I Will Always Love You (Maybe): An utterly captivating forced proximity LGBTQ+ romance (Meet Cute in Minnesota)

BABES!!!! I just finished I Will Always Love You (Maybe) by Dana Hawkins (Book 3 in the Meet Cute in Minnesota), and I am genuinely sitting here with the softest heart and the biggest smile. Like… the kind of soft where you just want to hug a golden retriever and bake cookies about it. Colby absolutely wrecked me in the best way. Grief stories can be so tender and complicated, and Hawkins handles Colby’s widowhood with so much care. She’s not “fixed” by love. She’s not magically healed. She’s just a woman who built herself a quiet, controlled life in a snowy cabin with her dog Kona (who, yes, stole my entire heart, thank you very much). Watching her get thrown off balance by one chaotic, pink-haired vet tech? STELLAR, babes. It’s stellar. And Josie. Oh, my sweet, sweet Josie. My serial hobby queen. The way she keeps herself busy to avoid rejection is so relatable that it almost hurts. Pilates instead of processing feelings? Painting instead of vulnerability? I SEE YOU, GIRL. Being snowed in with a woman who clearly thinks their one-night stand was a mistake? Literal nightmare fuel for someone afraid of being unwanted. I loved how spunky and sweet she is, but also how layered. She’s sunshine with anxiety underneath, and that combination just works. The forced proximity in this one is chef’s kiss. Blizzard. One cabin. Lingering eye contact. The slow shift from awkward tension to late-night conversations that peel back old wounds and old fears. It’s soft and angsty and…

“I am more than just a person with a [x} wife. I am a survivor” (page. 225). I Will Always Love You (maybe), a close proximity trope, (my first), unfolds like a confusing and unclear roadmap for two sapphic women (Colby and Josie) before reaching its final destination - love. When trauma, grief, and self-discovery are the main forces at play (for both characters) there are no promises indicating the quickest or fastest route. It’s never a straight line when you are rebuilding yourself. Where someone missed the turn, perhaps more than once but circles back, adjusts, and persists, the other must decide whether the destination is worth all the bumps and detours. When trauma and grief sit in the driver’s seat, the ride often refuses certainty. What is demanded of us isn’t always easy. “You’ve made me feel so worthless You did not value me, or us, enough to be honest. You had a million opportunities…” (p.202). I am a passenger and, in the end, Hawkins reminds us that the transition from past to present, what to let go of and what to learn from, is restless and messy. Humans have messy pasts that are very much part of their present. It is learning how grief and loss can be carried and not handed over. Can compassion and grace be given when past and present collide? “Now, I’m ready. I am so, so ready, ‘This feels different,’ Last time was a means to forget. This time, it’s to connect” (page. 166). When love begins to present itself between these two, navigating the ride lands…