*** 3.5 Stars ***
Dear K.C. Wells,
I hereby request that you increase the sexy and turn down the angst in your next story. Because honestly?! This story right here? This shit just ain't fair.
You've conditioned me to associate your name with panty-melting collars and cuffs-type action not pulverize my heart into a mushy pulp and leave me with splotchy, tear-stained cheeks kinda stories. I mean, yeah, I know that the boys will eventually end up living happily ever after in some English seaside town wearing grandpa sweaters and guzzling gallons of tea from a Wallace and Gromit teapot, but after learning about all six years
of Mike's pain and suffering, I either needed a scorch-the-sheets sex scene or a fluffstastic ending that would make my heart feel like it was being cuddled by Shemar Moore and about a dozen tiny, adorable, wiggling golden retriever puppies.
Instead I got a bit of cutesy dialogue filled with hope for the future.
It was cute, but it was not wiggling golden retriever puppies cute. That's all I'm saying.