Here’s an interesting, slightly offbeat review of Liz Tomforde’s Windy City series (focusing on Mile High and The Right Move ), written in the voice of a conflicted but captivated reader: “Liz Tomforde Wrote My Ideal Romance—Then Made Me Question Everything I Believe About Love Stories”
If you want gritty realism, look elsewhere. If you want a warm hug that challenges what you think you deserve in love—and makes you laugh at a hockey player saying “I’d like to formally apologize for not listening to your rant about overhead bin space”—buckle up. Liz Tomforde has raised the bar, and I’m scared my back will hurt from picking it up.
So yes, sometimes the dialogue sounds like a couples therapy worksheet. Yes, the grand gestures involve spreadsheets and verbal affirmations instead of jealousy or grand fights. But after reading The Right Move , I caught myself thinking, “Wait, why wouldn’t a man communicate like this?” And that uncomfortable question is exactly why Tomforde’s work is so interesting. Liz Tomforde
P.S. The spice is excellent. But the emotional foreplay? That’s the real plot.
Because both Stevie and Indy are deeply competent, slightly messy women who’ve been let down by “realistic” men. The books aren’t about finding a perfect partner—they’re about what happens when a woman stops lowering the bar . The men seem unreal because our standards have been buried in the dirt. Here’s an interesting, slightly offbeat review of Liz
And here’s my hot take:
⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4/5) — but that fourth star is clinging on for dear life So yes, sometimes the dialogue sounds like a
Zanders isn’t just a playboy with a heart of gold. He’s a man who actively dismantles his own toxic masculinity, unpacks his childhood trauma on-page, and asks Stevie for enthusiastic consent while making her breakfast. Ryan Shapiro? He’s a grumpy control freak who creates a color-coded roommate agreement, then proceeds to break every rule because he’s secretly a softie who learns her coffee order within 48 hours.
Let me start with a confession: I picked up Mile High expecting a breezy hockey romance with a grumpy-sunshine dynamic and some steamy airport scenes. What I got was a therapy session disguised as a sports romance, and I’m not sure I’ve recovered.
Some say: “Finally, a romance where the hero goes to therapy, communicates boundaries, and doesn’t fix the heroine—he supports her.” Others argue: “These men aren’t realistic; they’re fan service for burned-out women . No 6’5” athlete talks about his ‘emotional availability’ like a LinkedIn post.”
— and why this review exists — is that Tomforde’s books have sparked a weird debate in my reader circle. Are these men aspirational or harmful ?