Lauren Asher’s “The Fine Print” promised a delectable mix of grumpy-sunshine romance, workplace dynamics, and a dash of online mystery. The premise itself, hinting at hidden desires and contrasting personalities, held significant appeal. Indeed, within the pages of this novel, there are moments that genuinely sparkle, particularly the interactions between Rowan and Ani, which are undeniably a highlight. And yes, there are glimpses of sweetness between Rowan and Zahra, sprinkled like sugar dust across the narrative – thoughtful gestures like book signings, intimate dinners, and personal drawings that hint at a deeper connection.
Rowan being cute
However, navigating this book felt akin to wading through treacle. The overwhelming sensation was exhaustion, stemming primarily from a frustrating series of contradictions that undermine the very core of the story. What should have been an engaging slow-burn romance frequently devolves into a tedious push-and-pull, leaving the reader more bewildered than breathless.
The first, and perhaps most jarring, contradiction lies in the supposed “slow burn” nature of Rowan and Zahra’s relationship. While technically the narrative stretches out their romantic progression, the undeniable insta-lust that ignites between them early on completely undercuts any sense of gradual development. A first kiss occurring around the 20% mark in a supposed slow burn already raises eyebrows. What follows is an extended period of internal monologue from both characters, agonizing over whether the other reciprocates their feelings. This internal debate feels utterly detached from reality when considering their palpable physical chemistry, most notably their boardroom encounter. It’s as if the author attempted to appease readers who crave instant gratification with early physical intimacy, while simultaneously trying to cater to slow-burn enthusiasts with drawn-out emotional ambiguity. This attempt at having the best of both worlds unfortunately backfires, creating a disjointed and somewhat unbelievable dynamic.
Skimming the book
Another significant point of contention arises after Rowan’s revelation to Zahra about his online persona, Scott. Without delving into the specifics of that particular plot point, the subsequent interactions become increasingly perplexing. Rowan delivers what is essentially a heartfelt confession of obsession and infatuation, emphasizing Zahra’s profound impact on him and how she inspires him to be a better person. Yet, mere moments later, during their post-confession intimacy, he insists on maintaining a casual, no-strings-attached dynamic. This declaration rings incredibly hollow in light of his preceding outpouring of emotion. His actions further muddy the waters: extravagant dates at high-end restaurants with exorbitant wine lists, meticulously planned book events in New York featuring Zahra’s favorite author. These are not the hallmarks of a casual relationship. They are the gestures of someone deeply invested and romantically inclined.
The narrative’s insistence on maintaining this “casual” facade while simultaneously showcasing behavior that screams otherwise creates a frustrating disconnect. It feels like a contrived mechanism to artificially prolong the plot, which arguably reached a natural climax with Rowan’s confession. Instead of focusing on a clear central conflict, the book presents a series of overlapping and often contradictory tensions, making it difficult to discern the true source of conflict and its purpose within the narrative.
This pattern of contradiction extends to the characters’ emotional landscape. Rowan and Zahra repeatedly engage in similar cycles of bickering at work, rehashing the same arguments and insecurities. Their internal monologues echo each other, circling around the same dilemmas and uncertainties regarding their feelings. Even their online interactions fall into a predictable rhythm, further contributing to a sense of repetition.
Consider this line from Zahra at the 67% mark: “I think you hate how much you want me. Because to care about me means you have to admit to having a heart.” While intended to be a poignant moment of insight, this sentiment has already been thoroughly established, reiterated multiple times throughout the preceding chapters, particularly during Rowan’s earlier declarations. The constant hammering home of the same emotional beats, the repeated emphasis on Rowan’s conflicted desires and Zahra’s transformative effect on him, feels less like character development and more like filler. It becomes increasingly difficult to ignore the padding, the sheer volume of content that could be trimmed without sacrificing the core narrative.
The constant back-and-forth, the prolonged period where both characters are clearly harboring deep feelings yet actively resist acknowledging them or acting upon them, stretches the narrative thin. What should be delicious slow-burn tension instead becomes a frustrating exercise in delayed gratification, burning brain cells rather than igniting romantic sparks. The potential for a truly compelling story is evident, buried beneath layers of unnecessary length and conflicting character motivations. “The Fine Print” possesses the bones of a captivating romance – the grumpy-sunshine dynamic, the forced proximity of a workplace setting, the allure of online anonymity – but it ultimately lacks the refinement and focused direction needed to truly shine. A tighter edit, a clearer definition of the central conflict, and a more consistent approach to the characters’ emotional arcs could have transformed this book from a tiring read into a genuinely engaging one. Perhaps future installments in the series will benefit from a more disciplined approach to pacing and plot development. As for “The Fine Print,” while it has its moments, readers might find themselves wishing for a more concise and less contradictory edition.
