Books, Boots and Bakeries

I read Loverboy on a plane to Melbourne to see my family, and when I say gut-wrenching, I mean gut-wrenching. I’m pretty sure I had tears and snot everywhere. This book doesn’t just tug at your emotions—it grabs them with both hands and squeezes until you can’t breathe. It’s hard. It’s rough. And the trigger warnings? They’re coming out the wazoo. But despite all of that—or maybe because of it—this book is so unbelievably worth it.

Oh my god, Tango.

Tango is the kind of character who burrows under your skin and doesn’t let go. He’s broken, he’s struggling, and yet there’s something about him that makes you want to wrap him up in the biggest, warmest hug. His pain is palpable, his resilience is staggering, and his journey is one of the most emotionally taxing I’ve read in a long time. The way the story unfolds around him is relentless, pulling no punches, but it never feels gratuitous. Every moment, every hardship, is earned.

And then there’s Mercy, playing therapist in the only way he knows how—rough around the edges, but with a heart that won’t quit. His dynamic with Tango is both painful and necessary, pushing him to face what he’d rather bury. Their interactions add another layer of depth, a reminder that healing isn’t linear and that sometimes, the people who help us the most are just as damaged as we are.

The writing is raw and unflinching, cutting through any illusions of comfort and safety. It’s the kind of book that leaves you feeling scraped raw but also full—like you’ve been through something immense and come out the other side changed. If you’re looking for a light, breezy read, this isn’t it. But if you want something that will consume you, wreck you, and stay with you long after you turn the last page, Loverboy is it.

So unbvelievably worth it.

Just… be prepared.