Let me start by saying this book wrecked me in the best possible way. As someone who's navigated complicated friendships and identity questions, Nate's story hit painfully close to home. The way Jay Northcote writes about Nate binding his chest for the first time - that mix of relief and discomfort - is something I've never seen captured so accurately in fiction.

The small-town setting adds such a tangible layer of tension. Imagine returning home after transitioning, facing people who only remember you as someone else entirely. I found myself holding my breath during Jack and Nate's first reunion scene - that moment when childhood familiarity clashes with present reality is written with such delicate precision.

What surprised me most were the intimate scenes. Far from being awkward or sensationalized, they're some of the most tender, communicative sex scenes I've read in any romance novel. Nate's clear boundaries and Jack's respectful enthusiasm create this beautiful dynamic that actually educated me about trans relationships without ever feeling like a lecture.

The family dinners at Nate's house became my favorite parts - the way his young daughter casually corrects relatives about pronouns, how his mom fusses over Jack's recovery while pretending not to notice their growing closeness. These ordinary moments make the extraordinary circumstances feel wonderfully normal.

I'll admit I cried twice: once when Nate finally explains why he disappeared years ago (that gut-punch of unrequited love), and again during Jack's painfully realistic relapse scene. The author doesn't sugarcoat recovery or transition - both processes are messy, nonlinear, and deeply human.

This isn't just a romance; it's a masterclass in empathy. By the end, I felt like I'd lived alongside these characters, celebrating their small victories and cringing at their missteps. That final scene at the village fair? Pure magic. Keep tissues handy.