After reading the blurb and so many positive reviews, I was pretty sure that I would enjoy Served Hot
. After all, I love coffee, coffee shops and baristas. I love coming out stories, I like men who wear preppy outfits, I like shy guys and guys who wear glasses. I adore friends-to-lovers stories. In spite of all that, this book did not work for me. It might be a case of 'it's not you, it's me'.
My main problem was that I didn't connect with either one of the MCs, which meant I couldn't sympathize with them. I didn't agree with their behavior, I didn't root for them, and I felt like there was no chemistry between them.
Furthermore, I have no problem whatsoever with the dead ex lover/boyfriend/husband trope. But here, I felt like the dead lover dictated the entire course of the MCs' relationship. He overshadowed their life as a couple, and was also blamed for the mistakes the MCs made. I understood why it would be difficult for David to get over his past and let Robby into his life one hundred percent. But Robby had no excuse for his proneness to shutting down his feelings and allowing himself to step back without having a grown-up conversation first.
This is not a bad book per se. The writing flowed easily, the characters were as well-developed as a novella allows, and the steamy scenes were good. I also liked the Portland setting and the fabulous Pride Festival weekend! And then there was this awesome quote...
Since David had come into my life I'd learned a lot more about hope. It looks like ivory sheets and stacks of paint cans and two pairs of shoes next to the bed. It sounds like rustling bedcovers and murmured endearments. Hope tastes like skin and soap and victory and coffee. And I can say now with absolute certainty that hope does come in a paper cup and smells an awful lot like a vanilla latte to go.