Friday, September 6, 2019

Evvie Drake Starts Over by Linda Holmes

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5 Stars

When Evvie’s husband (and high school sweetheart) passed away almost a year ago, everyone in their small town couldn’t help but offer her endless condolences. She opted to hole up in their dream home and everyone just assumed it was due her being overcome by grief. Dean was a World Series winning pitcher until he came down with a serious case of the yips. He’s been trying (and failing) to hide out himself, but it’s pretty hard when your own private island just so happens to be Manhattan. Thanks to their mutual friend Andy, Evvie finds some much needed extra income and a tenant for the rental addition on the back of her house and Dean finds a place to get away from the hounding press. Over the course of the next year they form a friendship and help each other find a way to move on.

If you know me you know I don’t hand out a lot of 5 Stars – especially to romcoms since I read a crapton of them. Fair warning to all of you before you go one-clicking this or requesting it from the library – my rating might be a little padded. As a life-long Cubs fan, this was a book that had me at hello the “yips.” Are you familiar with the yips??? They look a little something like this . . . .

Or this . . . .

Unfortunately for poor Dean, his ailment was in the form of throwing a strike rather than to first base so he wasn’t able to find a workaround like Lester has . . . .

Was that too quick? Lemme slow it down . . . .

So here’s the thing. Not only do I love baseball, but I love these stories that deal with real issues and not the typical B.S. that usually creates a bunch of unnecessary drama in romance novels where the whole thing could be resolved if the immature assholes would just FUCKING. TALK. TO. EACH. OTHER. which makes me get all stabby (bet you couldn’t tell that since I’m real subtle). I also am not necessarily always a fan of the real smexy sexytimes and enjoy more of a fade-to-black style in a story like this (and am VERY thankful no one turned into some sort of ass-slapper or filthy talker to scare me off). I loved that this was slow rolling in terms of getting to the romance stage – and more than anything I just loved Evvie and Dean . . . . .

“I’m only good at grilled cheese,” he said. “And Pringles. I’m also good with Pringles.”

“Just cans of Pringles, or, like, you cook with Pringles?”

“Just Pringles. I buy them, I open the package, and then I stuff them straight into my face.”

“Ah. Got it. That’s how I make Oreos.”

This was just a completely enjoyable experience for me.

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