This book wrecked me at 2 AM on a Tuesday while I was batch-exporting files for a client's brand kit, Frida curled on my lap and Diego doing his creepy stare from the bookshelf. I had both hands on my keyboard and tears just... rolling. Couldn't even wipe them because I didn't want to pause the export. Glamorous life.
Here's the thing about Here's to Us — it's not trying to be a big, sweeping love story. It's trying to be an honest one. And that distinction matters so much more than people give it credit for.
Two Boys Who Grew Up But Didn't Quite Figure It Out
Ben and Arthur are back, two years after What If It's Us, and they're both in that horrible, sticky place where you're technically an adult but you feel like you're wearing a costume. Ben's stuck — dead-end classes, working with his dad, his best friend Dylan pulling away. Arthur's interning in off-off-Broadway, which is basically fetching coffee with theatrical flair. They both have new boyfriends. They're both fine. They're both lying.
What got me — what really, physically got me — is how Albertalli and Silvera write the specific flavor of missing someone you're not supposed to miss anymore. Ben keeps catching himself mid-thought about Arthur and then mentally swerving, like touching a hot stove. Arthur does this thing where he overexplains why everything is "totally fine" with Mikey, his current boyfriend, and every time he said it I wanted to reach through my headphones and shake him. Boy. BOY. You are not fine.
The Mario subplot is interesting because he's not a villain. He's sweet, he's ambitious, he teaches Ben Spanish (and honestly, as a Mexican-American girl who grew up code-switching between English and Spanish with her abuela, hearing those little Spanish moments hit different — Abuela would have loved this one, would've been yelling at Ben to "decide ya, mijo!"). Mario just isn't... Arthur. And the book knows it, and you know it, but watching Ben figure it out at his own pace is this beautiful, frustrating slow burn.
Noah Galvin and Froy Gutierrez Are Doing Something Special Here
Okay. The dual narration. Noah Galvin as Arthur and Froy Gutierrez as Ben — they reprised these roles from the first book, and you can hear how comfortable they are inside these characters. Galvin does Arthur's manic, theater-kid energy with this breathless quality that never tips into annoying, which is honestly a miracle because Arthur on paper could be A Lot. There's this scene where Arthur's spiraling about running into Ben unexpectedly, and Galvin's delivery gets faster and higher and then just... stops. That pause. I felt it in my chest.
Froy Gutierrez gives Ben this quiet weight. Ben's chapters are slower, more internal, more uncertain, and Gutierrez doesn't rush through the self-doubt. He sits in it. There's a difference between a narrator reading a character who's confused and a narrator who sounds confused, and Gutierrez nails the latter. When Ben talks about his writing — the thing that actually makes him come alive — Gutierrez's voice warms up like someone turning on a lamp. It's subtle. I listened at my usual 1.0x and I'm so glad I did, because at any faster speed you'd lose those micro-shifts.
The chapter trading works perfectly for the will-they-won't-they tension because you're constantly switching emotional allegiances. You finish an Arthur chapter going "just tell him!" and then a Ben chapter starts and suddenly you understand why neither of them can.
The Ugly-Cry Spreadsheet Got a New Entry
I cried twice. Once during the ending — which I won't spoil but it's the kind of ending that feels earned, not manufactured — and once during a quieter moment where Ben realizes he's been writing about Arthur without meaning to. That second one surprised me. It wasn't a big dramatic scene, just this small, devastating recognition that the person you love shows up in your art whether you invite them or not.
As someone who designs for a living, who puts pieces of her life into color palettes and layouts without even thinking about it — yeah. That hit home. Hard.
This book felt like getting a text from someone you haven't talked to in months and your heart doing that stupid flip even though you told it not to. It's warm and funny and a little chaotic and deeply, deeply tender. The vibes are immaculate — summer in New York, second chances, the terrifying possibility that the universe actually does have a plan.
Who Gets the Aux Cord (And Who Should Skip This Track)
If you loved What If It's Us, you need this. But honestly, even if you didn't read the first one, there's enough context to jump in — though you'd miss some of the gut-punch callbacks. If you're the kind of listener who needs constant plot momentum, this might feel slow in the middle; it's more about emotional circling than forward motion. Skip it if pacing matters more to you than feeling — this book takes its time, and it asks you to sit in the ache. But if you want to feel like you're nineteen and terrified and hopeful all at once? My heart. MY HEART. This is your book.
The Feels
This is a rainy Sunday book. Full stop. Clear your afternoon, make something warm to drink, and let these two ridiculous, wonderful boys figure their lives out. Secretly Yours scratched a similar itch for me — that same cozy, slow-burn warmth where you're rooting so hard for two people to just get out of their own way. The chemistry is chef's kiss — not just between Arthur and Ben, but between the narrators, between the authors, between you and the story. Ten hours well spent.
