Jace

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at the premise—*another* rags-to-riches musician romance? But *Jace* won me over by refusing to sand down its edges. Summers writes Jace with a refreshing lack of polish; he’s not some brooding, tortured artist but a guy who’s genuinely baffled by the trappings of fame, from the absurdity of photo shoots to the politics of co-writing with a diva. His dynamic with Krystal is where the book shines. Their verbal sparring feels lifted from a real studio session, all sharp elbows and unspoken respect, and the slow burn of their attraction is sold by Summers’ knack for subtext. (The scene where they argue over a bridge lyric? *Chef’s kiss.*) Robyn Verne’s narration is a masterclass in vocal range. Her Jace growls with gravelly charm, but she never overplays the ‘cowboy’ schtick—his vulnerability slips through in the quiet moments, like when he’s on the phone with his sister back home. Krystal’s voice, though, is the standout: Verne layers it with the kind of practiced warmth that hints at decades of performing, but also the fatigue of a woman who’s had to fight for every inch of her career. My only critique? The middle act drags slightly with industry minutiae (do we *really* need a play-by-play of a label meeting?), and Krystal’s sudden insecurity about aging felt a beat too on-the-nose. But the production is flawless—no jarring edits or volume spikes—and the emotional climax, set against the backdrop of a live duet, had me hitting rewind. If you love romances where the stakes feel *real*—where the happily-ever-after isn’t just about love but about carving out a space to be yourself—this one’s worth the listen.