I Used to Love Friends-to-Lovers. Then This Happened.

Okay. So I just finished a book that should have been everything I love — friends-to-lovers, small town setting, decades of pining, that good old-fashioned emotional slow burn. You know the type. It’s the kind of story that usually makes me kick my feet and giggle like I’m 14 again.

But this one? Honestly, it just made me feel like I was eating a bowl of lukewarm soup. Familiar. Harmless. Slightly comforting. But also… deeply under-seasoned. Like, where’s the flavour?? Where’s the spice?? Where’s the anything??

The story follows Tommy and Sarah, who’ve been best friends since forever. He’s 39, a PE teacher, lives in a sleepy town, and is basically a golden retriever of a man — cheerful, well-liked, and about as emotionally self-aware as a brick. His entire personality is “laid-back and fun,” which sounds cute until you realise it means he is completely oblivious to everything happening around him. Including the fact that his best friend has been in love with him since the dawn of time.

And Sarah. Oh Sarah. She’s sweet, smart, and has dreams of opening an equine therapy business (because, apparently, regular therapy didn’t include enough hay bales). She’s also been secretly pining for Tommy since they were teenagers. And instead of, I don’t know, telling him, she just continues being his unpaid emotional support system while he dates other women and remains blissfully unaware of her heartbreak. Girl. Please. This is not character development — this is romantic self-harm.

Now, in classic rom-com fashion, nothing changes until someone new shows up. Enter Edward, the town’s new science teacher, who commits the ultimate sin of being charming, emotionally available, and into Sarah. Naturally, he asks Tommy — Tommy! — to set him up with her. Because why not let the man who’s been blind to your feelings for two decades be in charge of your love life?

This is the point where Tommy starts to feel a little… weird. A little jealous. A little twitchy. And suddenly, he starts seeing Sarah differently. She’s not “like a sister” anymore. She’s… glowing. He notices her smile. Her laugh. Her eyes. Her horse therapy dreams.

Cue the dramatic internal monologue: “Could it be that I’ve been in love with her all along?” Yes, Tommy. Yes it could. Welcome to the plot, you absolute walnut.

What follows is the usual suspects: awkward conversations, sabotaged dates, emotional miscommunication, and a whole lot of staring. There’s one particularly frustrating stretch where everyone knows what’s going on — except the two main characters. I wanted to reach through the pages and shake them both by the shoulders. Multiple times.

And of course, after several easily avoidable misunderstandings and an unnecessarily long emotional detour, Tommy finally catches up to the rest of us and confesses his love. Sarah swoons. They kiss. Boom — happily ever after. There’s even a sentimental epilogue with horses involved. Because of course there is.

Now, here’s the thing: was it sweet? Sure. Did I smile once or twice? Yes. Did I also feel like I’ve read this exact same story 86 times before? Absolutely.

The problem isn’t the trope. I love a good friends-to-lovers arc. There’s something so deeply satisfying about the slow realisation that the person who’s always been there might actually be your person. But when every book follows the same exact blueprint — childhood best friends, third-party love interest, sudden jealousy, emotional revelation, big kiss, end scene — it just starts to feel stale.

This story had all the right ingredients, but it played it so safe that it ended up being completely forgettable. No emotional risk. No surprising twists. No real tension. Just… the same beats in the same order with characters who deserved a little more depth.

And maybe that’s what disappointed me most. Because I wanted to root for these two. I wanted to feel the slow burn and the emotional payoff. But by the time Tommy figured it out, I was mostly just tired and wishing Sarah had run off with Edward and opened her therapy ranch in peace.

If you’re new to the trope, this might still hit the mark. It’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s the literary equivalent of putting on an old hoodie and knowing exactly how it’ll feel. But if you’re like me — someone who’s read their fair share of slow-burn romances and wants something a little fresher — this probably won’t do much for you.

Final verdict? It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t great. It was fine. And sometimes fine just isn’t enough.

2.5 out of 5 ... slow-burn sighs

Let me know if you read it — or if you're also in your "maybe I am tired of friends-to-lovers?" era. Or if you're just deeply concerned about how many romance books are being saved by emotionally available science teachers named Edward. Because honestly? Same.