Solo Valentine’s Day Plans: Reading Romance Books and Falling Apart Gently

 Valentine’s Day is a scam. A pink, heart-shaped, capitalist fever dream designed to make you feel personally attacked by couples holding hands in public and restaurants offering “romantic prix-fixe menus” that taste suspiciously like disappointment. And yet — and yet — there I am every February, lighting a candle, opening a romance novel, and willingly surrendering my emotional stability to fictional people who will never text me back. Because if love is an illusion, then romance books are the best kind of delusion.

These books didn’t just give me butterflies — they released entire colonies of them. They made my stomach flip, my standards rise, and my tolerance for emotionally unavailable men in real life drop dramatically. They reminded me that love can be awkward, sarcastic, inconvenient, messy, tender, and devastatingly hopeful all at once. That longing is an art form. That yearning is a lifestyle. That sometimes believing in love again starts with a girl, a boy, and a moment that makes you whisper, oh no… it’s happening.

This is not a calm, neutral, scholarly review. This is a Hot Mess Express tribute to the romance books that emotionally wrecked me and then gently tucked me in afterward. The ones that made me laugh out loud in public, stare at walls like a Victorian child with feelings, and clutch my book to my chest as if it might disappear. We’re talking fake dating that feels too real, academic rivals who flirt like it’s a competitive sport, time travel that somehow feels deeply personal, and Parisian romance that smells like croissants and bad decisions.

Inside this post, you’ll find swoon-worthy moments, themes that sneak up on your heart, quotes that leave you speechless (or feral), and solo book-date ideas for surviving Valentine’s Day without spiraling or downloading dating apps at 1 a.m. This is for the romantics, the skeptics, the emotionally bruised, and the people who say they “don’t like romance” but somehow always finish the book in one sitting.

So grab a blanket. Cancel your plans. Fall in love irresponsibly.
This is a safe space for fictional men, emotional damage, and believing — just a little — in the illusion of love again. 💕📚

Ruby Red Trilogy

(aka: the series that ruined my standards for men, love, and timelines)

1. The first flutter: when confusion turns into chemistry

The Ruby Red Trilogy didn’t politely ask for my attention — it grabbed me by the collar, shoved me into a Victorian dress, and whispered, “Trust me.” At first, you’re confused. Time travel? Genetics? Secret societies? British boys with emotional damage? But then something sneaky happens: you realize your heart is involved now. Gwen and Gideon’s dynamic is the kind that starts with irritation and sarcasm and slowly mutates into undeniable tension, the best and most dangerous kind. The butterflies don’t arrive gently. They arrive late, unexpected, and impossible to ignore.

2. Enemies-to-lovers but make it emotionally traumatic

This is enemies-to-lovers done right — not “we mildly disagree” enemies, but “I don’t trust you, I don’t like you, and yet why are you looking at me like that?” enemies. Gideon is infuriating, guarded, emotionally constipated (respectfully), and Gwen is sarcastic, human, confused, and painfully relatable. Their romance is built on misunderstandings, stolen glances, grudging teamwork, and that slow realization of oh no… I care. The tension simmers for so long it deserves its own Michelin star.

3. The illusion of love (and why it still works)

Here’s the genius part: the trilogy literally questions whether love is real or engineered. Destiny vs. choice. Free will vs. manipulation. Are Gwen and Gideon in love… or were they programmed to be? And yet — even knowing that — you root for them. Because love, even when questioned, even when messy, even when inconvenient, still feels real. This series makes you believe that love isn’t less magical just because it’s complicated. If anything, it’s more human.

4. Gwen: an accidental heroine we didn’t deserve

Gwen is not polished. She doesn’t wake up brave. She becomes brave because she has to. She doubts herself, messes up, overthinks, panics, jokes at the worst possible moments — and that’s why she works. Watching her grow into her power without losing her softness is deeply satisfying. She doesn’t become fearless; she becomes self-aware, and honestly? That’s hotter.

 5. Time travel as a metaphor for emotional growth (yes, really)

Every jump through time mirrors Gwen’s internal journey. The past is romanticized but flawed. The future is uncertain and scary. Love exists in the tension between who you were and who you’re becoming. The trilogy quietly asks: If you could change the past, would you? And if love is part of the risk — would you still choose it? Spoiler: the answer is always yes, even when it hurts.

6. Why this series gives “Valentine’s Day but feral” energy

This isn’t soft romance. This is yearning. This is longing. This is watching two people circle each other while the world actively tries to sabotage them. It makes you believe in love that’s earned, not handed out. Love that survives secrets, timelines, betrayals, and self-doubt. The kind of love that makes you dramatic in the best way.

7. Solo book-date idea: Ruby Red edition 

Light a candle that smells vaguely like old books and bad decisions.
Put on instrumental or classical music (pretend you’re time traveling; commit to the bit).
Read in cozy clothes, preferably wrapped in a blanket like emotional armor.
Pause occasionally to scream internally about Gideon.
Reward yourself with chocolate or tea every time Gwen stands up for herself.
Optional: text a friend “I would absolutely fall for a man who time travels and lies to me” and let them judge you.

The Love Hypothesis

(or: how one fake relationship dismantled my emotional defenses and rebuilt them with STEM flirting)

1. Fake dating, but make it academically unhinged

The Love Hypothesis starts with one of the most elite romance setups of all time: fake dating for science-adjacent reasons that absolutely do not justify the emotional chaos that follows. Olive is a disaster bisexual icon of logic and insecurity, Adam is a human wall of brooding professionalism, and somehow these two are pretending to date in a world where proximity, shared elevators, and accidental hand touches are basically foreplay. You know how it ends. They don’t. And yet? The journey still wrecks you.

2. Olive Smith: anxious, brilliant, painfully relatable

Olive is the kind of protagonist who lives in her own head — overthinking, underestimating herself, rationalizing feelings into oblivion. She’s smart, capable, ambitious… and absolutely convinced she’s one wrong move away from being exposed as a fraud. Watching her navigate love while battling imposter syndrome feels deeply personal, like the book read my browser history and said, “I see you.” Her voice is funny, sharp, self-deprecating, and quietly heartbreaking.

3. Adam Carlsen: tall, silent, emotionally devastating

Adam Carlsen doesn’t speak much, but when he does? It’s a controlled demolition. He’s grumpy, respected, misunderstood, and secretly tender in ways that should be illegal. The book excels at letting you notice him the way Olive does — small acts of kindness, moments of protection, quiet loyalty. He’s not loud about his feelings. He shows up. And honestly? That’s hotter than grand gestures.

4. The slow burn that should come with a warning label

This book understands tension. Lingering looks. Pauses that mean too much. The unbearable intimacy of pretending not to care while caring violently. Every interaction feels charged, like one wrong word could shatter the illusion — or finally make it real. The slow burn isn’t just romantic; it’s psychological. You’re screaming internally while Olive is explaining her feelings away with science metaphors.

5. Themes that sneak up on you (and stay)

Beneath the rom-com energy, The Love Hypothesis tackles imposter syndrome, power dynamics, women in STEM, consent, and self-worth with surprising grace. It asks what it means to feel small in rooms where you deserve to take up space — and how love can either reinforce that insecurity or help dismantle it. Spoiler: Adam chooses the dismantling route. Repeatedly.

6. Why this book makes you believe in love again (against your will)

Because it’s not about being perfect. It’s about being seen. About someone noticing your chaos and choosing you anyway. About love that doesn’t fix you, but stands beside you while you learn to trust yourself. The Love Hypothesis doesn’t sell fantasy perfection — it sells emotional competence, and frankly, that’s revolutionary.

7. Solo book-date idea: Love Hypothesis edition 

Make yourself a fancy coffee or hot chocolate (bonus points for latte art you immediately ruin).
Wear comfy clothes that say “I’m emotionally available but tired.”
Read in a quiet space and pause every time Adam does something subtle but devastating.
Highlight quotes aggressively.
When you finish, stare at the ceiling and reevaluate your romantic standards.
Optional: whisper “men written by women” into the void.

Anna and the French Kiss

(or: the book that convinced me Paris is a feeling, not a place — and that longing should be illegal)

1. Paris: the real third love interest

This book opens with betrayal. Not romantic betrayal — parental betrayal. Anna is shipped off to Paris against her will, and honestly? Same energy as being told “you’ll thank me later” when you absolutely will not. Except you do. Because Paris in this book is not a postcard; it’s a mood. Rainy streets, late-night conversations, movie theaters, croissants that feel emotional. The city wraps itself around the story until you realize this isn’t just a setting — it’s foreplay.

2. Anna Oliphant: awkward, observant, painfully human

Anna is not effortlessly cool. She’s funny in the quiet way. She notices things. She spirals internally while appearing functional externally — a skill many of us perfected by age sixteen. She feels things deeply but doesn’t always know what to do with them, which makes her narration intimate and honest. Reading her thoughts feels like borrowing someone’s diary and realizing… wow, I’ve written these exact sentences in my head.

3. Étienne St. Clair: charming, complicated, emotionally rude

Étienne is charismatic, funny, French-adjacent (dangerous), and deeply confusing. He makes you laugh, makes you feel seen, and then immediately reminds you why emotionally unavailable people should come with warning labels. He is the human embodiment of almost. And yet — that’s what makes the tension unbearable. He’s not cruel. He’s just scared. Which somehow makes it worse.

4. The slowest, most exquisite kind of torture

This is not a romance that rushes. This is longing. This is eye contact that lasts half a second too long. This is friendship that feels like love wearing a disguise. You spend most of the book yelling internally, “JUST ADMIT IT.” But that’s the magic — the waiting. The ache. The sense that timing matters just as much as feeling. Few books understand that kind of emotional pacing this well.

5. Themes that hit harder than expected

Underneath the Parisian softness, this book talks about loneliness, homesickness, fear of change, and the terror of wanting something you’re not supposed to want. It explores how love can be kind without being easy, and how growing up sometimes means choosing discomfort over familiarity. It’s gentle, but it’s not shallow. It understands that first love isn’t just romantic — it’s formative.

6. Why this book resurrects your belief in love

Because it’s not about perfection. It’s about timing, honesty, and emotional bravery. It reminds you that love isn’t always about grand gestures — sometimes it’s about choosing each other when it’s finally the right moment. It makes you believe that some connections are worth waiting for, even when waiting hurts. Especially when waiting hurts.

7. Solo book-date idea: Anna in Paris edition 

Make yourself something French-adjacent (croissant, baguette, cheese — effort optional).
Put on a soft playlist or ambient café sounds.
Read near a window, preferably while pretending your life is cinematic.
Pause frequently to sigh dramatically.
When finished, stare into the distance like you’ve just lived a life-altering year abroad.
Optional: Google flights to Paris knowing full well this book caused unrealistic expectations.