lies a story, and not all of them have happy endings.”

This quote from the book encapsulates its emotional depth. It’s a powerful reminder that beneath every cheerful facade may lie a hidden narrative…one shaped by pain, resilience, and complexity. The story urges empathy, highlighting that life isn’t always neat or fair, and not every tale ends happily.

This book explores themes of loss, family dynamics, trauma, and the dangers lurking beneath seemingly ordinary lives.

Shelby Tebow vanishes late one night while out for a jog. Meredith Dickey and her six-year-old daughter, Delilah, disappeared shortly thereafter, just blocks away from where Shelby was last seen. 

Fast forward 11 years, and Delilah shockingly returns, sparking renewed questions as to the true nature of all three disappearances.

Throughout the story, the characters face various challenges and traumatic experiences, yet they all display a remarkable ability to bounce back and find the strength to keep going. This resilience is portrayed as an essential quality that helps them cope with their circumstances and ultimately find closure.

The book explores the discovery of long-buried secrets and their role in the plot. It serves as a reminder that even seemingly ordinary lives can hide dark secrets, and that these secrets can have far-reaching consequences.

The book shows the power of community in times of crisis. As the investigation unfolds, the community bands together and supports one another, forming a tight bond that tends to unravel the mysteries surrounding the disappearances. 

There are plenty of secrets in this neighborhood, and plenty of suspects to choose from

This book is a masterclass in psychological suspense. It’s not just about solving a mystery…it’s about understanding the people behind it. Honestly, I thought I had figured it all out before I was halfway through the book.  But then in the last 100 pages…it turned out I knew absolutely nothing.

In the end…it felt like a good whodunnit.

Let Them

 

Let Them

Mel Robbins

Are you someone who reads self-help books? I try...but usually don’t finish them. I follow Mel on Instagram and have listened to a few of her podcasts. After seeing this book constantly advertised, I spotted it at Goodwill and couldn't pass it up.

Honestly, it felt like it could’ve been an email. That said, I appreciated her vulnerability…especially the way she shared her family dynamics and real-life struggles with such honesty.

At its core, the book reminds us that we alone are responsible for our successes and failures, our happiness and misery. It’s all about reclaiming your power by focusing on what you can control…especially your response to life’s challenges.

There were insights on how to handle change, improve relationships, and manage the need for control. While none of it felt groundbreaking, there were a few solid reminders to stay grounded in yourself and your own choices.

The “Let Me” aspect of the “Let Them” theory is where things get interesting. That’s what shifts you from emotionally checking out to becoming an empowered player in your own life. The theory invites you to stop letting others dictate your reality. Let them…whoever they are…think, do, and feel what they want...and you keep being you.

We’ll always face unpleasant situations. “Let Them” happen…life isn’t fair. But “Let Me” choose how to respond.

I do think the concept holds power. Ultimately, it feels like a reframe of boundaries…not as tools to control others, but as commitments to yourself. It’s a call to let go of what isn’t yours to fix and to step up for what is.

Would I recommend this book? Maybe. It felt repetitive at times, and parts were a bit obvious. But hey…Let Her do her thing. Let Me let you decide if it’s worth your time. Because at the end of the day, YOU are in charge.

LET THEM! 

LET ME!

Broken Country

 

Broken Country

By Clare Leslie Hall

The Book... What a Wild Ride

When I finished the last page, I just sat there in silence. I couldn’t move. I texted my book club: THE BOOK!!!...because honestly, I didn’t have the words. It was too much. I felt emotionally wrung out.

This story was a rollercoaster. A heartbreaking love story layered with pain, drama, and devastation. Every decision rippled outward. Beth, were you even paying attention?

We're all flawed humans stumbling through life. But when I shut the book, I was stuck between rolling my eyes and trying not to judge. Can you really love two people? Why didn’t Beth tell Gabriel? Why was Gabriel’s mother so awful? How did Frank forgive so easily…and why did he take the fall for Leo? And Beth…how does she live with herself?

Set in the haunting beauty of the English countryside, the story unfolds in dual timelines. Beth’s peaceful life with her husband Frank is shattered by a single gunshot…aimed at her first love’s dog. Gabriel’s sudden return unravels everything. Long-buried secrets claw their way to the surface, forcing Beth to confront the choices that shaped her path.

This book hits every note: grief and loss, love and betrayal, family drama, a tangled love triangle, coming-of-age moments, and a murder trial that draws out the gossiping locals. It’s part sweeping romance, part legal drama, part baffling mystery…and that final twist? I closed the book with my mouth hanging open. I never saw it coming.

Maybe the title speaks to the countryside fractured by tragedy. Or maybe it’s the country of Beth’s heart…shattered beyond repair.

All in all, it’s messy, wild, emotionally draining…and I think…it’s absolutely worth reading.

The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot

 

The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot

By Marianne Cronin

“Somewhere in the world are the people who once touched us, loved us, or ran from us—and in that, we endure. Visit the places we’ve been, and you might meet someone who brushed past us in a corridor, then forgot us before we were even gone. We’re captured in the edges of strangers’ photographs—talking, laughing, blurring into the background of a picture that now rests on a mantel in a room we’ve never seen. And in that too, we endure. But it isn’t enough. It isn’t enough to have been a fleeting fragment of the great expanse of existence. I want more. We want more. We want to be known. To have our stories remembered, our names spoken, our essence felt. Even after we're gone, we want the world to know who we were.”

That quote from the book really stayed with me…don’t you think it’s fascinating? It makes me wonder… do you ever struggle with the idea of death, or what might come after?

I spent the last thirty days of my dad’s life by his side. He was scared. I remember him looking at me and said, “Don’t forget me.”

I haven’t. Not for one single day.

I still talk to him...about my doctor’s appointments, about the little things. I think of all the questions I wish I’d asked him while he was still here.

About the book...seventeen-year-old Lenni knows she won’t be leaving the hospital alive. Living with a terminal illness, she clings fiercely to her identity and spark, fighting to stay whole in a body worn down by disease and drugs. Though confined within sterile walls, bound by hospital rules and indifferent staff (I’m looking at you, Jackie), Lenni is still very much alive…and determined to live.

She’s not alone. Lenni is surrounded by people drawn to her light, none more so than 83-year-old Margot, a fellow patient recovering from heart surgery, with more procedures ahead. The two first connect when Lenni helps Margot discreetly retrieve something from a recycling bin, orchestrating a distraction with mischievous charm. Soon after, Lenni finds a loophole into the art class “for eighty and up” just so she can keep spending time with her.

To mark the combined 100 years, they’ve spent on this earth, Lenni and Margot decide to paint the stories of their lives…stories of growing old and staying young, giving joy, receiving kindness, losing love, and finding that one person who means everything.

Despite its premise…a book about death and dying…this story radiates love, joy, and life. It’s a tribute to unexpected friendships, the kind we long for without knowing we’re missing them. It reminds us that in the end, what matters isn’t just what we do with life, but who we share it with.

Much of the narrative is through Margot’s eyes: her loving father, haunted by war; a marriage strained and broken by grief; a love unreciprocated; a soul-deep connection that endured three decades. Through Margot’s stories and paintings, Lenni gets to experience the full arc of a life she won’t get to live. In return, she helps Margot reckon with what’s behind her…and what still lies ahead, should she survive the next surgery.

As their canvases fill with color and memory, we see their lives in vivid detail. From Lenni, we learn about her first and only kiss, the heartbreak of an alcoholic mother, the father she pushes away. From Margot, we see a marriage undone after the death of a child, the woman named Meena who offered salvation, and Humphrey, who taught her to love the stars…a gift she later passes on to Lenni.

One unforgettable moment captures the essence of this bond: Margot and Lenni outside beneath the stars.  “I find it so peaceful,” Margot says softly. “Me too.”  Then, after a pause, “Do you know the stars we see most clearly are already dead?”  “Well, that’s depressing,” Lenni replies, pulling away.  Margot gently links her arm through Lenni’s. “No, it’s not depressing. It’s beautiful. They’ve been gone for who knows how long… but we can still see them. They live on.”

What’s extraordinary about The One Hundred Years of Lenni and Margot is how it turns what should be a story about dying into one about life. The humor, the quiet rebellion, the art class…it’s a reminder that even in the face of finality, we can create something lasting. Just like stars: already gone...but still lighting our nights.

Dad...I will carry your light forward…just like those stars…you live on.

 Doyle Winford Ramey 

 June 16, 1928 -- October 22, 2010

Biochemist, food enthusiast, wine maker, loved all things French, adored his grandchildren and embraced life with a deep curiosity and wonder. 

Remarkably Bright Creatures

 

Remarkably Bright Creatures

Shelby Van Pelt

Have you read this? I found it remarkably enjoyable…and the cover instantly drew me in. It’s one of those easy, compulsively readable page-turners you take to the beach or pick up between heavier reads.

If it’s not on your radar yet, the heart of the story lies with Tova Sullivan, a widow bearing the quiet weight of long-held grief, and Marcellus, a cantankerous yet wise Pacific octopus harboring his own secrets. Yes, an octopus. I was absolutely charmed by Marcellus: his cleverness, his perceptiveness, his unwavering curiosity. The bond he forms with Tova is quietly powerful and unexpectedly moving. Their shared story truly stole the show for me.

There’s another main character…a thirty-something wandering soul in search of his biological father…but I didn’t connect with his side of the narrative. His choices often felt more adolescent than adult, and his arc lacked the emotional resonance I found in Tova and Marcellus.

At its core, this is a love story…though not in the traditional sense. It’s a tale of lonely people who slowly build a small world of connection and support around each other.

Tova and Marcellus’s relationship is the one I’ll remember. They develop a sort of wordless understanding. Tova shares her past in fragments, while Marcellus, perceptive as he is, notices the weight she carries…and, in a quietly beautiful gesture, begins leaving her little gifts. That’s what won me over.

It reminded me of my cat, Ozzy, who brings me “stuffies” each night…sometimes even leaves them by the front door when I’m working late. It’s the sweetest ritual. He must spend all night ferrying them from the lanai to the foot of my bed. Each night, before I go to sleep, I gather them up and return them to the basket, and he follows me, probably thinking, “Seriously? All that effort?” But I cherish it. Every morning I tell him how much I love it. We’re moving soon, and I worry this magical little habit might fade.

This story…with its oddball premise, unpredictable turns, and tender charm…completely pulled me in. It left me smiling, reminded me that love and family can be found in the most unconventional ways, and that healing often comes not in sweeping gestures, but in small, quiet acts of kindness.

“As a general rule, I like holes. A hole at the top of my tank gives me freedom. But I do not like the hole in her heart… Tova’s heart. I will do everything I can to help her fill it.”

Stuffies from Ozzy

Demon Copperhead

 

Demon Copperhead 

By Barbara Kingsolver

We all know that some books entertain, others educate, and many inform...but the ones I love the most are those that transport you to another place, another era, another culture. Few stories linger long after the final page, but Demon Copperhead did just that for me.

I consider myself fortunate. Born in the early 1970s to a middle-class family that valued education, going to church on Sundays, a father who worked full-time, and a family who…quirks and all…looked after one another.  I didn’t always get what I wanted but I always had enough. Most importantly, we never questioned that we were loved.

This book is the exact opposite of my childhood.  It is bold and emotionally charged, this novel reimagines Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield in the heart of Appalachia. Told through the voice of Damon Fields, known as “Demon,” it follows his harrowing, heartfelt journey from a chaotic childhood into a turbulent coming-of-age shaped by poverty, addiction, and systemic neglect in rural Virginia.

Demon calls his childhood a “four-star shitshow”...a brutal mix of poverty, drugs, abuse, death, and despair. While reading it... I felt that despair. What fascinated me, though, was his relentless will to survive. Demon is heartbreakingly resilient. He’s sharp, funny even in the darkest moments, and his observations cut right to the bone.

If addiction is a triggering topic, this may not be the book for you. It lays out the opioid crisis and the abandonment of rural communities, while anchoring its power in deeply personal struggles...grief, foster care, the battle for self-worth. It’s unflinchingly harsh at times but dotted with startling beauty and grace. Like watching someone take blow after blow, only to be thrown a lifeline just before going under.

“I got up every day thinking the sun was out there shining, and it could just as well shine on me as any other human person.”

That line lands like a quiet triumph. It’s not just hope…it’s a declaration that light and belonging aren’t reserved for the chosen. It speaks to a gentle kind of resilience: the kind that whispers, I matter, even when the world fails to say it back. There’s something profoundly human in waking up and deciding the light might shine your way today.  Never give up.  It always seems that right when you are about to…the magic happens.

In the end…he reconnects with people who care about him and starts to find meaning in art and storytelling. The novel closes not with a neat resolution and Demon isn’t “fixed,” but he’s moving forward, learning to believe that he deserves light, love, and a life beyond survival.  

It’s not a fairy-tale ending, but it’s deeply human.  

All I can say is…Demon Copperhead lived one hell of a life.

 

Tom Lake

 

Tom Lake 

By Ann Patchett

I kept hearing about this book. Every Facebook book club I followed had people raving about it. Every book influencer on Instagram had read it...or, as I now know, listened to it.

Then, I stumbled upon it at Goodwill...of all places. $1.99! At first, I was excited. Then, I wasn’t. In the end, I was just relieved that’s all I spent. I’ve since passed it on with strict instructions: please, I don’t want it back!

I dove in, expecting something special, but…am I the only person who didn’t like it? When I asked around, I realized that most people hadn't actually read it...they had listened to it. That’s when I looked up the narrator.

Meryl Streep!

Ah, there it is. That must be what elevated the experience...you had to listen to it. Otherwise, I’m at a loss.

The book unfolds through Lara’s viewpoint, chronicling key moments from her past: her brief career as an actress, her childhood, her early steps into community theater, and the years that followed. We’re given access to her innermost thoughts...her personal reflections on the people, events, and decisions that shaped her life. As she ponders how much of her story to share with her family, we watch them react with awe, humor, and indignation. Through her revelations, her daughters start to see their mother not just as a parent, but as the young woman she once was...someone not so different from themselves.

Lara’s memories are woven between present-day events…life on the family’s cherry orchard, time with her husband, and moments with her daughters, who open up about their own dreams and aspirations. Thanks to COVID, all three daughters are back home, and to pass the time while picking cherries, they beg their mother to recount her romance with now-famous actor Peter Duke.

At its core, the novel explores the magic of summer stock theater, the innocence of young love, and…perhaps most importantly…what we choose to reveal when we tell our stories, especially to family. How well can we ever truly know our parents?

Lara’s story seems to be about coming to terms with the life she’s lived…the realization that the only life she ever truly wanted is the one she shares with them.

One passage stuck with me:

"There is no explaining this simple truth about life: you will forget much of it. The painful things you were certain you’d never be able to let go? Now you’re not entirely sure when they happened, while the thrilling parts, the heart-stopping joys, splintered and scattered and became something else. Memories are then replaced by different joys and larger sorrows, and unbelievably, those things get knocked aside as well."

Now I’m wondering…if I listened to Meryl’s version during my upcoming 12-hour road trip, would it change my opinion? Maybe I’ll give it a try and report back. Read, listen, or skip altogether? For now, I say pass on it.

This was one of Reese Witherspoon’s book club picks. I bet she makes a movie out of it. That might be worth watching.

 

THE FORGOTTEN BOOKSHOP IN PARIS

 

THE FORGOTTEN BOOKSHOP IN PARIS 

by Daisy Wood

How do you choose a book to read? I’m in a book club, so most of the time, I’m diving into someone else’s pick. I’ll admit it…I’m a sucker for a beautiful cover. Make it pretty, and I’ll hope the story is just as lovely. In this case… I love books, and I love Paris, so it felt like an easy win.

For our 40th birthday, Amanda surprised us with an "amuse bouche" of Europe…an approximately 48-hour whirlwind in each of the eight cities she planned, one of them being Paris. We packed so much into so little time: visiting the graves of Jim Morrison, Edith Piaf, and Oscar Wilde… floating along the Seine… lighting candles for our loved ones in Notre Dame… standing beneath the Arc de Triomphe… the Eiffel Tower… the Louvre. I even managed to convince Amanda to let us stop for ice cream at some fountain near the Louvre (the name escapes me). We ended that perfect Parisian night with steak and frites under a café's red-striped awning, sipping wine and recapping all we had seen. And yet…even with all of that…it wasn’t enough. I still long to wander the flea markets and get lost in the bookshops of my dreams. I must go back. Until then, this book was a perfect escape.

The Forgotten Bookshop in Paris unfolds in a dual timeline, set in both WWII-era Paris and the present day, told through the eyes of two women: Mathilde and Juliette.

The past storyline, 1941 to 1945, completely drew me in. Jacques and Mathilde Duval were newlyweds at the start of the war, full of love and life. She was spirited, impulsive, and brave…qualities that ultimately landed her in prison. Jacques, more reserved, ran a cozy little shop called La Page Cachée (“The Hidden Page”—how perfect is that?). As the war raged on, Jacques banned books and later joined the Resistance, sheltering not just fellow adults but eventually children, too. Can you imagine having that kind of courage? There’s a prayer he repeated throughout his life…even as he faced being arrested, “Father, I give myself up to You, do with me as You will. I am ready for everything, I accept everything.” That line gave me chills.

In the present day, Juliette finally arrives in France with her husband, hoping for a romantic escape. But the distance between them feels like too much, and she’s yearning for something more. When she stumbles across a little bookshop for sale…abandoned and waiting…it feels meant to be. As she uncovers its secrets, the boundary between past and present begins to dissolve.

The way the two timelines wove together surprised me...in a good way. Jacques, Mathilde, Nico, and Juliette are bound by more than chance. The threads connecting them brought a satisfying depth to the story.

“I’m thinking of calling it The Forgotten Bookshop. What do you think?”  “Very poetic.” Arnaud raised his glass. “We should be breaking out the Champagne.”  “I’d like people to feel as though they’ve found a place off the beaten path, somewhere only the locals know,” Juliette said. “I want this shop to become part of the community…a book club, poetry readings, writers dropping by.”

Honestly? That’s exactly the kind of place I’ll be seeking the next time I return to Paris.

As Jacques said, “Chéri, death is coming for all of us, sooner or later. It’s how we live that matters.”

And if living means books, beauty, and a little bit of Paris magic…I’m all in.