And here’s my hot take:
P.S. The spice is excellent. But the emotional foreplay? That’s the real plot.
Here’s an interesting, slightly offbeat review of Liz Tomforde’s Windy City series (focusing on Mile High and The Right Move ), written in the voice of a conflicted but captivated reader: “Liz Tomforde Wrote My Ideal Romance—Then Made Me Question Everything I Believe About Love Stories”
Some say: “Finally, a romance where the hero goes to therapy, communicates boundaries, and doesn’t fix the heroine—he supports her.” Others argue: “These men aren’t realistic; they’re fan service for burned-out women . No 6’5” athlete talks about his ‘emotional availability’ like a LinkedIn post.”
— and why this review exists — is that Tomforde’s books have sparked a weird debate in my reader circle. Are these men aspirational or harmful ?
Because both Stevie and Indy are deeply competent, slightly messy women who’ve been let down by “realistic” men. The books aren’t about finding a perfect partner—they’re about what happens when a woman stops lowering the bar . The men seem unreal because our standards have been buried in the dirt.
Let me start with a confession: I picked up Mile High expecting a breezy hockey romance with a grumpy-sunshine dynamic and some steamy airport scenes. What I got was a therapy session disguised as a sports romance, and I’m not sure I’ve recovered.
If you want gritty realism, look elsewhere. If you want a warm hug that challenges what you think you deserve in love—and makes you laugh at a hockey player saying “I’d like to formally apologize for not listening to your rant about overhead bin space”—buckle up. Liz Tomforde has raised the bar, and I’m scared my back will hurt from picking it up.