I really don’t want to do this, but the author is making it hard for me to keep the love alive.
This is charming modern-day semi-epistolary short story, but then again, it’s short. I can hardly feel a thing.
Deborah Smith can always be counted on to write whimsical and sometimes, literally, magical love stories, but there’s something missing here.
Surprise! The hero is a monstrous twat!