Reckless

The quiet thesis of Reckless broke my heart in the gentlest possible way: it is a book about a man finding out whether he is allowed to want anything ever again.

Wes Calloway lost his wife Cass two years ago. Since then he has been running Calloway Ranch on autopilot, getting up at four, fixing the fence, braiding his daughter Posy's hair, saying nothing, wanting nothing, because wanting felt like a door he had closed. Then Honey Beaumont stands in his driveway with two suitcases and a borrowed Subaru, and he hands her a glass of water, and slowly, slowly, the door opens.

Sloane Ashford writes Wes's chapters short and plain and devastating. Honey's chapters are warm and stitched through with the dead friend she still talks to in her notebook. The structure does so much work. You feel Wes deciding, stone by stone, that he is allowed.

The small gestures are everything. The guest-room curtain at six. The coffee order on day four. The porch step on day six, fixed because he saw her trip on it day one and could not say so. And then the words in the dark, three weeks in, when a tongue-tied man finally speaks.

Posy starting to read out loud again, two sentences at a time, in the back of Honey's notebook, undid me.

Three chilies, open door, warm. Honey is plus size and desired specifically. Cass is honored as a third person in the marriage, never a plot device. Comps Elsie Silver and Lucy Score are dead accurate. A tender, grief-aware, five-star comfort read I will return to.

Reviewed by Camila R

I need to talk about Honey Beaumont, because too many small-town heroines are written as bubbly furniture and Honey is a whole person.

She has a journalism degree she stopped using when her marriage went sideways. She has been writing letters to her dead best friend Cass for two years because Cass was the one person who ever told her she would be fine. When her marriage collapses in Atlanta she drives sixteen hours to Montana, not for a man, but to sit in the kitchen Cass spent a decade writing to her about. She is warm because she decided to stay warm after a hard life, and that is so much more moving than a heroine who is just naturally sunshine.

And Sloane Ashford writes her as plus size, desired specifically, on the page, without ever once turning her body into the conflict. Wes wants her. Plainly. The book just lets that be true.

Wes Calloway is the grief-stitched, tongue-tied cowboy, and the glass of water in the driveway and the porch step fixed on day six and the words said in the dark three weeks in all land beautifully. But it is Honey, refinishing the porch swing, reading to Posy in a voice the little girl copies, helping Wes through a panic attack, who carried this book for me.

Three chilies, open door, warm and cozy. Posy reading out loud again wrecked me. If you love Lucy Score and Lyla Sage, this is your next comfort read. Five stars, and I am pre-ordering the rest of Honey Ridge.

Reviewed by Tamsin B

I went in skeptical. A widowed cowboy who has not said a full sentence to a woman in two years sounded like it might be too quiet to carry a whole book. I was wrong, and Reckless won me over completely, and I am giving it four stars only because of a craft thing I will explain.

Wes Calloway is the widowed Montana rancher. Honey Beaumont is his late wife Cass's college best friend, who lands in his driveway with two suitcases after her marriage in Atlanta collapses. He hands her a glass of water. He lets her stay. The slow build that follows is genuinely lovely: the guest-room curtain put up at six the next morning, the coffee order learned on day four, the porch step fixed on day six because he watched her trip on it on day one, the words finally said in the dark three weeks in. Sloane Ashford has a real gift for the small devoted gesture.

Posy, the seven-year-old who stopped reading out loud when her mom Cass died, starting again two sentences at a time in the back of Honey's notebook, is the emotional core, and it made me cry. The grief is handled with care; Cass is a third person in the marriage, never a plot device.

My one craft note: the dual point of view is uneven. Wes's chapters are short and spare and devastating, and they work, but they are so spare that occasionally I wanted one more line of his interior to fully feel a turn. Honey's chapters carry more of the book than the balance suggested they would.

Three chilies, open door, cozy. Honey is plus size and wanted specifically. Comps Lyla Sage and Lucy Score are accurate. Four warm stars and a recommend.

Reviewed by Linnea H

Reckless is a slow book in the best possible way. Sloane Ashford takes a widowed cowboy and his late wife's best friend and lets the whole thing unfold one small gesture at a time, and by the end I was completely in love with all three of them, Wes and Honey and seven-year-old Posy.

Wes Calloway has not said a full sentence to a woman in two years. His wife Cass is buried under the cottonwood on the back acre. He runs the ranch, he braids Posy's hair, he is functional and hollow. Honey Beaumont turns up in his driveway, Cass's college roommate, fleeing her own collapsed marriage in Atlanta, and the first thing Wes manages is to hand her a glass of water.

From there it is the slowest, most deliberate thaw. The guest-room curtain at six the next morning. The coffee order learned on day four. The porch step fixed on day six. Honey refinishing the swing Cass painted. Posy reading two sentences out loud in the back of Honey's notebook. Wes saying the words, finally, in the dark, three weeks in.

I cried more than once. The grief is handled with so much care. Cass is never an obstacle, she is the friend who sent Honey, and the book is generous enough to say a man can love twice without the first love getting smaller.

Three chilies, open door, warm. Honey is plus size and wanted on the page without her body becoming the plot. If you loved Lucy Score's Things We Never Got Over, Honey Ridge is your next town. A genuine, gentle, five-star comfort read.

Listen. I am here for blue-collar competence porn and Wes Calloway delivers it like a freight delivery.

This man fixes fences at dawn. He delivers calves. He runs the feed orders. He braids a seven-year-old's hair before school with hands that look like they should not be able to do something that gentle. And the central love language of Reckless is that Wes fixes things he cannot talk about. He fixes the porch step on day six because he saw Honey trip on it day one and said nothing. He puts up the guest-room curtain at six in the morning. He learns her coffee order on day four. He is tongue-tied at the diner and completely undone by her in private.

Honey Beaumont is the warmth here. She is Cass Calloway's college roommate, in Honey Ridge because her marriage fell apart and the only place she could think to drive was the ranch her dead best friend wrote to her about for ten years. She is paint-under-the-fingernails warm and she refinishes the porch swing Cass never got to use.

The grief is handled so well. Cass is a third character in the marriage, not a plot device, and Posy starting to read out loud again two sentences at a time in Honey's notebook wrecked me.

Spice is three chilies, open door, warm. Honey is plus size and Wes wants her specifically and out loud. Comps are Elsie Silver and Lucy Score and that is accurate. A cozy, grief-aware, deeply satisfying read. Took off no stars. Five.