Can a hockey romance with a ukulele-playing barista actually make you feel things, or is it just vibes and abs? Because I went into Roman expecting pure comfort food — the kind of book where I zone out while adjusting kerning on a client's logo — and I got... mostly that. But also some genuinely sweet moments that caught me off guard between penalty boxes and pour-overs.
The Czech Softie and the Girl With the Ukulele
Okay so here's the thing about Roman Sýkora: he's written as this big bad defenseman with tabloid drama and a revolving door of women, but from the jump you can tell he's basically a golden retriever in hockey pads. And I don't hate that! Sawyer Bennett doesn't pretend the bad-boy-to-softie arc is groundbreaking — she just commits to it with enough warmth that you buy in. It's the same trick she pulled in Van, and honestly, I'm not mad about falling for it twice. Lexi is the kind of heroine who could've been annoyingly quirky (ukulele, coffee shop, free spirit energy) but there's a real ache underneath her story. She came to Raleigh to find her dad. She's building a family from scratch. That part — the father-daughter stuff, the half-sister dynamic, the messy "am I wanted or am I convenient" question — hit me way harder than the romance itself.
I was working on a rebrand for a local bakery, surrounded by color swatches and cat hair (Diego was draped across my keyboard like a furry protest), and I actually stopped designing during the scene where Lexi starts questioning whether Roman's interest in her is tangled up in his beef with her family's front office. That moment of doubt, where she's wondering if she's a pawn? My heart. Because that's not just romance conflict — that's the feeling of being first-gen anything, of wondering if people see YOU or just what you represent. Abuela would have loved Lexi's stubborn pride, honestly.
Two Narrators, One Slightly Wobbly Tightrope
Here's where I get complicated. Cris Dukehart is genuinely good at emotional delivery — when Lexi is hurt or uncertain, you feel the tremor in her voice, and that's not nothing. She did the same thing to me in Hex Hall — all snarky armor on the surface, and her voice still found the lonely kid underneath. But Graham Halstead doesn't give Roman any Czech accent at all. Zero. The character is literally described as a "sizzling Czech skate demon" and he sounds like... a dude from Connecticut? It's not a dealbreaker but it's a missed opportunity. Every time the text reminded me Roman was Czech, my brain short-circuited a little because the voice didn't match.
And then there's the accent consistency issue between narrators. Dukehart gives one character a slight Southern drawl that Halstead doesn't replicate when he's narrating, so depending on whose chapters you're in, the same person sounds different. It's like watching a telenovela where the dubbing changes mid-episode — jarring in a way that pulls you out. (Abuela would've noticed immediately. She had eagle ears for that stuff.)
The pacing is solid though. At 7 hours and 24 minutes, it doesn't overstay its welcome. I listened at my usual 1.0x and it felt right — breezy enough for a two-day listen but not so thin that you feel cheated.
Where the Heat Meets the Heart (and Where It Doesn't)
The chemistry between Roman and Lexi is chef's kiss in the early flirty stages — the banter works, the push-pull works, the coffee shop scenes have this low-key warmth. But some of the more intimate scenes felt weirdly hesitant in delivery? Like the narrators pulled back emotionally right when the characters were supposed to be going all in. It's a strange mismatch — the words on the page are clearly spicy but the performance sometimes sounds like it's reading them at a library fundraiser. Passionate content, cautious delivery.
The family drama is honestly the stronger thread. Lexi meeting her dad Brian, navigating the half-sister relationship with Gray, the subplot of Brian maybe falling for Lexi's boss — it's messy and layered in a way that felt more real to me than the central romance. I wanted MORE of that and a little less of the "management says clean up your act" sports subplot that I've heard in approximately nine thousand hockey romances.
This book felt like a warm café au lait — comforting, a little sweet, nothing you haven't tasted before but nice on the right afternoon. I didn't ugly-cry (which, for me, is basically saying it didn't reach its full potential), but I did get genuinely tender around the family reconciliation beats. That counts for something.
Who Gets a Seat at This Penalty Box
If you're already deep in the Cold Fury series, this is a solid entry and you'll want it for continuity. Reed was my gateway into the Cold Fury world and it's still the one I measure the rest against. If you love hockey romance with a found-family subplot and don't mind narration that's good-not-great, grab it on sale. But if narrator consistency is a big deal to you — if mismatched accents between dual narrators pulls you out — maybe borrow this one first. The story has heart. The audio just doesn't always keep up.
