“There is no sense in love,” I counter, swiping away more tears. “It’s a senseless thing.”
Mom pauses, pinching the bridge of her nose, chin tucked to her chest.
I forge ahead. “And I didn’t pursue him. He didn’t pursue me. It just… happened. Because that’s what love does. It happens. It sneaks up on you, and then it burrows. It festers in your blood. And once it’s in your blood, you can’t just flush it out. It’s a part of you now. Trying to get rid of it would be like cutting off a limb, or carving your heart right out of your chest.”

June First by Jennifer Hartman is a transformative reading experience. No two ways bout it. This story truly digs into your psyche making you ache in the best way possible, a true testament to the romance genre and why I stick to reading romance even when good books are so hard to come by now. Told in the first person, published in May of 2022, this phenomenal story brings to readers two characters who stake their claim on your heart from the get-go.

The story begins when the hero Brant Elliott, is six years old, and his parents die in a murder-suicide, instigated by his father leaving him without family. His savior comes in the form of his neighbors, the Baileys, of whom Theo is of the same age as he is, and his best friend. When the Bailey’s takes him in, it is also with a new addition to their family unit, a baby girl that they name as June Adeline Bailey, June because she was born on the first day of the month, on that fateful night that Brant’s life was marked forever.

It is June that saves Brant’s life unknowingly when memories of “The Bad Night” as he calls it, haunts him too much. The Bailey’s adopt him and call him their own, giving Brant the kind of love and security that would never have been possible if otherwise. From the start, the bond between June and Brant is one that is indescribable. As Ms. Hartman takes readers through the formative years of both their lives and beyond, readers get glimpses into how their relationship metamorphoses and shifts to accommodate the ever growing and changing love between them.

It is not easy journey for Brant and June, even if June at first does not recognize the feelings burgeoning inside of her as she comes of age. For Brant who is six years older, it is a different matter altogether, being old and wise enough to understand the strength of his attraction towards June. The conflicting emotions that runs amok through Brant renders him the perfect definition of a tortured hero, which of course gave this story a ton of angst which I absolutely adored.

For Brant who promised June that he would always protect her, the hardest thing to face is him being the person that she needs protection from. But no matter how hard Brant may try to keep his distance and hurting June in the process, there is no stopping the tide when it comes to the strength of the magnetic draw between two halves of one soul.

The night that Brant succumbs to the temptation that is June, tragedy strikes, splintering the fragility of what took place, the guilt factor multiplying exponentially. As someone who was transfixed by the variety of emotions that coursed through me as I waded deeper into the story, I found that the longing that drips from the pages to be unparalleled, the angst and slow burn unlike anything I have ever come across.

The delivery on that build-up was out of this world, and I could not have asked for more. The writing is deeply evocative, the prose perfect, the build-up of the tension, not just in terms of the attraction between June and Brant but the entire story – all blends exquisitely to deliver a tale that makes you bleed your emotions all over. Every single aspect of this novel just drives home the fact that Brant and June are the true definition of two halves, one soul.

Evocative writing and exemplary characterization makes this book stand out from similarly themed taboo romances, and I cannot recommend this gem of a book enough to all romance readers!

Final Verdict: With June First, Jennifer Hartmann pulls off the kind of story that few authors can. The sheer magnitude of the undertaking is visible from the start, making this perfect in every sense!

Favorite Quotes

“June.” I take her wrist in my hand and lower her arm, catching the flash of worry in her eyes. “Junebug, you should get some sleep. We can talk more in the morning.”
I don’t let her question it, or convince me to stay.
I just go. I walk out.
I can’t be in here right now. She’s too soft, too vulnerable. I’m still surging with adrenaline. I’m still suffocating on the awful awareness that the child I watched grow up, the angel I swore to protect, the little girl I craved in a million beautiful, innocent ways—is now becoming the girl I crave in the only way I shouldn’t.
And it’s not fair.
It’s not fucking fair.
If my father hadn’t murdered my mother, I would still just be the neighbor boy, and she would be the girl next door. Instead, he branded us with a label; forced me into something twisted. He turned the only girl I’ve ever wanted into the only girl I can never have.

Brant lets the door swing shut behind him, his brow furrowed with confusion. “Why are we over here?” He senses something off about me and moves in closer, his hand extending to my forearm. “You’re scaring me a little.”
It’s so quiet on this side of the doors, and I fear he can hear my heart screaming in terror. I lick my lips. “I’m not trying to. I just… I have to do this.”
He shakes his head, a baffled laugh slipping out. “You’re not making any sense. Do what?”
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Just get it over with, June.
“This.”
I don’t think. My hands lift, reaching up and pulling his face down to mine. His stunned breath is the last thing I hear before our lips crash together, and I’m inching up on my tiptoes, my palms clasped around his jaw, my mouth parting on instinct.
I didn’t intend to part my lips, but I do.
We just hover there for a moment, our breaths heavy and unsteady, turning into pants the longer we linger, while our mouths connect in a way they never should.
And then something happens.
I don’t know what happens, but something happens.
I feel his hand cinch around my waist, while the other drags up to my hair, tangling in the mound of loose curls. My pelvis jerks forward without warning.
Then he kisses me.
Truly kisses me.

Pulling away from his touch, I sweep around him and march my way to the front door. I don’t grab my bags, but I’ll come back for them. It’s fine.
I just need to go.
When I reach the door, I twist the brass knob and tug it open, prepared to dart into the hallway and escape this mess of confusion.
Only, I’m stopped short when a hand plants against the door right above my head, slamming it shut. I draw in a sharp breath. He’s right behind me, his chest whispering along my back as he cages me in. Swallowing hard, I squeak out, “Brant…”
Electricity hisses all around us.

“It’s not fair that your face is so perfect; a piece of art on display that I’m not allowed to touch. I should only adore it from afar, even though its beauty calls to me. Even though I’m convinced it was created just for me.” Her eyelashes flutter as she sways, as if she’s drunk on more than rum or whiskey—as if she’s drunk on her very own words. “It’s not fair that it holds two eyes that look at me the way they do, like they were made for seeing only me. It’s not fair that it has lips that I’ve memorized, that I can’t forget, and a tongue I’ve dreamed about tasting me over and over again.”

“You always smell like springtime and lemon drops,” I say gently, kissing the top of her head. My eyes close with contentment as I breathe her in.
She sighs, her breath warming me through the cashmere of my shirt. “You always smell like spearmint and Ivory soap.”
Songbirds serenade us as we stand in the center of the patio, enmeshed in a potent embrace, breathing in perfect time, and swaying lightly, as if nature is singing just for us.
Then we say it at the same time: “Like home.”

June whimpers as her shaky hands make their way to my hair, fingers sifting. Nails grazing my scalp. Her pelvis jerks up, just slightly, like it’s instinct, like she’s silently begging me to sample her.
Her legs spread farther apart.
And I lose it.
I fucking lose it.
I trail my fingers underneath the hem of her panties, yanking them down past her knees.
Then I bend over and bury my face between her thighs.
June cries out.
She lets out a sharp, primal moan as her hips thrust up against my mouth and her nails carve into my scalp.
I feast on her.
Untamed. Untethered.
Hungry.

“Are you happy?” I ask softly. There’s a catch in my voice, sounding louder than my words. Worry claims her pretty features, and she reaches up to hold my wrists. “Of course, I’m happy. I’m so happy.” “Even though you’re not dancing? Even though you’re not in New York?” She falters. It’s only for a second, only for the briefest, tiniest moment, but I see it. I see it

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