My Rating:

Favorite Quotes:

She hated labels, but the complacent doctor had slapped her with one anyway. Two awful words encompassing a mess of complications: Panic. Disorder. It sounded like knots tangled up inside a dirty throw rug.

Like how old? George Clooney old? Or like, Father Christmas, white-beard old?

 A woman always knew where he stood. Even if it was on the fence.

My Review:

I struggled valiantly with this one. The pacing and writing style were unusual with an abundance of short staccato sentences and incomplete thoughts, which kept me questioning and wanting the rest of the sentence yet was also quite frustrating at times. I was intrigued by the premise, storylines, and deeply flawed characters, but exasperated with their constant waffling – they were both often locked in inner debate and ran hot and cold with each other. Both seemed riddled with personal turmoil and tension. I know many of my fellow reader friends disagree but I don’t find high angst or constant conflict an enjoyable state or an entertaining read. However, their sensual chemistry was off the charts.

Despite my frustration, I remain consumed with curiosity about the character of Cal.  He was far too aloof, contradictory, and a total enigma; yet oh, so alluring and hard to resist. Perhaps if I knew his shady secrets this would no longer be a problem.  My greatest consternation was with the character of Annie who I found more than a bit tedious and not all that endearing with the scattiness, daydreaming, high anxiety and overthinking every – little – thing. She was a hot mess and even her inner musings were scattered and often fractured thoughts that were difficult to follow. And then there is the issue of a cliffhanger.  Sigh. So, I’m intrigued yet remain conflicted.

A.R. Hadley writes imperfectly perfect sentences by the light of her iPhone.
She loves her husband.
Chocolate.
Her children.
And Cary Grant.
She annoys those darling little children by quoting lines from Back to the Future, but despite her knowledge of the eighties and nineties pop culture, she was actually meant to live alongside the Lost Generation after the Great War and write a mediocre novel while drinking absinthe with Hemingway. Instead, find her sipping sweet tea with extra lemons on her porch as she weaves fictional tales of love and angst amid reality.

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