2 Ines Yao Books You Should Read Back-to-Back on Valentine’s

I’m back (sort of)! Viruses felled me and I didn’t get as much as I wanted done last week, but at least gave me time to savor some great books. 

Two of those books happen to be perfect for Valentine’s Day. The best part? They’re connected to each other!

Ines B. Yao published “Only a Kiss” in 2014, and its prequel “When Sparks Fly” came out in 2016. I was psyched to find copies of these on nearly the same day. I love reading stories set in the same universe, so being able to read them back-to-back was bliss for me. 
I had the luxury of reading these chronologically, story-wise. It really worked for me, though you don’t really need to do that to enjoy either book. But I really recommend that you guys read these back-to-back for Valentine’s because the characters just suck you in.

“When Sparks Fly” is about Regina and Ben, who felt an instant connection when they first met. Unfortunately, Regina’s insecurities plus Ben’s…interesting track record with women make the road to their happily ever after bumpy.

“Only a Kiss”, on the other hand, follows Regina’s little cousin Katie and the long and complicated road to romance she and her best friend Chris took. I can still help but compare it to “Saving Sally”, minus the abuse storyline.

My only real complaint over these books is that they should have been longer. There were so many interesting characters and plot points that I felt could have been explored a bit more. And the inclusion of all those made parts of the story feel rushed in light of the length. Those bits didn’t get to breathe.

Apart from that, though, you get complex characters with complicated emotional journeys, grand romantic moments (I want that restaurant in “Sparks” to exist), and great humor. Those more than made up for the hiccups.

Seriously. Read these for Valentine’s Day.

You can find Ines Yao’s books in National Bookstore – I think her newest release there is “All That Glitters” – and on Amazon.

Nuance – Random Midnight Thoughts

Who are we, really, to judge trauma—what it is and does, who it affects? And who are we to reduce experience into blades of lexicon wielded in aggressive defense?

Who are we, truly, to decide for a person their victimhood and strength?

In the middle of the night, I keep wondering: have we forgotten the nuance of listening? Why did that stop being enough?

When did triumph need to be nothing but victory?